Is Trend-Centric Dressing Ruining TV Characters?

It is with some bashfulness that I will admit I was obsessed with Gossip Girl growing up. It’s a ridiculous show—and always has been. But as a teenager in the 2000s, it was everything I aspired to as a 14-year-old growing up in Bangalore; this glossy, Upper East Side life in New York where money was no object and everyone was gorgeous. It set the bar for a lot of ‘inspired’ shows that tried to get that element of easy sex appeal the show had just right. But it was a task many failed at because they didn’t understand the one core thing that Gossip Girl did—its characters.

Sure, the show had the advantage of being set against the backdrop of Manhattan’s elite; but it didn’t just use wealth and access as a crutch. The characters had money; but they also had personal style—one that came through in every thoughtful outfit that the series’ costume designer Eric Damon put together for his characters; Blair Waldorf’s tailored prep, Serena Van Der Woodsen’s luxe-boho, Chuck Bass’ suits and cravats—even Jenny Humphrey’s transition from ‘basic’ to goth girl over the seasons. The clothes were fabulous, but never there ‘just because’. You couldn’t swap Blair and Serena’s wardrobes without them looking ill-fitting on either.

The same can be said of several shows from the late 1990s to 2010s decades. Sex and the City developed a distinct style for each of its core four, having the most fun with Carrie Bradshaw’s outrageous outfits that made sense for Carrie’s outrageous fashion sense.

 Mad Men, The Good Wife, The Marvellous Mrs Maisel; stylish shows in the 2000s and 2010s managed to be stylish and smart, using great fashion to build the characters they wanted us to love. They were stylish because—not despite—their characters. “Rachel from Friends came from money, and always had a sense of quiet luxury about her, while Phoebe’s kookiness and life on the streets came out through the thrifted pieces she wore,” says pop culture writer Salva Mubarak. “Both characters’ arcs can be tracked through their wardrobe, with Rachel’s style becoming more tailored, while Phoebe’s kitchiness turning boho-chic as she gets older and makes more money.”

For Celebrity Stylist Divyak D’Souza, shows like Kath & Kim and Will & Grace stand out. “The costuming added so much to the characters. Kath and her daughter Kim were rife with that ’80s pop energy; exaggerated, borderline tacky. They made you laugh before they said a word. Karen Walker from Will & Grace was this juxtaposition of gold-digging, right-wing rich and big-hearted all; a cocktail of strange characteristics that made her potent comedy, brought out with her hairpieces, and slutty Manhattan housewife outfits,” she says. The characters of these stylish shows were stylish—each with unique personality traits drawn out through the right dress, print or accessory.

And then, Emily in Paris happened.

Perhaps it’s unfair to blame one show for the demise of character-centric costume design—but it definitely seems to demarcate a ‘before’ and ‘after’ in the timeline. The show, centres around American Emily Cooper who finds herself in showrunner Darren Star’s problematically stereotyped version of Paris for a year on work. The show, meant to explore her life adjusting to this new country and its culture, is—and I repeat—not a show set in the world of fashion. Sure, it is about a luxury PR firm—but we see them handle a range of clients. There is no excuse for the outrageous (and expensive) dressing on the show, especially when you consider how much the characters would actually be paid (an estimated $46,980 for Emily) versus her clothing budget ($76,795 approx). The irony that this comes from the same creators as Sex and the City especially is surprising.

“Here’s the thing—the high-wattage designer wardrobe worked for Sex and the City (the original, not the bloated spin off), because there was substance there,” says Mubarak. “In most shows today, especially shows like The Royals [Netflix, 2025] or Emily in Paris, the clothes outshine the plot. If people are only talking about the wardrobe, then there’s clearly something missing. Half the time, during Emily in Paris, I focused more on her clothes than what was going on in her messy life.” She cites Korean dramas as the worst offenders. “The girl could be the poster child for poverty—one misstep away from living on the streets—but she would have a Van Cleef Alhambra around her neck and a Gucci sweater on her back. There are, apparently, no rules.”

D’Souza identifies this as a leaning toward maximalism over character-focussed styling in shows of that genre now because it’s an easy way to ‘grab attention’. “It’s about using ‘it’ pieces and trending designers to create a moment of Instagram virality—possibly even just the creators trying to have fun with fashion—and the characters can get lost in the bargain.” And they do. The difference in the last half-decade is palpable; and a big part of that problem is trying to create ‘an aesthetic’.

When I think of some 2025 shows that aimed for an ‘aesthetic’—Netflix’s The Royals, the Sex and the City spinoff And Just Like That, even The White Lotus Season 3 (controversial though that opinion might be)—it feels like the characters suffered for it. The popsicle-hued palate of The Royals chose to drip with over-the-top modern-regal opulence costume instead of driving forward a character’s narrative through costume (though Ishaan Khattar’s Aviraaj Singh may’ve come close if he hadn’t spent sixty percent of his screentime shirtless for the female gaze). And Just Like That took characters who were so well-crafted through their clothes in the 1990s and traded them in for pretty outfits (and sometimes, in Carrie’s case, cultural appropriation). The White Lotus once had sharp character costuming—think Sydney Sweeney’s ‘woke’ rich girl Olivia, dressed in a mix of luxury and vintage pieces, or Jennifer Coolidge’s eccentric Tanya and her printed scarves and big sunglasses. But season three, though stylish, was far less character-centric in its quest to create an overall palate of loud luxury.

This is definitely a direction several shows that want to be seen as visually appealing are taking, but there are some notable exceptions. Succession is sharp, sleek (and perhaps single-handedly responsible for the fervour around ‘quiet luxury’), but deliberate in the way it dresses each of the Roys and their corporate coterie. Euphoria branded a shiny violet hyperreality that quickly became an internet obsession, but it didn’t treat character costumes as interchangeable; you’d never catch a grungy Rue in Maddie’s cut-out co-ords or preppy Lexi in her sister Cassie’s curve-accentuating candy hued looks. Netflix’s Sex Education is a visual treat that has fun with the character’s wardrobes without trend service; think Maeve’s hoop earrings, fishnets and leather jackets, Jean Milburn’s understated, fitted jumpsuits, or Eric’s neon-rife outfits that often paid homage to his Nigerian roots.

If you look closely, the one thing each of these shows has in common is good writing. “At the end of the day, a stylist works with a script. Some OTT shows are only focussed on being on-trend or glamorous, while others will have characters with a sense of style that has been strongly crafted for them in the script already.” It’s a disparity that shows in characters like Emily Cooper, where trends supersede writing.

As a writer, it delights me to say this, but it really does all come down to the writing. The real difference between a stylish show and a ‘trendy’ show is one that chooses to be stylish through its characters. It is not an easy task to create a stylish character who isn’t totting the hottest little baby Jacquemus or a Gucci Batavia; but it’s an important one. Even shows set in ‘rich-people’ worlds need to do the work of distinguishing their characters through their wardrobe. A truly stylish show will use its characters as canvases for their personality, as commentaries on their world view. Anything less… is just lazy writing.

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