Never mind the catwalk shows, the viral glossy advertising campaigns and the endless red carpets. This year, TV was where the best fashion was at. Here, nine Guardian writers pick their favourite looks from the shows that had us hooked over the past 12 months.
‘Her vanity is a plot point’
Season one of Nobody Wants This was about the Hot Rabbi, but season two is all about the Hot Little Sister. Morgan, played by Succession’s Justine Lupe, steals every scene she’s in. She is a brilliant physical comic, and her outfits are key. In the first episode, big sis Joanne (Kristen Bell) is adulting hard at her first couple’s dinner party, but a pivotal moment comes when Morgan makes her entrance in a fluffy shearling jacket and hot pants. She is a preening, maddening, gorgeous cat-among-the-pigeons, and you just know from the moment she walks on screen that the night is not going to go to plan.
What makes Morgan so compelling is that her vanity is a plot point. There is something so recognisable and heartbreaking about this smart woman who leads with her looks. The hair-flicking tic, the inappropriate stiletto boots for daywear, the Cher in Clueless mix of being charmingly off-the-wall yet infuriatingly self-obsessed. Joanne has a cute overthinky Diane Keaton thing going on with that little frown and her pleat trousers and rollnecks, but it is fashion girl Morgan – in her Wales Bonner track pants and argyle knits, rugby shirts and oversized leather bombers, western-buckle belts and Cali denim – who has my heart. Jess Cartner-Morley
‘Dark, privileged and toxic queen bees and wannabes’
No expense was spared in the costume department for Wild Cherry, the glamorous thriller about two spoiled teenage girls and their mothers whose lives are upended by scandal. It’s Gossip Girl meets Desperate Housewives, but in the age of social media influencing. One particular look caught my attention in the first episode: the pinstriped, pink wrap-front top and brown monogrammed Fendi miniskirt worn by one of the teens, Allegra (Amelia Gray), during a choir performance at the school. My knowledge of the fashion of 15-year-old girls is limited, but the outfit seems intentionally dated – it immediately reminded me of 2004’s Mean Girls and you could imagine Allegra slotting in with the Plastics in the canteen every Wednesday. It seemed to communicate that the show was happy to wear its references on its sleeve and honour its cultural lineage of dark, privileged and toxic queen bees and queen-bee wannabes. Pink has always been the colour of that uniform. Jason Okundaye
‘A world away from the gilet-wearing tech bros that control cinema in 2025’
Matt Remick, Seth Rogen’s perpetually harried head of the fictional Continental Studios, in Apple’s terrific film-industry satire The Studio, is a man who never seems to be lacking a fine glazing of sweat. Somehow though, as Remick lurches from indignity to catastrophe to however you’d classify accidentally getting the CEO of your parent company face-meltingly high before a crucial upfronts presentation, his attire stays unruffled.
Inspired by Rogen’s own wardrobe, Remick’s dynamite collection of wide-lapel Italian suits, often in warm ochres, turmerics and mahoganys, hints at the golden age-era Hollywood he desperately wants his flatlining studio to evoke; a world away from the gilet-wearing tech bros that control cinema in 2025. However stressful and cringe-inducing events might become in The Studio, there’s always a dash of old-mogul glamour to make things go down easy. Gwilym Mumford
‘A disgustingly enviable, zero-fucks-given attitude’
Some might think of Slow Horses’ Jackson Lamb (played by Gary Oldman) and recall farts and liberal swearing. But it’s the mac for me. A clever update on the one that Peter Falk wore as Columbo, it gives the same maverick genius vibe. The rest of the outfit only adds to the mood – loosened tie, slight paunch, seedy 70s glasses and hair in need of a seriously good wash. Partially embodying the outcast energy of Slough House, a grimy, damp office building in east London, but also with a disgustingly (enviable?) zero-fucks-given attitude. Here is a hero for our times. Let’s hope season six doesn’t mess with the outfit – but does give the formula a bit of a glow-up. Lauren Cochrane
‘Shirts that are even dodgier than his behaviour’
Never mind the giant Gucci sunhat worn by Jaclyn (Michelle Monaghan), or the coordinated swimwear of Kate (Leslie Bibb), for me it was Rick’s collection of naff holiday-ready shirts that won the third season of The White Lotus.
When we first meet Rick (played by Walton Goggins), he’s wearing an apparently “Mexico”-themed shirt covered with bullfighting and folk-dancing motifs. It’s unbuttoned to the navel and teamed with khaki cargo trousers, black leather toe-wrap sandals, Wayfarer sunglasses and a gold chain with a tiger’s eye pendant. Should I be disgusted by this look? Absolutely. He’s basically a walking red flag who glares at his much younger girlfriend, Chelsea, played by Aimee Lou Wood, as she bangs on about how they are soulmates. But for some reason that I’m sure a therapist would have a hoot unpacking, I unashamedly fancy Rick.
These shirts are even dodgier than his behaviour – remember when he casually mentioned he wasn’t allowed to enter Australia? They are decorated with cranes and spiky greenery, Hawaiian-esque palm prints, orange swirls and elephants. The saccharine patterns and motifs jar with his moody, mean and hot-headed persona but somehow it all just makes him even more alluring. Would I advise a man to buy a similar shirt for their next holiday? Please god no. They work on Rick, and Rick alone. Thankfully, the internet has reassured me that I am not alone in thinking the greasy-haired grump and his crass collection is hot. What can I say guys, fashion is fickle. Chloe Mac Donnell
‘It perfectly captures Amanda’s desperation to curate herself at all times’
Tuning into Amandaland earlier this year, I found myself watching the eponymous lead as much for her outfits as for her narcissistic unravelling. Her style is prim, polished and deeply impractical – which seems entirely the point. This is a woman who wears an all-cream outfit with high-heeled boots to her son’s football match on a muddy field, topping it off with the team scarf as a gesture of maternal solidarity.
One of the funniest moments comes when Amanda is forced to flyer for a kitchen and bathroom showroom company in a burgundy branded T-shirt. “My colour palette is very much spring-summer and this is autumn-winter,” she protests, horrified. When she spots her daughter walking down the street, she quickly swaps the tee for a white vest trimmed with black lace, all dignity restored. It’s a small gag, but it perfectly captures Amanda’s desperation to curate herself at all times.
Her clean style is a fragile shield that slips whenever real life intrudes. And that’s what makes it work. Sundus Abdi
‘A woman so consumed by grief that she can barely dress herself’
If you’ve seen the journalistic killer thriller The Beast in Me, you’ve probably noticed its broad-stroke approach to character names (Aggie Wiggs just trips off the tongue), the absurdly big houses (never has an upstate broken-pipe-dream of a mansion felt so dingy), and Nile Jarvis’s over-dyed hair. But the standout “set piece” is Aggie’s wardrobe.
In almost every episode Aggie (Claire Danes) wears a button-down shirt, carrot pants and an ill-fitting man’s jacket, so tightly buttoned she can barely put her hands into the pockets – yet is compelled to stuff them in because, if you hadn’t guessed, Aggie is a woman in retreat from her own life. This is the sort of costume design I appreciate. All that Pulitzer money, all those Long Island boutiques, all those trips into Manhattan – and yet she can’t buy a jacket that fits! No matter that it’s damp all the time, a pair of clogs for her morning shuffle will do! In one early episode, she doesn’t even change out of her pyjamas for the whole day.
The show is absurd. The plot is maddening. But in our Emily in Paris world, with its box-fresh costume changes, it’s heartening to see a woman so consumed by grief that she can barely dress herself. Morwenna Ferrier
‘Morphs from public authority figure to understated power dresser’
Grace’s customary look when on the beat in BBC’s Belfast police drama Blue Lights? A kepi cap and furrowed brow. But outside the bottle-green of her PSNI uniform, our blonde-bobbed moral crusader morphs from public authority figure to understated power dresser. She wears lots of shirts. At home she wears a silk utility blouse with the sleeves rolled up – structured, but a dusty pink with a scalloped collar for a soft, feminine twist. In another scene she gives younger colleague Annie advice in a blue-and-white-striped button-down.
Grace (Siân Brooke) usually teams her shirts with high-waisted, wide-legged trousers. Hands in pockets, she’s giving Katharine Hepburn energy. And, as a millennial in her 30s, you’d have to prise that French tuck from Grace’s cold, dead waist (v relatable).
Other times, she’s rocking knits. A homely, ribbed cardigan when in pastoral care mode; wrapped up against the sea breeze in a grey chunky fisherman’s sweater underneath a navy wool peacoat. Practical but stylish, sensible but sophisticated. But Grace is not afraid of colour or embellishment; she finally snogged Stevie while wearing a burnt orange double-breasted bouclé car coat. A bold look for a bold moment.
Did she wear a Canadian tuxedo to a party in Belfast? Sure. But I will always stick up for double denim, and it’s not an arrestable offence. Grace may only be a rookie peeler, but she’s holding her own next to Hercule Poirot and Jane Tennison in the style stakes. Hannah Jane Parkinson
‘This is 2025-era Boom Boom informed by the Silicon Valley AI dollar’
It’s a depressing time to be watching a show about the operatically extravagant lives of the 0.000001%, but Loot – at least for its first two seasons – is an absolute joy. Succession this is not.
The fun being had with billionaire-mocking in this Apple TV+ show is exemplified in Molly’s wardrobe. The cuckquean, “nouveau riche”, gurning, insensitive, ridiculous character is played with glee and comedic prowess by Maya Rudolph. Her dogs are called Mary-Kate and Ashley, and her clothes have the confidence of someone who was recently awarded $87bn in a divorce settlement. They are full of wild joy, vivid colour and fabrics – silks, satins, feathers and ostrich – fit only for a life with easy access to a fleet of rainbow-coloured sports cars.
Molly turns up to her first day of work at the philanthropic foundation she didn’t know she owned wearing the same style of pink satin Peter Pilotto suit that Beyoncé wore in her Apeshit video. She wears a Vampire’s Wife dress the costume designer described as “the colour of money”, enough matching La DoubleJ to fill all the Ferraris of Milan and an embarrassment of luxury labels: Gucci, Lanvin, Taller Marmo, The Row. Patterns blare, feathers hoot and ruffles honk; this is 2025-era Boom Boom, not informed by the Wall Street extravagance of the 1980s but by the Silicon Valley AI dollar. It’s an orchestrated, brash and excessive look that feels quite panto, in a Bel-Air kind of way.
It is, categorically, not the sort of thing I would ever wear. But in this context, where fictional billionaires leverage fictional sway with fictional money, it makes utter sense, and I salute it. Ellie Violet Bramley
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