This personal reflection is part of a series called Turning Points, in which writers explore what critical moments from this year might mean for the year ahead. You can read more by visiting the Turning Points series page.
Turning Point: The 2025 global runway season confirmed a seismic shift toward maximalism, as fashion collections featured a dramatic increase in hyper-textural and oversized silhouettes.
Maximalism, the kind I believe in, isn’t just about adding more; it’s about revealing more. It’s the art of the avant-garde, of excess, but in a way that expresses your own sense of authenticity. Where some people might dismiss maximalism as gaudy, I see its purpose. Through color, texture, vibrancy and large silhouettes, it plays directly into character building. It is about storytelling. You are showing the world more of who you are.
As a designer of gender-fluid clothing built for the individual, I see maximalism not as a trend, but as a necessity. It allows space for every body, gender and fantasy. It allows us to feel more like our true selves, which we can then share with the world.
Fundamentally, I believe people crave depth. We’re searching for genuine vulnerability and transparency — for an unfiltered story. In an age of endless social media feeds, this search now manifests as a collective shift away from the glossy, perfected narrative carefully built and curated by public relations firms. Instead, we are turning toward authenticity.
My creations are designed to take up space, both physically and visually. There is nothing shy or self-effacing about them, no hiding in a crowd. They’re utterly unapologetic. Quiet luxury is the polar opposite, a way of showing your status to the few people who will recognize that your understated sweater is actually insanely expensive. Sure, it’s classy. But all it tells you about a person is what they can afford, not what excites them, not who they are. This is where modern maximalism offers a rebellion. It’s far more accessible, and it’s not about the label. It’s about being playful.
And, in a world where I see people’s rights being eroded, blending in can feel uncomfortably close to being silent. Perhaps there is something in us all that wants to push back and fight for our right to take up the space we deserve. Suddenly, being bright and bold with your clothes is no longer just a style choice. It’s a way of breaking barriers and changing how people see you.
When you look at fashion and clothing historically, people with status and power made sure you knew it, not just from the expense of their fabrics but from their “more is more” approach. I love looking at historical portraits for inspiration. It’s maximalism at its finest. Take the Elizabethan courtiers who wore lace ruffs, gold brocades, pearl earrings, silk tights, medallions and ermine capes. Too much? Not enough! Add a bedazzled codpiece to the mix. Iconic.
There is something in the tactile nature of maximalism that serves as a powerful antidote to our increasingly digitized lives. We’ve grown comfortable and insulated, seeing the world through the sterile ease of a screen. When I make a demi-couture gown for a client, it is a direct response to that.
A fitting example of this is the gown I created for my dear friend Demi Moore for the 2024 Met Gala. It was a labor of love and tactility, requiring thousands of hours of hand embroidery to create an incredible floral scene taken from archived wallpaper, by the British company Fromental. We then juxtaposed the flowers with the texture of black peacock herl and rich silk velvet. The team in my London studio made everything by hand. This is the opposite of the easy option from a rack; it’s a scrumptious, labor-intensive process through which I want my clients to discover who they are. I want them to reclaim themselves.
That journey of self-discovery through the act of creation is something I first experienced as a child. Growing up, video games and television simply weren’t allowed in my house. My mom would tell me, “Go put on a play, go put on a little performance,” and by 9, I was sewing and draping the gold curtains from the guest room into a togalike gown. In those little performances, I really found who I was. And that’s what I think is happening now, beautifully: People are rebelling against the sameness and starting to say, “I don’t want to look like everyone else. I want to look like me, in all my complexity.”
In addition to how we dress, how we decorate our homes is another area where maximalism is having its moment. I’m not talking about an eight-car garage and 14-bedroom house; I’m talking about celebrating the space you have. As someone who lives in an apartment in London, I’ve been able to do a lot with a small space. When I wake up in my bedroom, I’m completely enveloped in what I call my queer forest: a rolling scape of mossy groves in vibrant fuchsia, burnt orange and indigo, with intricately hand-embroidered bees and swallows tufted into the hand-painted moiré silk wallpaper. This wallpaper comes together under a blue lacquered ceiling, where a Murano glass chandelier of wild and delicate flowers dances above. Surrounding myself with such rich textures, colors and hues puts me immediately in a space of exuberance, and I go into my day with intention. I take pride in living a fantastical life, and I want everything in my home to bring me joy.
Maximalism isn’t about people asking, “Does this look good?” The question should be, “Does this feel like me?” And when the answer is “Yes,” and the look is loud and wild and over the top in the most fabulous way, that is where I see the future. That is where I want to be. Because, in a world that so often tries to make us smaller, quieter and more digestible, the most radical thing you can do is show up fully, unapologetically and extra as hell.
Harris Reed is a British American fashion designer known for his gender-fluid, romantic clothing designs.
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