Clothes are testimony.
A suit says, "I'm safe." Leather says, "I'm not." A white shirt says, "I want to be forgiven." A wrinkled shirt says, "I've already been through it." Wardrobe isn't decoration. It's litigation. Every stitch argues a case.
Fashion photographers understood this long before social media turned "style" into an algorithmic loop. Newton used wardrobe as threat and permission at once: tailoring as power, nudity as confrontation, heels as punctuation. Demarchelier made wardrobe feel inevitable—never screaming, always speaking. The clothes didn't distract; they clarified.
Modern AI tools can generate wardrobe boards instantly—reference clusters, palette matching, era accuracy, supplier suggestions. Great. Use them. But the real work isn't generating options. The real work is selecting the one wardrobe logic that matches the character's psychology.
Not "sexy." Why sexy? Is it armor? Is it bait? Is it rebellion? Not "powerful." What kind of power? Earned? Inherited? Stolen? A blazer can mean competence or it can mean performance, depending on how it's worn, how it fits, how the subject touches it when they think no one is looking.
If your work is broody but sexy, wardrobe should carry contradiction: elegance with a bruise. Precision with a hint of damage. Hopeful nihilism is a white shirt under a black coat—purity trying to survive inside a world that wants it dirty.
The body is the first set. Wardrobe is the script written on it. Treat it like evidence.