El fin de la función: moda hecha para el scroll y no para los cuerpos

Design is, by definition, the process of preliminary mental configuration—or “prefiguration”—that precedes the search for solutions to make a product both useful and attractive. Under this premise, design should be a bridge between human necessity and aesthetics. However, in contemporary fashion, that bridge has been broken. The industry has stopped seeking solutions for the body and has begun to design exclusively for the interface.

In this new era, “prefiguration” no longer occurs with anatomy in mind, but rather the algorithm. Fashion has undergone a radical mutation: it has stopped being designed for human movement and has started being designed for the scroll. It no longer matters if a bag is ergonomic or if a jacket allows one to bend their arm; what matters is whether a piece is capable of stopping our thumb for half a second. It is the era where brands have stopped dressing bodies to start decorating pixels.

This physical disconnection becomes evident when we observe pieces that look more like a film prop than a garment. Dior’s Dracula bag is the perfect symptom: an object with a visual load so dense that it nullifies the wearer. It is not an accessory to accompany an outfit; it is an “object-character” that demands absolute protagonism in the photo. But Dior is not alone in this tactical delirium. We see it when JW Anderson forces us to carry a rigid resin pigeon in our hand—a bag without handles or flexibility that turns us into luxury taxidermists for the sake of a like.

In this ecosystem, the human body has become a secondary element, almost an inconvenience. We no longer design for humans who walk, sit, or sweat. We design for “content statues.” How else can one explain MSCHF’s Big Red Boots? Boots that ignore the anatomy of the ankle, require external help to be removed, and transform the act of walking into a cartoon parody. Or the Loewe shoes that imitate Minnie Mouse’s feet, altering human proportions to the point of absurdity. They are pieces that, once outside the camera frame, lose their raison d’être. They are, in essence, anti-fashion: clothing that hates movement.

Even when bordering on the invisible, such as MSCHF’s micro-bag (smaller than a grain of salt), the message is clear: utility is dead. If even the desire to use it doesn’t fit in the bag, what are we buying? We are buying the viral nature of the unboxing. It is a transaction where we sacrifice physical comfort for digital social capital. We are accomplices in an industry that rewards “impact per second” over durability or craftsmanship.

Although brands like Prada are steering toward an “era of effort” or an aesthetic of real wear and tear, the mainstream market remains hungry for the hyper-visual. We are caught in a contradiction: we want to feel like we are buying something with “soul,” yet we keep chasing the object that looks best under the smartphone flash. As long as the success of a collection is measured in shared reels rather than years of use, we will continue to be merely flesh-and-bone racks for accessories that live much better in the cloud than on the street.