In the face of chaos and politics, fashion seems unimportant. When looking at the beauty of colour, the art of design, and the reverence of fashion, politics often seems too dull and depressing a subject to give attention to. Male Politicians don’t seem like they put too much thought into what they wear each day, and we’ve collectively agreed that focusing on female politicians’ fashion choices is simply reductive. In the same way, we wouldn’t consider Vogue ‘relevant’ to society, perhaps only as far as a source for sociology.
Yet as Yale scholars have noted, fashion operates as both a tool of expression and a mechanism of control, shaping how identities such as class, gender, and race are perceived and performed in society. Whether you want them to or not, consciously or unconsciously, fashion and politics are part of everything we do. They impact us and are impacted by us, and our every movement, our actions, and our choices. This dual relationship reflects what has been described as fashion’s ‘macrocosmic ambivalence’: simultaneously enabling self-expression while reinforcing existing social structures. There’s no escaping them, even when many claim they don’t care about one or the other. And maybe that’s where we’ve all been wrong. If politics is about who holds power, fashion is about how power is seen. And in a world obsessed with optics, how something is seen is often more important than what it is. So perhaps the real question isn’t whether fashion and politics belong in the same conversation. It’s how we ever convinced ourselves they weren’t already in one.
The hemline index offers an illustration of how economic conditions shape fashion. Periods of growth and confidence tend to produce shorter, more expressive silhouettes, while moments of crisis favour longer and more conservative forms. From the exuberance of the 1920s to the austerity of the 1930s and wartime 1940s, clothes have consistently reflected broader psychological and economic climates. In times of uncertainty, societies often gravitate towards stability, reinforcing conservative norms associated with security and social order. Indeed, fashion has long functioned as a visible reflection of deeper economic and social systems, translating abstract conditions into everyday, embodied expression.
If fashion can reflect the mood of entire economies, it can also be used deliberately by individuals operating within them. Kate Middleton, Princess of Wales, is often most discussed in the news and on social media when it comes to evaluating her fashion choices. To many observers, that focus can seem almost insensitive when the world is quite literally falling apart. But what if that attention is not frivolous, but just misunderstood?
In a constitutional monarchy, clothing is one of the few political instruments available. Catherine doesn’t draft legislation, she doesn’t negotiate trade deals, she doesn’t even vote in Parliament. But what she can do is signal. What is often dismissed as an aesthetic choice aligns closely with what fashion theorists now describe as a ‘sartorial soft power’, a form of quiet influence conveyed through clothing rather than direct authority. During the Emir of Qatar’s state visit to Britain, for instance, she appeared in a burgundy Alexander McQueen ensemble echoing the colour of the Qatari flag. After Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, she visited London’s Ukrainian Cultural Centre in a sweater in the unmistakable blue of the Ukrainian flag. When she champions British designers – frequently wearing labels such as Alexander McQueen, Jenny Packham or Emilia Wickstead – she is also reinforcing the visibility and economic importance of the domestic fashion industry. Even her choice to occasionally appear in high-street brands such as Zara communicates an intentional effort to project relatability during periods of economic pressure.
Her clothing choices also shift in tone depending on the political or social moment. At the 2018 BAFTAs, when much of Hollywood wore black in support of the ‘Time’s Up’ movement against workplace harassment, Catherine incorporated a black velvet band into her gown as a subtle nod to the protest while respecting royal neutrality. And when national mood calls for restraint, she often adopts simple tailoring and repeated outfits, signalling sensitivity to economic realities without saying a word.
In an era where every public appearance is photographed, clipped, and shared within seconds, visual messaging travels faster than any policy document ever could. Fashion, in this sense, becomes a quiet diplomatic language, and one of the few available to someone whose role is symbolic rather than legislative.
The discomfort people feel about discussing her wardrobe during global crises comes from a false hierarchy: politics is ‘serious,’ fashion is ‘surface.’ But symbolism has always been central to political life. The tendency to dismiss fashion as frivolous reflects a long-standing bias, where clothing has been taken less seriously despite its clear role in shaping political perception and social influence.
Public life offers many such examples. When American Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez attended the 2021 Met Gala wearing a white gown emblazoned with the words “Tax the Rich,” the dress sparked immediate debate: to some it was a brilliant piece of political theatre, to others an uncomfortable contradiction between anti-elite rhetoric and an elite event. Some viewed it as a powerful disruption of elite space, and others dismissed it as performative or contradictory.
The Met Gala itself, an exclusive, invitation-only event attended by celebrities, billionaires and cultural elites, made the message feel, to critics, contradictory. How could a call to redistribute wealth be delivered from within one of the most elite spaces in the world? For supporters, however, that was precisely the point: the dress inserted a political message directly into the heart of elite culture, forcing a conversation that would otherwise not take place.
Ocasio-Cortez defended the choice by framing it as strategic visibility. Fashion, in this case, became a vehicle for political messaging, and one that reached audiences far beyond traditional policy platforms. Yet the backlash also showed the limits of that strategy. Clothing does not just communicate intent; it is also interpreted through context. In an era where fashion is instantly disseminated and globally interpreted, meaning is no longer controlled by the wearer alone but shaped by audience perception and digital circulation. The same garment that was meant as a critique was, for some, read as complicity. What that moment exposed is the tension at the heart of fashion as political language: it operates within systems of power even as it attempts to challenge them. In public life, style can amplify a message, but it can just as easily tear it down.
The Princess of Wales illustrates a model of silent power, where clothing operates as subtle and controlled diplomacy, while Ocasio-Cortez reveals how more explicit sartorial statements can provoke both influence and backlash. In both cases, these gestures do shape political perception, but their effectiveness depends on context, credibility, and the audience’s willingness to read them as sincere rather than symbolic performance.
Women in power use fashion in different ways to negotiate authority: some, like Catherine, rely on restraint and consistency to project stability and diplomacy, while others use visibility and symbolism to command attention and shape political narratives. In both cases, clothing is a strategic tool, either reinforcing legitimacy quietly or forcing engagement directly. Within the fashion industry, politics is embedded in the messaging, campaigns, and public alignments with social and economic causes. This can be effective when it reflects genuine values and is supported by consistent action – but that’s rarely ever the case.
The same industry that claims political consciousness remains deeply entangled in exploitative labour systems, environmental harm, and the reinforcement of narrow beauty standards. Its gestures toward activism, therefore, sit uneasily alongside its material practices, exposing the limits of fashion as a vehicle for meaningful political change. Indeed, fashion’s political function is often undermined by its simultaneous role in sustaining environmental harm, labour exploitation, and entrenched social hierarchies. Fashion and clothing can strengthen political credibility, but they can just as easily expose contradictions.
So this is where we end: with the recognition that what people wear in public life is never just aesthetic. Every cufflink, every campaign jacket, every state-visit gown is part of a broader choreography of power, signalling values, shaping perception, and influencing how messages are received. If diplomacy is persuasion conducted through words and policy, fashion is persuasion without them. Often quieter, but no less deliberate – and much more accessible. It operates across disciplines, from politics to economics to identity, embedding itself in systems of power, whether acknowledged or not.
Edited by Arielle Sam-Alao, Co-Fashion Editor