It’s no surprise I’ve been left for last —let’s be honest, we all knew exactly what decade I was going to talk about. There’s no mystery here. I’ve been name-dropping the ‘80s in almost every Substack entry like it’s my personal sponsor. Subtle? Never. Consistent? Always.
I’m in love with everything about the 80s. Not just the underground culture—the post-punk shadows, the synths, the make up, the rebellious glamour—but also the explosion of pop culture in all its neon glory. It was a decade that managed to be careless and romantic at the same time, full of drama, energy, and unapologetic fun. Extravagance wasn’t just accepted —it was expected. Being noticeable wasn’t a side effect; it was the point.
So did someone call my name…
BLITZED AND BEAUTIFUL
If the 80s had a heartbeat, mine synced perfectly with it—and its rhythm was played on a synthesizer in a fog-filled club. When I think about the music that shaped this era for me, my heart immediately goes to the New Romantics and the Blitz Kids. This wasn’t just a music scene—it was theatre, it was performance, it was drama.
Born inside London’s Blitz Club, the Blitz Kids were less a scene and more a secret society of style prophets. They didn’t just go out—they descended into nightlife looking like characters from a yet-unwritten sci-fi opera. And the soundtrack? Ultravox, Visage, Japan, Duran Duran.
What set this movement apart wasn’t just the sound or the looks —it was the blur. The beautiful, deliberate blur of gender, time, and identity. The New Romantics didn’t want to be boys or girls, past or future—they wanted to be something other. Androgyny wasn’t just tolerated; it was the dress code. Makeup, frills, cheekbones, and mystery—this was an era where to be ambiguous was to be powerful. One of the most legendary expressions of this was i-D’s cover with Scarlet. That cover wasn’t just photography—it was a statement. A declaration that identity could be fluid, performative, and defiantly elegant. Scarlet wasn’t playing a character; Scarlet was the moment.
And speaking of unforgettable: let’s talk about Ronny. My eternal female crush. A French model turned singer, she glided into the scene like an alien from a more stylish planet and vanished just as mysteriously. No one really knows where she went—but her legacy lives on in whispers and vinyl. Listening to The “Blue Cabaret” is like being swept into a melancholic dream you never want to wake from. She wasn’t a star in the traditional sense—she was an enigma. And those are the ones who stay with you the longest.
It was an era that gave permission to embody fantasy. To invent yourself nightly. To be strange, soft, bold, and beautiful —all at once. And I’ve never recovered. Nor do I want to.
POWER SHOULDERS AND POWER FANTASIES
Let’s be honest: fashion in the 80s didn’t whisper—it shouted. Everything was dialed up to the maximum. Shoulders? Sharp enough to cut glass. Fabrics? Shiny, sculpted, or shimmering. Silhouettes? Dramatic enough to warrant their own soundtracks.
This was a decade when clothing wasn’t just about looking good—it was about commanding attention. Fashion became a form of theater, and designers became directors of their own dreamworlds. There was structure, there was seduction, and above all, there was confidence—real or performed, it didn’t matter. The body was being reshaped, reimagined, and reclaimed.
And no one understood this better than three of my ultimate fashion deities: Jean Paul Gaultier, Claude Montana, and Manfred Thierry Mugler. They didn’t just make clothes—they built armour for fantasies. Each of them created a universe where the body could transform, dominate, and mesmerize.
Jean Paul Gaultier
If the 80s were a stage, Jean Paul Gaultier was the ringmaster—flamboyant, fearless, and always having more fun than the rest. Everything about him said: don’t take fashion too seriously—unless it’s seriously fabulous.
In his 1984 “Boy Toy” collection, Gaultier gave the humble Breton sailor top a glam revival, pulling it out of seaside clichés and turning it into a sensual, rebellious uniform for men. Stripes were no longer just nautical—they were naughty.
And then there was the corset. The iconic cone bra corset, first seen on the runway and later immortalized on Madonna’s Blonde Ambition tour. It was equal parts armour and seduction, challenging every idea of what femininity could look like.
In 1985, he flipped the script again with the "And God Created Man" collection, playing with menswear in a way that felt completely fresh. Think skirts for men, sheer tops, pinstripes reworked with elegance and irony. Gaultier wasn’t predicting the future—he was already living in it.
And just when you thought he couldn’t get more iconic, he dropped "How To Do That"—his very own pop single. With a surreal, high-energy video that’s part runway, part fever dream, part self-parody, Gaultier proved that his universe wasn’t confined to the atelier. It was everywhere—from catwalks to clubs to TV screens.
Claude Montana
“Claude Montana,” The New York Times declared in 1985, “is to big shoulders what Alexander Graham Bell is to the telephone.” But unlike some of his contemporaries, Montana was arguably the least camp of the 80s power players. He wasn’t interested in spectacle for spectacle’s sake. The drama was in the cut.
His silhouette became the most talked-about look in Paris—not for rhinestones or theatrics, but for the way it redefined proportion. The real surprise? It wasn’t built on padding or structure. As one critic put it: “It’s all in the fabric... the design.” Broad at the top, sharp at the waist, narrow at the hips—his shapes were almost the inverse of Dior’s New Look, but the spirit couldn’t have been further apart. There were no flowers here. No soft femininity. Just power, edge, and a cold kind of sensuality.
Montana’s world was leather, control, and a quiet kind of rebellion. His taste leaned more toward the hard-edged and transgressive aesthetic of Tom of Finland. Fun fact: for a time, he shared an apartment with Thierry Mugler.
Manfred Thierry Mugler
My personal favorite? Always Mugler. A trained ballet dancer and acrobat, he brought that physical intensity to fashion—every garment choreographed, every runway moment staged like the final act of an opera set in outer space.
Dubbed a man of the future, Thierry Mugler didn’t just design clothes—he engineered fantasies. He transformed everyday women (and supermodels alike) into space-age vixens, latex-clad divas, and glittering superheroines with sculpted hips and impossible shoulders. PVC, chrome, plastic, fur, scales—no material was too much, no silhouette too exaggerated.
His aesthetic fused sci-fi with classic 80s codes—broad shoulders, cinched waists, sharp tailoring—but always with a “Mugler twist”: imagine a power suit made of latex, or a cocktail dress that looks like it was forged in a cosmic forge.
And the drama? Unmatched. Who could forget Inès de La Fressange strutting down the runway in head-to-toe white fur… flanked by two matching poodles? It wasn’t just a fashion moment—it was a Mugler moment. Spectacle as religion.
SUMMER DRESSING À LA 80s (BUT MAKE IT ME)
Let’s be honest: if you've read any of our previous style Substacks (you should have!), you already know—there's always at least one look that feels like it just time-traveled from the 80s.
This time, though, it’s summer. And while the ‘80s may have been all about razor-sharp tailoring, power shoulders, and heavy fabrics, I’m not out here layering brocade jackets in 35-degree heat. So this season’s looks are my interpretation —lighter, airier, with the spirit of the decade rather than its full uniform.
It’s the essence of the ‘80s, shaken with my own flavour: a hint of New Romantic melancholy, a touch of glam camp, and a whisper of pop ecstasy. A slight homage with humidity in mind.
DRAWN TO EXCESS
Before Instagram feeds and digital lookbooks, fashion dreams lived on paper. And in the 80s, those dreams were louder, longer-limbed, and infinitely more fabulous.
Fashion illustration in this era wasn’t about realism—it was about mood. Attitude. Fantasy. The drawings were exaggerated, theatrical, and utterly glamorous, capturing the spirit of a garment even more than the garment itself. Legs for days. Shoulders like cliffs. Cheekbones that could cut glass. These weren’t people—they were fashion deities.
Illustrators weren’t just documenting style—they were creating whole worlds. It was about seduction, movement, and sheer visual drama. The kind of image that made you want to become the sketch.
Let’s have a look at the holy trinity of 80s illustrated glamour:
First, there’s Antonio Lopez—the godfather of illustrated seduction. His work was electric and full of life. He captured movement like no one else: wild hair, bold limbs, and that unmistakable 80s energy. He didn’t just draw models—he drew muses. Jerry Hall, Grace Jones, Tina Chow. The pages practically danced. Antonio turned fashion into a living, breathing thing, even on still paper.
Then came Tony Viramontes—sharper, moodier, with eyes like daggers and mouths that never smiled unless they were plotting something. His women were fierce, graphic, unforgettable. Think thick strokes, sculptural hair, brutal elegance. They we rent’s just confident—they were untouchable.
And then there’s Patrick Nagel—clean lines, white skin, black hair, crimson lips. His women were cool, composed, and untouchable. More synthetic than sensual, like mannequins with secrets. Most famously immortalized in Duran Duran’s Rio cover, Nagel’s style became an icon all on its own.
Overall, these artists didn’t just illustrate fashion—they elevated it, pushed it into new dimensions. Their women didn’t walk—they prowled, slinked, stared you down from the page. And somehow, even in ink, they left behind the faint smell of expensive perfume and danger. That’s the kind of woman I admire!
SCENT OF A DECADE
If you’ve never been chased through a moonlit alley by a saxophone solo and a bottle of cologne, have you really lived through the 80s?
Fragrance ads in that decade weren’t just commercials —they were mini blockbusters, often more dramatic than the actual movies of the time. There was always wind. There was always fog. Sometimes a panther. Always a woman in silk slipping out of a limo. And let’s not forget the voiceovers —deep, mysterious, vaguely European, promising a scent that could change your life (or at least your night).
The Rive Gauche ad for Yves Saint Laurent? A masterpiece. A woman alone at a Paris café, legs crossed, eyes saying, don’t even think about it. A voice whispers “Rive Gauche” like it’s both a threat and a love letter. Instant chills. Instant icon.
And then there’s Denim for Men. Oh yes. Equal parts testosterone and aftershave. A sweaty man, a disoriented woman, possibly in the desert, definitely in love. The tagline? “For the man who doesn’t have to try too hard.” Sir, you just wrestled a horse and lit a cigarette off a volcano. Come on, dude!
On the other end of the spectrum was the genius of Serge Lutens, whose work for Shiseido was so ahead of its time it might as well have been beamed in from a stylish alien planet. Surreal, poetic, and gorgeously unsettling—his ads were like perfume dreams directed by Jean Cocteau after one too many absinthes.
In the 80s, perfume wasn’t just something you wore—it was something you became. An aura. A persona. A plot twist. And honestly? I still want to live inside one of those ads.
LIVING ROOMS AND LUCITE DREAMS
If ‘80s fashion was about taking up space, ‘80s interior design said: hold my champagne flute. Think Memphis-style explosions of color, zig-zag sofas, neon squiggles, glass bricks, and chrome everywhere. Watch Danny DeVito’s house in “Ruthless People” and you’ll understand—it’s like a geometry teacher and a casino had a baby.
But the ‘80s weren’t just maximalist fever dreams. Enter the other side: sleek, restrained, and very serious. Minimalist interiors, where everything was beige, off-white, or steel. A good contrast? Try the icy, clean lines of Patrick Bateman’s apartment in American Psycho—a masterclass in sleek minimalism, where every object had a purpose and nothing dared to clutter the calm.
Do you want a break to skip 10 years ahead?
No matter the style, though, there were always plants. So many plants. Ferns, rubber trees, spider plants—it was practically a jungle in every upscale living room. And if you were really winning at life? You didn’t just have a living room. You had a bathtub in it. Preferably sunken. Preferably surrounded by mirrors.
The ‘80s didn’t ask why -they asked why not?
COMING-OF-AGE GOLD (WITH A SIDE OF FANGS)
The 1980s was absolutely thriving with coming-of-age brilliance. Whether you were crying in detention with The Breakfast Club, swooning over Lloyd Dobler’s boombox in Say Anything, or watching Andie stitch her dreams together in Pretty in Pink, these films understood teen longing like no other. And Ferris Bueller? He didn’t just skip school —he made it an art form.
But the ‘80s didn’t stop at teen drama. They also served fangs, fog, and fabulousness. Horror movies like The Lost Boys, Near Dark, and Fright Night delivered a delicious mix of supernatural style, campy charm, and just enough menace to keep you sleeping with the lights on. The eyeliner was thick, the vampires were hot, and the danger always came with a killer one-liner.
And through it all? The soundtracks. From Tangerine Dream to Yello, the music wasn’t just background —it was the atmosphere. Moody, pulsing, romantic, weird —every synth note and sax solo felt like it was scoring your most cinematic teenage moment.
The ‘80s didn’t just give us movies. They gave us scenes. And we’ve been quoting them —and dressing like them— ever since.
Ooooh yeah,
Valisia
Love it 🖤