This Post Means Nothing

I've found myself questioning not just the industry, but my place in it. Reflecting on validation, performative conversations, and why writing on your own terms might come at a cost.

Before We Start

If you’re enjoying Duchump and want to help keep it going, please consider subscribing. Here are a few of my latest posts:

This Designer Is Quietly Creating A Buzz in Menswear Right Now

Patience, Process, and the Everyday: Kartik Research & Vowels AW26

I Lost My Luggage Going to Men's Fashion Week

I Think, Therefore I Tastemake

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Your subscription helps keep this project alive and independent. My goal is to offer menswear coverage that feels grounded, honest, and human — without filters, or selling out.

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General Thoughts + Opinions

Let’s rip the band-aid off — it’s hard being a menswear writer in this space right now, and my experience at Paris Fashion Week left a sour taste in my mouth.

I’m sure many of you share this same pet peeve, but watching people perform a kind of casual grandiosity purely for validation is unsettling. The number of times I tried to have a genuine conversation during brief pauses in the madness only to be met with zero reciprocation, or any form of base-level human interaction, was absurd. I could’ve had more meaningful exchanges with Sonny from iRobot than with most of the people I met in Paris.

It was all about the next best thing: what you’re wearing, who to look out for, and isn’t that so-and-so standing behind you? I remember asking someone how they were doing while walking through Le Marais, and as they were mid-response, they quite literally shut me out to talk about new brands they’d seen. Not even to me, but to the person next to them who was also there for work.

Have we completely stripped the human element out of fashion — even at a boots-on-the-ground level, in simple conversations over a drink?

And when it comes to Substack, I’m starting to understand what people mean when they say the platform is becoming one giant ad — despite having no actual ads on the dashboard. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to no longer be seeing ads for big titty mangas (still not sure how those ended up there) on the socials I use, but it’s becoming intolerable how much of the platform is dominated by Top 50 Watches or 30 Brands You Should Look Out For type of content.

As a reader, it’s exhausting watching people churn out the same top brands lists or things you need to buy now framed as insight, and convincing themselves it’s groundbreaking, or even helpful, when they function more as a clean expression of capitalism.

For brands, that brief dopamine hit of seeing your name featured in someone’s post is real, but it’s fleeting. It’s a small burst of attention that often comes at the cost of your life’s work being reduced to two sentences or a four-second clip. I’ve already written about this in pieces like I Think, Therefore I Tastemake and Fashion Bros, but it’s still jarring to see people pump out post after post, mispronouncing designers’ names, nodding along in conversations with that unsettling twinkle in their eye — knowing they’re already converting your work into content.

And listen, I’m not exempt from this. I’ve been spending a lot of time reflecting on my own impact in fashion, however small that may be. Platform (and other things in life) size doesn’t matter as much as we like to pretend it does. Every voice, no matter how big or small, carries weight, and can have consequences.

If you haven’t noticed, I’ve been intentionally steering away from the kind of content I was making earlier on, because it started to feel hollow. That work often read like short ads disguised as writing, optimized for attention and subscribers. I’ve been trying to be more mindful about how I share this knowledge with you, leaning into critiques, opinions, and thoughtful pieces instead of another “hey, buy this sweater.”

Seeing this style of content become the norm has been nauseating, and PFW only amplified those feelings. Watching people flex garments for approval, or chase meetings with brands they know will rile people up in this Noah Johnson-approved, Blackbird Spyplane-heavy era of menswear — an era that is, unfortunately, spawning and attracting some pretty insufferable people.

I remember trying to set up a hang with someone, and when it finally happened, it felt painfully one-sided. Less about conversation, more about what do you have for me? What information can I extract for my next post?

(Note: What I found most fascinating was that nearly every designer I met was genuinely lovely. I often ended up spending over an hour in their showroom, which — while throwing off my schedule — felt refreshing. Connecting with people like Bella of Wright + Doyle, John of De Dam Foundation, Gi Tae Hong of Gajiroc, Kevin and Tíscar of Tíscar Espadas, Lea Boberg, and Sophie of Untitled Showroom to name a few, reminded me why I enjoy this work in the first place: thoughtful, generous conversations with people who are actually kind and sweet.)

On the other side of that coin, you see genuinely good writers publishing thoughtful round-ups, interviews, and features — and suddenly you’re left questioning your place in all of this. What’s my purpose if the same thing is already being said? What more do I have to add if three others have already covered it?

Paid subscriptions, something I’m genuinely grateful for, can also quietly warp your relationship with your work. Once they start rolling in, there’s pressure to stick to a formula, to keep feeding whatever’s working. Before long, you’re writing for people instead of writing as yourself, slowly losing the authenticity that drew those readers in to begin with.

Maybe the trade-off for writing freely — without performance — is losing part of the audience you once had. For those trying to turn this into a livelihood, how do you actually win here? The jury’s still out, I guess.

I don’t know. It feels silly letting something so superficial make me feel this existential about my interests, about what I do — but here we are.

I watched World on a Wire last night, and Playtime a few months back, and both films oddly mirror what Fashion Week, and speaking to fashion content creators, can feel like: hollow, circular environments filled with conversations that go nowhere. People moving mechanically through systems they barely question, repeating gestures until everyone feels exhausted, confused, and strangely empty.

This whole thing feels sideways. I don’t have a neat conclusion to wrap it all up, just a growing certainty that if I’m going to keep doing this, it has to be on my own terms. Slower, more intentional. Because if everything becomes just content, then nothing actually means anything anymore.

Those are my thoughts for today, on this gorgeous Sunday afternoon. Until the next post, I shall be hanging out in the Astral Plane. There’s more PFW, and general menswear, coverage coming soon.

Sidenote: A genuine highlight of the week was grabbing coffee with Peter Sherno. Having a real, unguarded conversation after days of noise and posturing was grounding in a way I didn’t realize I needed.

Additional Sidenote: Eugene Rabkin kinda gives old man yells at cloud energy.

Final note: Are there any Black/Latin writers covering menswear? I genuinely feel like an outlier here, and I’d love to connect with more creators of colour working in this space.

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