Honest Reviews

Design Style of 2026 : Horror Vacui

There comes a point in every design era when everyone collectively looks at a pristine white wall, a polite sans-serif headline, a tasteful amount of breathing space—and thinks: Yes, but what if we added… everything?

Welcome to 2026.

Welcome to Horror Vacui.

If minimalism was the calm yoga instructor whispering “less is more” while burning sage, Horror Vacui is the aunt who arrives with jewellery clinking, stories overlapping, three opinions per sentence, and a handbag full of heirlooms. And frankly? She’s far more entertaining.

Horror Vacui—Latin for fear of empty space—is the design style that refuses to let a surface go quietly into the night. No blank walls. No shy margins. No negative space lounging about doing nothing. Every inch must earn its rent.

And before you roll your eyes and mutter “maximalism again,” let’s get one thing straight: Horror Vacui is not random clutter. It’s not design hoarding. It’s intentional excess. Curated chaos. Controlled madness. Think orchestra, not traffic jam.

A Very Brief History of Filling Things Up

Humans have never really trusted empty space. Medieval manuscripts were crammed with vines, saints, demons, marginalia and the occasional angry rabbit. Baroque churches looked at simplicity and said, “Absolutely not.” Victorian homes layered rugs on rugs on rugs, just in case one rug felt lonely.

Horror Vacui has always been there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting patiently for modernism to exhaust itself.

And exhaust itself it did.

After a decade of clean grids, beige branding, “calm technology” and logos that look suspiciously identical, the pendulum has swung—hard. The world is messy, loud, contradictory, overstimulated. Design, inevitably, has followed suit.

Horror Vacui isn’t nostalgia. It’s psychological realism.

What Horror Vacui Actually Looks Like (And No, It’s Not Just Noise)

At first glance, Horror Vacui designs look busy. Stay with them a little longer and you realise they’re layered.

You’ll see:

Patterns stacked on patterns (florals arguing with geometrics, paisleys photobombing stripes)

Typography that behaves like a dinner-table conversation—interrupting itself, changing tone, getting dramatic.

Illustration, collage, photography, hand-drawn scribbles, embroidery textures, foil accents, all cohabiting peacefully

Colour palettes that refuse to whisper

Importantly, there is hierarchy. The eye is guided, not assaulted. There’s a main story, several subplots, and at least one delightful Easter egg you only notice on your third viewing.

This is design that rewards attention rather than begging for it.

Why Horror Vacui Is Having a Moment (And Why It Makes Sense)

Let’s address the obvious question: Why now?

Because minimalism has become corporate wallpaper.

Once upon a time, minimalism signalled confidence. Today it often signals fear—fear of offending, fear of personality, fear of commitment. When every brand strips itself down to neutrality, standing out requires doing the opposite.

Horror Vacui says:

We have a story. We are not afraid of complexity. We expect you to spend time with us.

In a world of infinite scroll, that’s a radical stance.

Who’s Already Doing It

India: Where Horror Vacui Never Really Left

Let’s be honest: India didn’t discover Horror Vacui. We’ve been living in it.

From temple architecture to wedding cards to textile traditions, Indian visual culture has always embraced density as richness. What’s changed is that contemporary brands are now owning it unapologetically.

Sabyasachi is the most obvious example. His brand universe—stores, campaigns, packaging, Instagram feed—is a masterclass in controlled abundance. Every object feels storied. Every corner whispers lineage. Nothing is empty because nothing is meaningless.

Many new-age Indian craft, jewellery and fashion brands are following suit—rejecting globalised minimalism in favour of maximal identity.

Globally: The Return of Personality

Internationally, fashion houses led the charge. Gucci’s Alessandro Michele era practically rewrote the rulebook, turning excess into a philosophy.

The ripple effects are everywhere—from boutique hotels that look like curated attics to packaging that feels like a collector’s item.

Even digital brands are loosening up. Websites are becoming richer, more illustrative, more expressive—less interface, more experience.

Horror Vacui ≠ Lack of Discipline (This Is Important)

Here’s where many people get it wrong.

Horror Vacui does not mean:

Throwing everything on the page and hoping for the best Ignoring hierarchy Sacrificing usability at the altar of “vibes”

In fact, this style demands more discipline, not less.

Every element must answer a question:

Why are you here? What story do you serve? Could you be removed without losing meaning?

If the answer is “yes, probably,” it shouldn’t be there.

How Brands Can Use Horror Vacui in 2026 (Without Embarrassing Themselves)

Here’s the practical bit. Clip this. Screenshot it. Pretend you thought of it.

1. Start With Story, Not Decoration

Horror Vacui is storytelling first, aesthetics second. Decide what you’re layering towards—heritage, rebellion, indulgence, craftsmanship—and let everything orbit that core.

2. Design Like a Museum, Not a Mall

Curated density beats commercial clutter. Think artefacts, not offers. Narratives, not noise.

3. Create Visual Chapters

Break the chaos into readable sections. Let the eye travel. Let curiosity do the work.

4. Use Digital Thoughtfully

On screens, Horror Vacui works best through interaction—hover reveals, micro-animations, scroll-based storytelling. Make exploration feel intentional, not accidental.

5. Packaging Is Your Playground

If there was ever a time to make packaging worth keeping, this is it. Layers, textures, inserts, surprises. Turn unboxing into theatre.

6. Contrast Is Your Secret Weapon

Dense outside, calm inside. Loud campaign, serene product shot. Horror Vacui works best when it knows when to pause.

The Pitfalls (Because Not Everything Needs More)

A quick reality check:

Clutter without meaning is still clutter. Unreadable typography is not edgy, it’s lazy. Fake heritage is instantly obvious and deeply embarrassing.

Audiences today are visually literate. They know when you’re dressing up emptiness.

So… Is Horror Vacui for Everyone?

No. And that’s the point.

Horror Vacui suits brands with:

Stories to tell

Layers of meaning

Cultural depth

Confidence

If your brand proposition is thin, no amount of ornamentation will save it. If your product lacks substance, the noise will expose it faster.

But if you have something to say—and the courage to say it loudly—Horror Vacui gives you a language rich enough to hold it.

Let’s Talk about Advertising

Specifically, the kind of advertising that looked at a clean layout, a single hero image, and a tasteful amount of white space—and decided that was all a bit… underdressed.

Because while design conferences were busy debating how much air a logo needs to breathe, some brands were quietly stuffing the frame with culture, colour, pattern, attitude, and story.

Not accidentally.

Not messily.

But with intent.

Which is where Horror Vacui sidles into advertising, adjusts its cufflinks, and says, “You rang?”

Nike

Take Nike, for instance. Now Nike can do minimalism in its sleep. A swoosh, a stare, a three-word manifesto. Job done. But when Nike chooses to go visual-heavy—especially in its illustrated and poster-led campaigns—it goes all in.

Look at the Nike posters coming out of collaborations with illustrators and studios (Boomranng Studio being a fine example).

These aren’t sparse motivational billboards. They’re layered cultural maps. Energy trails, graphic elements, motion lines, local iconography, typography that doesn’t sit politely but moves. They feel like the visual equivalent of a city at full volume. Every inch is doing work. Every inch is saying something.

That’s Horror Vacui in spirit. Not clutter, but abundance with purpose. Nike isn’t filling space because it doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s filling space because sport, culture, and identity are not quiet things. They’re noisy. Messy. Emotional. And the design reflects that.

Absolut Vodka

Then there’s Absolut Vodka, the patron saint of “let’s turn the entire ad into an idea.” For decades, Absolut has been practising a very elegant form of Horror Vacui without ever calling it that. The bottle is always there, yes—but everything around it becomes a canvas.

City series ads. Artist collaborations. Cultural references. Illustration-heavy posters where the bottle is woven into architecture, festivals, skylines, fabrics, and symbols. These ads don’t rely on emptiness to feel premium. They rely on craft. On detail. On visual cleverness. On the confidence that the viewer will stay long enough to decode what’s going on.

Absolut understood early what Horror Vacui champions today: density can be luxurious. White space isn’t the only shorthand for sophistication. Sometimes richness—visual, cultural, conceptual—is the real flex.

Coca-Cola

Coca-Cola is what happens when a brand understands minimalism perfectly—and therefore knows exactly when to ignore it.

Most of the year, Coke behaves. Red. Script. Bottle. Restraint. But the moment emotion enters the room—Christmas, the World Cup, a wedding season, a collective sigh of happiness—Coca-Cola throws open the doors and lets Horror Vacui march right in.

Look at their festive and global celebration ads. Nothing is empty. People everywhere. Lights everywhere. Red everywhere. Music, movement, nostalgia, sentiment—all layered into frames so full they feel warm. That density isn’t decorative; it’s emotional. Empty space would feel rude.

Share a Coke did the same thing at scale. Names multiplied. Shelves became visual chaos. Identity piled on identity. And that clutter? Entirely the point. People aren’t minimalist. Celebrations aren’t minimalist. Coke understood that before anyone else tried to “clean it up.”

The genius lies in control. Coke never loses itself in the noise. The logo anchors the madness. The bottle is always recognisable. You’re never confused—just comfortably overwhelmed.

Coca-Cola proves Horror Vacui isn’t about being loud. It’s about being generous. When the moment is full, Coke fills the frame and pours another round.

And then we have the broader category of ads that lean unapologetically into illustration and pattern. These are the campaigns that refuse to be a photograph with a logo slapped on as an afterthought. They build worlds. Collaged worlds. Illustrated worlds. Worlds where motifs repeat, symbols reappear, and the eye keeps finding new details like a particularly rewarding museum visit.

These ads often feel editorial rather than transactional. They don’t scream “buy now.” They whisper—or occasionally sing—“come closer.” They reward attention. And in an era where attention is the rarest currency of all, that’s not indulgent. That’s strategic.

What unites all these campaigns—Nike’s high-energy posters, Absolut’s art-led print legacy, illustration-rich brand advertising—is not just visual busyness. It’s confidence. Confidence that the audience is not stupid. Confidence that people don’t always want things simplified into beige oblivion. Confidence that story, culture, and visual generosity still matter.

That’s where Horror Vacui earns its keep in advertising.

Used badly, it’s visual indigestion. Used well, it’s world-building.

And here’s the important bit: none of these campaigns are dense everywhere, all the time. They know when to pull back. When to let the product breathe. When to let the message land. Horror Vacui in advertising works because it’s selective excess, not chaos for chaos’ sake.

So if you’re a brand wondering whether Horror Vacui has a place in modern advertising, the answer is already on the walls, in the magazines, on the posters you stopped scrolling for.

It’s there whenever a brand decides that one image isn’t enough.

That one idea deserves layers.

That culture can’t be summarised—it must be shown.

And frankly, in a world drowning in sameness, that refusal to leave space unused might just be the most intelligent thing an ad can do.

Final Thought

Horror Vacui is not a rejection of good design principles. It’s a rejection of design timidity.

In 2026, the bravest thing a brand can do is stop whispering.

Fill the space.

Tell the story.

Trust the audience to stay.

And if someone complains it’s “too much”?

Smile politely.

They were never going to linger anyway.

15 Questions You Should Ask Before Designing Anything

Design, we’re often told, is about creativity.
This is nonsense.

Design is about judgement. Ruthless judgement. Preferably exercised early, while fewer people are watching and before someone says, “Can we make the logo bigger?”

The former Chief Design Officer of Apple, Jony Ive, didn’t design by mood board or by committee. He designed by asking very good questions, repeatedly, patiently, and usually while everyone else was still arguing about colour.

So whether you’re designing a product, a piece of packaging, a poster, a website, or something destined to be printed at A0 and ignored in a corridor, here are 15 questions you should ask before you design anything at all.

1. What problem am I actually solving?

Not the brief.
Not the opinion.
Not the PowerPoint slide titled “Objective” that nobody really believes.

What is the problem?

Apple didn’t invent the MP3 player. They invented a tolerable way to use one. The problem wasn’t “music.” It was friction, confusion, and the quiet rage of software that behaved like it resented you.

If you can’t describe the problem clearly, your design will compensate by shouting.

2. Who is this for — specifically — and who can we safely disappoint?

Designing for everyone is a touching ambition and a catastrophic strategy.

Good design makes enemies. It chooses. It excludes. It commits.

Apple products are not for people who enjoy manuals. Or fiddling. Or being reminded how clever the designer is.

If you can’t name your audience in human terms — not “users” or “stakeholders” — you’re decorating, not designing.

3. Will this make sense without explanation?

If your design needs a paragraph of justification, a footnote, or a meeting, it has already failed.

Apple’s greatest achievement wasn’t beauty. It was obviousness.

Ask yourself:

Would someone know what to do instinctively?
Or would they hover, hesitate, and quietly blame themselves?

Good design feels like remembering something you never learned.

4. What can I remove without anyone noticing?

This is where design becomes uncomfortable.

Buttons vanish. Lines disappear. Text is deleted. And suddenly, the design breathes.

Jony Ive didn’t add minimalism for aesthetic reasons. He removed things because they weren’t doing enough work to justify their existence.

If an element isn’t pulling its weight, let it go. It won’t be missed.

5. Is this design being honest?

Design lies more often than we admit.

Packaging that oversells. Interfaces that pretend to be simple. Posters that shout to disguise a lack of substance.

Apple’s obsession with materials wasn’t fetishism — it was honesty. Metal should feel like metal. Software should behave like software.

If your design promises more than it can deliver, expect disappointment. And returns.

6. How will this age?

Design trends age like milk.

Ask yourself:

Will this still look intelligent in five years?
Or will it be introduced at parties as “very of its time”?

Apple avoided trend-led design because trends require explanation. Proportion does not.

Timeless design is simply design that doesn’t embarrass you later.

7. What emotion should this trigger?

Design always makes people feel something. The question is whether you’ve bothered to decide what that something should be.

Calm? Confidence? Reassurance? Delight?

Apple products don’t shout excitement. They whisper competence.

Emotion in design isn’t decoration. It’s intention.

8. Is the first interaction pleasant?

The first interaction is the design equivalent of a handshake.

Is it confident? Awkward? Sweaty?

Whether it’s opening a box, touching a surface, or navigating a screen, the first moment decides whether the user trusts you.

Delight doesn’t need fireworks. Sometimes it’s just the absence of irritation.

9. What does this say about the brand when no one is watching?

Apple famously finished the inside of products no one would ever see.

This wasn’t madness. It was messaging.

Design communicates values even when it’s hidden. Especially when it’s hidden.

If you only care when you’re being judged, users will sense it.

10. Am I designing for the user… or for applause?

Be honest.

Is this useful — or merely impressive?

Design ego is loud. Good design is suspiciously quiet.

If the design draws attention to itself rather than enabling the user, you’ve made art. Not design.

11. Does the form genuinely follow function?

Not theoretically. Actually.

Is this shape necessary? Is this layout logical? Is this interaction justified?

Apple’s forms emerged from use, not mood boards. Change the function and the form must change too — whether you like it or not.

12. Could this be simpler without becoming stupid?

Simplicity is often mistaken for dumbing down. It isn’t.

Simplicity is clarity after effort.

Ask:

Can one thing do two jobs?
Can restraint replace cleverness?
Can fewer choices improve confidence?

Complexity is easy. Simplicity is earned.

13. Is this inclusive without making a fuss about it?

Good design works for more people quietly.

Accessible. Legible. Intuitive.

Apple didn’t make accessibility features that felt separate. They made them integral.

The best inclusive design doesn’t announce itself. It just works.

14. Would I still stand by this if nobody knew I designed it?

Strip away credit. Awards. Likes.

Is the design still right?

Would you defend it years later?

Integrity is what remains when recognition disappears.

15. Does this respect the user’s time?

Time is the only thing your user truly owns.

Every unnecessary step, every confusing moment, every visual distraction is theft.

Apple respected time by reducing friction. By removing noise. By deciding things so users didn’t have to.

Respect is the highest form of design.

Final Thought: Design Is How It Behaves

Design is not how something looks.
It’s how it behaves in the world.

Jony Ive didn’t design objects. He designed relationships — between people and the things they use every day.

So before you design anything, stop. Ask better questions.

Because good design isn’t clever.
It’s considered.

Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery (2025), Netflix : Movie Review

I’ll be honest right up front: I walked into Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery with expectations so low they were practically in the church basement. I’d watched the previous Knives Out films and, while they were clever enough, they never quite knocked my socks off. So this one, now streaming on Netflix, was approached with a healthy dose of scepticism and a mildly raised eyebrow.

And then… it surprised me.

The film opens by following a young priest with a past — and not the metaphorical kind. He was once a boxer, and every now and then his fists still remember that fact before his conscience does. After one such lapse, he’s handed what feels like a gentler punishment: reassignment to another parish. Except this parish is governed — and I do not use this word lightly — by Monsignor Wicks.

Monsignor Wicks is not your warm, tea-and-biscuits-after-Mass sort of priest. He is vindictive, deeply judgemental, and appears to run the parish like a private fiefdom. From the pulpit, he breathes fire and moral superiority in equal measure. Around him is a tight-knit group of favoured parishioners, each with their own little vices, secrets, or weaknesses — all of which Wicks seems to catalogue and deploy as leverage when convenient. The faithful inner circle thrives; everyone else is subtly (and sometimes not-so-subtly) pushed out. Parish numbers dwindle, but Wicks remains firmly in control.

Caught in the middle of this moral minefield is our young priest, struggling with empty pews, regular confrontations with Monsignor Wicks, and the ever-watchful presence of Martha — the devoted parish worker who knows everything, runs everything, and frankly keeps the entire place from collapsing. (Don’t we all have a Martha in our lives?)

Then, inevitably, Monsignor Wicks is murdered.

And, equally inevitably, suspicion falls squarely on the hapless young priest — the outsider, the hothead, the one with a past that’s easy to weaponise.

This is where the film properly shifts gears. Enter Benoit Blanc, played once again by Daniel Craig, who wanders into this religious hornet’s nest armed with his drawl, his odd metaphors, and that uncanny ability to see straight through people while appearing mildly amused by them. The church setting proves to be a surprisingly rich playground for a Knives Out mystery — full of suppressed guilt, quiet vendettas, public virtue and private rot.

As the investigation unfolds, long-buried truths about Monsignor Wicks surface, alliances fracture, and every saintly face begins to look a little less holy. The film handles its twists with restraint rather than gimmickry, and for once, the social commentary feels earned rather than performative. Power, hypocrisy, moral authority, and the danger of unquestioned influence are all explored without the script shouting at you from the pulpit.

What really elevates Wake Up Dead Man is the strength of its performances, starting with Josh O’Connor as the young priest at the centre of the storm. O’Connor plays him with a simmering mix of restraint and volatility — you can feel the boxer still alive under the cassock, fists clenched just beneath the surface.

He brings real vulnerability to a character who could easily have become a stock “troubled outsider”, grounding the film emotionally while still making you wonder if he’s capable of crossing the line everyone suspects he has.

Glenn Close, as Martha, is quietly superb. She plays the parish lynchpin with the kind of lived-in authority that only she can pull off — efficient, loyal, slightly intimidating, and impossible to ignore.

She’s the sort of character who smiles while knowing everything, and Close layers her performance with small looks and pauses that suggest far more than the script ever spells out. Yes, we’ve all known a Martha — and Close makes sure you’ll never underestimate one again.

As Monsignor Wicks, Andrew Scott is chillingly effective. He resists the temptation to play the role as a caricatured villain, instead delivering something far more unsettling: a man utterly convinced of his own righteousness. His sermons drip with judgement, his private conversations with manipulation, and his presence looms over the film even after his death. Scott’s Wicks is the kind of antagonist who doesn’t need to raise his voice to dominate a room — which makes his eventual unravelling all the more satisfying.

And then there’s Daniel Craig, clearly having a fine time as Benoit Blanc. Craig leans fully into Blanc’s peculiar charm — the drawl, the oddball metaphors, the deceptively relaxed demeanour — while subtly dialing down the showboating. Here, Blanc feels less like a gimmick and more like a necessary counterbalance to the film’s darker, more serious tone. He observes, listens, nudges, and then — as ever — quietly dismantles everyone’s version of the truth.

That said, it would be dishonest not to admit that a fair few elements in this Knives Out mystery are still decidedly bizarre and occasionally over the top. Some character beats and plot turns flirt dangerously with excess, threatening to tip the film into self-parody. What saves it from going completely down the tubes is its good humour, the consistently strong performances, and above all, the inherent likeability of its central characters — particularly O’Connor’s conflicted young priest, who keeps you emotionally invested even when the plot threatens to spiral.

It’s also undeniably fun to see so many familiar faces pop up along the way. Mila Kunis, however, feels underused.

While it’s pleasant enough to see her on screen, her role doesn’t add much to the overall premise and ultimately feels more ornamental than essential — more eye candy than narrative catalyst in a film that otherwise works best when it’s digging into moral complexity rather than surface gloss.

Is Wake Up Dead Man perfect? No. It still carries some of the self-aware quirks and tonal flourishes that may divide audiences. But it is tighter, darker, and far more confident than its predecessors. Strong performances across the board anchor the mystery, elevate the writing, and give this instalment a gravitas the earlier films sometimes flirted with but never fully achieved.

I came in expecting to switch it off halfway.

Instead, I stayed till the final confession — and walked away thinking this might just be the Knives Out film that finally earns its mystery stripes.

My Secret Santa on Netflix; Movie Review The Coziest Holiday Hug You’ll Stream This Season

There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who say they don’t like cosy Christmas movies — and those who are lying to themselves. If you belong to the latter camp (or are Christmas-curious), My Secret Santa on Netflix is exactly the kind of film you curl up with when the year has been long, the nights are colder, and believing in magic feels like a perfectly reasonable life choice.

I am very fond of cosy movies. The kind where the stakes are low, the sweaters are chunky, the snow is suspiciously perfect, and you know what’s going to happen — but you’re watching anyway, like a willing accomplice. And if you are a fan of this genre, you will absolutely love this one. Especially since Christmas is just around the corner — which is really just a socially acceptable time to believe in miracles, romance, and the possibility that problems can be solved with hot chocolate.

Let’s kick things off with the biggest reason I hit “play” without hesitation: Alexandra Breckenridge as Taylor Jacobson. Ever since Virgin River, where she permanently imprinted herself on our collective consciousness as Mel, she’s become one of those actors you’ll watch doing almost anything. Is it hard to forget her as Mel? Yes. Do you try? No. You simply accept it and move on, because she brings a warmth and sincerity that makes even the most predictable plots feel oddly comforting.

In My Secret Santa, Taylor is an out-of-work single mother — formerly a rock star (of course she was) — trying to make ends meet and please her teenage daughter, Zoey Jacobson (played by Madison MacIsaac). Bills are looming, dreams are on pause, and dignity is optional. When the only job Taylor can land is dressing up as Santa at the luxe Sun Peaks ski resort, she does what any sensible Christmas-movie protagonist would do: she puts on the beard and hopes for the best.

Enter the male lead, Matthew Layne (played by Ryan Eggold), the resort manager and resident enfant terrible. Broody? Check. Emotionally conflicted? Check. Unreasonably invested in romancing a secret-Santa-clad Taylor? Double check. What follows is a delightful comedy of errors as Taylor tries to conceal her Santa identity while juggling motherhood, romance, and seasonal deception.

The plot is gloriously predictable. You will see every turn coming from three snowfalls away — and that is precisely the point. This is not a film that asks you to engage your critical thinking skills. This is a “leave your intelligence in the stocking by the fireplace” kind of watch. Suspend disbelief. Embrace the absurdity. Believe in love, romance, Christmas… and Santa.

Performances worth noting:

Alexandra Breckenridge (Taylor Jacobson): She brings heart, vulnerability, and that familiar cosy charisma that makes you root for her instantly.

Ryan Eggold (Matthew Layne): Leans comfortably into his charmingly conflicted role, managing to be both swoony and self-aware with subtle comic timing.

Madison MacIsaac (Zoey): As Zoey, Taylor’s daughter, she strikes the perfect balance — not too precocious, not painfully annoying — which is a Christmas miracle in itself.

Diana Maria Riva (Doralee the Landlady): Absolutely steals every scene she’s in — a feisty, funny force who injects the movie with extra festive energy and a bit of parental sass.

The supporting cast, from the well-meaning elf to the beleaguered landlady, adds just the right amount of chaos and charm to make My Secret Santa feel like a holiday gathering where everyone — even that one weird uncle — is welcome.

In conclusion, My Secret Santa is not trying to reinvent cinema. It’s trying to make you smile — and it succeeds. It’s sweet, silly, predictable, and unapologetically festive. Perfect for those evenings when you want to feel cosy, hopeful, and just a little bit enchanted.

So grab your fluffiest blanket, pour a generous mug of cocoa, and let this charming holiday rom-com wrap you in warmth — because sometimes the best magic isn’t the kind you find under the tree, but the kind that makes your heart feel full.

Top 5 Fashion Trends of 2026 — A Survival Guide for the Stylishly Bewildered

So here we are: 2025 ending, 2026 peeking around the corner like an overly confident stylist at a flea market. If fashion had its own weather forecast, we’d be tracking high pressure systems of nostalgia, with a few cold fronts of future-tech glam and sudden showers of raw denim. Let’s navigate this sartorial climate with the grace of someone who once mistook a scarf for a belt. (Long story.)

Without further ado, here are the Top 5 Fashion Trends in 2026 you’ll be pretending you knew all along — whether you actually did or not.

1) Romantic Maximalism — The Return of Flourish and Drama

Forget minimalist chic. In 2026, fashion is writing poetry in silk and chiffon. Think ruffles that would make Marie Antoinette nod in approval and romantic fabrics that flirt with the idea of classical art: lace, embroidery, and dreamy silhouettes everywhere. It’s like someone whispered “let’s go to the opera” and clothes just showed up.

This trend shimmers across runways like a telenovela subplot — full of emotion and three-tiered ball gowns if you’re lucky. Designers are remixing historical romanticism with a forward tilt: dramatic sleeves, ethereal layers, and frilled hems that float as if they’re auditioning for a period drama.

Why it’s fun:

It’s unapologetically exuberant. And when life gives you anxiety, at least your sleeves will be dramatic.

2) Brut Denim & Raw Authenticity

Denim — but make it honest. This isn’t the distressed denim of prior years. Oh no. This is raw, unforgiving, unwashed denim that feels like it was pulled from a pile of vintage Levi’s that survived a rock festival and a yawn.

Call it “Brut Denim”: heavy, stiff, maybe even judgmental. It’s denim that looks like it could file your taxes — and maybe scold you about your credit score. We’re talking full-on denim on denim and baggy silhouettes with an attitude sharper than your barista’s eyebrow raise when you ask for oat milk with no foam.

Why it’s compelling:

It’s authentic. It’s raw. It feels like fashion woke up and decided not to apologize for anything.

3) Collar Theater: Statement Blazers That Double as Armor

Blazers in 2026 are not your dad’s office wear. These are power shoulders, collarless elegance, and even belted blazer-dresses. They blur the line between suit and costume, chic and “who appointed you queen?” energy.

What’s happening here is a kind of Modern Aristocracy renaissance: blazers that hug your waist, broaden your shoulders, and possibly whisper “yes, I will chair the meeting, rewrite the dress code, and redefine society today.”

Pair with jeans for everyday, or with something dramatic for evening — it’s like giving your outfit its own CV.

4) Uneasy Elegance: Futuristic Color & Texture Play

If fabrics had personalities in 2026, some would be the cool kid with a laser‐etched résumé, while others would be the soulful poet wearing washed linen with a smirk. There’s a push toward washed, tactile fabrics — think linen that looks intentional in its wrinkles, as if your clothes lived a life before you.

Colourwise, we’re moving away from the dusty neutrals of the last few years and toward richer, bolder palettes — cooler hues, neon accents, and possibly colours so vibrant they require sunglasses at night. (One trend whisper suggests we might see cooler shades emerge as Pantone’s favourites.)

Translation:

Your clothes in 2026 will feel like a sensory handshake — textured, expressive, slightly unpredictable.

5) Menswear Reimagined — Tight Fits Meet Personal Expression

Here’s where fashion gets playful, and honestly a little rebellious: menswear is tightening up. Ultra-fitted pants, body-contoured suits, and tailored tees are emerging from the era of oversized everything.

Maybe it’s confidence. Maybe it’s nostalgia for the ’90s super sleek look (we see you, skinny cut revival). Or maybe men just got tired of drowning in fabric and now want their outfits to sit closer, like a stylist who actually cares. The vibe is bold — and not afraid to show a little silhouette.

My hot take:

This one is the fashion equivalent of switching from plush slippers to sleek leather loafers — your outfit says “I’ve arrived,” even if you’re just getting coffee.

Bonus Observations from the Fashion Cosmos

Before you hustle out to buy every trend piece on this list — a few larger fashion ecosystem notes worth knowing:

The fashion industry is feeling economic and cultural tensions. These influences are pushing people toward authenticity and nostalgia — think outdoor gear, camping chic, and cultural comfort clothing — along with expressive escapism.

Nails, makeup and beauty are also reflecting the playful spirit of 2026 — from dark, dimensional nail finishes to brights and bold makeup palettes. And if New York Fashion Week banning fur has anything to do with the future, sustainable innovation will be as fashionable as any runway silhouette.

Fashion Truth Bombs to Take Home (and Wear Proudly)

If 2026 taught us anything, it’s that fashion is not just clothes — it’s personality, politics, and poetry stitched into fabric.

• Be dramatic.

• Be comfy (washed linen agrees).

• Wear denim that judges complacency.

• Harness a blazer that demands respect.

• Slide into something tighter if you feel like it.

In short, next year’s trends are less about blending in — and more about showing up. With intent, with texture, with color, and maybe with a little absurdity (but the chic kind).

Hermès Launched a $200 Band-Aid (Petit H)… Because Apparently Luxury Wasn’t Bleeding Us Enough

There are moments in culture when you realise civilisation has peaked. Not in a philosophical, Plato-would-be-proud way — but in the “oh wow, we’ve officially lost the plot” way.

Enter: the Hermès Petit H Patch

Yes. Hermès. The house that makes handbags you need to put your name on a waiting list for, and also your unborn child’s name, and possibly their karma too. That Hermès. They’ve now made what is essentially a very posh sticker. A lambskin Band-Aid. A boo-boo cover for people whose childhood trauma included the horror of adhesive that wasn’t hand-stitched.

And the internet, understandably, is having the time of its life.

Now, why did Hermès come up with this?

Easy. Because someone in their petit h workshop looked at a leftover scrap of leather and thought, “Ah yes, medical cosplay.” And because petit h exists precisely for this sort of chaos — a playground where perfectly sane artisans decide the world needs a bookmark, a horse figurine, a kaleidoscope, and now… a Band-Aid that costs the same as a low-budget weekend getaway.

It’s what happens when you give creative people freedom, materials, and absolutely no adult supervision.

Whose idea was it?

Officially: the petit h team. Unofficially: I’m convinced it came from a designer who once slipped on a Lego piece, injured their ego more than their ankle, and vowed that no inconvenience in life would ever be allowed to look unfashionable again. “If I must suffer,” they whispered, “I shall do it in leather.”

And so here we are.

Let’s talk price. Because comedy deserves numbers.

The Hermès Band-Aid — a set of three removable lambskin “patches” — costs around $200 (₹17,970 if you want to feel worse). For context, that’s more than:

a tetanus shot,

a gym membership,

and possibly your dignity.

But don’t worry — Hermès describes them as “accessories for personalising everyday objects,” which is luxury-speak for “please don’t put this on your actual skin unless your epidermis has a platinum loyalty card.” These are not for wounds; these are for wounded wallets.

“Who has already purchased it?” you ask.

The usual suspects: collectors, fashion extremists, wealthy ironists, and people who treat Hermès shopping as a cardio workout. Plus the early adopters — the ones who must buy anything the moment it drops or they break out in FOMO-induced hives.

The item even briefly disappeared from the Hermès site because people were either buying it or doomscrolling so hard the page crashed.

Where can one use it?

Well, Hermès says: notebooks, suitcases, wallets, “everyday objects.”

Translation: stick it on anything except a place where it would actually be medically helpful. These are not Band-Aids; they are ambition stickers. Pretend-healing for your laptop, your diary, your emotional baggage — literally and figuratively.

Now, let’s shift from comedy to capitalism for a moment, because Hermès has quietly dropped a masterclass here.

This product — absurd, delightful, unnecessary, irresistible — proves one thing: innovative brands can create cult collectibles out of literally anything if the story is strong, the craftsmanship is real, and the audacity is absolute. And the brilliance? They can sell it at a high price to collectors and still inspire mass-market versions for everyone else.

Think about it:

unexpected object → attention

playful idea → shareability

small format → collectibility

lower price than a Birkin → accessibility

media frenzy → free advertising

It’s the modern brand formula: make nonsense, but make it premium. Then watch it become culture.

Hermès isn’t selling Band-Aids. They’re selling the punchline. The bragging rights. The delicious absurdity of owning something that makes people stop mid-scroll and reevaluate their life choices.

And honestly? I respect it. If capitalism is a circus, Hermès just became its most stylish clown.

Culture in Advertising: The Thing Everyone Mentions but Hardly Anyone Understands

You can’t swing a tote bag at a marketing conference these days without hitting someone saying, “We need to be culturally relevant.” It’s the new “synergy,” except now it comes with mood boards and a five-figure strategist who insists “Gen Z rejects perfection.” (They don’t. They just reject your brand.)

The funny thing is, most marketers treat culture like seasoning—sprinkle a bit of nostalgia, add a meme, garnish with an influencer who has a man-bun and suddenly, voilà, “cultural campaign.” Except culture isn’t garnish. Culture is the entire flaming kitchen, including that weird corner where someone’s been storing expired hummus since 2018.

Advertising loves to talk about culture, but it rarely listens to it. Culture moves fast. Agencies? They’re still waiting for the conference room TV to unfreeze from the last Zoom call. By the time a brand approves “Let’s use this trending sound,” that sound has retired, moved to Goa, and taken up pottery.

But here’s the twist: a few brands actually get culture right. And not because they have bigger budgets. It’s because they have bigger guts.

Nike — Culture Whisperer, Not Culture Tourist

Nike treats culture like a living organism—unpredictable, emotional, and sometimes inconvenient. The Colin Kaepernick “Believe in something” campaign wasn’t a gamble; it was a brand acting on decades of cultural participation. Nike has always chosen the side of the athlete who refuses to behave. Why? Because rebellion is culture.

While most brands ask, “Will this offend consumers in Sector B Segment 17?” Nike asks, “Does this matter?”
And that’s why people tattoo the swoosh on their bodies while they wouldn’t even stick most other brand logos on their laptops.

Nike doesn’t follow culture. It provokes it. It nudges it. Sometimes it karate kicks it. And culture loves them for it.

Coca-Cola — The Brand That Made Personalisation a Global Hug

And the genius? Coke didn’t assume culture is youth. Grandparents hunted for bottles with their grandkids’ names. Couples gifted each other bottles because apparently emotional vulnerability is easier when it comes with carbonated sugar.

“Share a Coke” wasn’t just printing names on bottles. If it were, every brand on Earth would be selling personalised packets of salt by now. Coke tapped into something deeper: people love seeing themselves reflected in the world. It’s cultural psychology 101.

Suddenly, a bottle wasn’t a beverage—it was a message. A wink to a friend. A flirtation. An apology. A social currency.
Coke didn’t bolt itself onto culture; it became the canvas for cultural expression.

That’s culture: inclusive, shared, and sometimes shamelessly sentimental.

Spotify Wrapped — Confession Meets Celebration

Spotify Wrapped understood one beautiful truth:
Culture today is public self-expression with a sprinkle of self-mockery.

Wrapped doesn’t judge your questionable listening habits; it exposes them with pride.
So when Spotify tells you, “You listened to 43 hours of heartbreak songs while claiming 2024 was your growth year,” you nod and say, “Accurate.”

Wrapped became a cultural ritual because it feels participatory, not performative. It doesn’t just observe culture; it creates a seasonal moment the world looks forward to. Wrapped is basically Christmas for people who think they have niche music taste but in reality listen to the same three sad songs daily.

That’s cultural orchestration, not cultural cosplay.

Zomato — The Sharpest Tongue in Indian Advertising

Zomato cracked something agencies still struggle with:
Tone is culture.

Those push notifications—playful, cheeky, sometimes borderline flirty—became a shared national experience. Zomato didn’t act like a brand. It acted like that one friend who texts you at 11 PM saying, “Order fries. You deserve it.”

Their copy felt human—no jargon, no grandstanding, no “brand voice alignment workshops.” Just culturally fluent timing, humour, and self-awareness. At a time when most brands sound like HR manuals, Zomato sounded like a person you’d actually reply to.

And the best part? They never pretended they were solving world peace. They were solving hunger and boredom, and they did it with swagger.

So Where Does That Leave Everyone Else?

In long meetings discussing “culture decks” made by people who have never stepped into a real cultural moment since college.

Culture is messy. It’s contradictory. It doesn’t wait for approvals.
It evolves while you’re still formatting the PowerPoint.

Brands shouldn’t try to own culture. That’s how you end up looking like an uncle doing a TikTok dance—enthusiastic but rhythmically confused. Brands should participate honestly, vulnerably, and without pretending they’re cool.

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth:
Culture isn’t a strategy. Culture is a mirror.
Brands that look into it honestly tend to do well.
Brands that use it only to admire themselves deserve the awkward silence that follows.

Culture isn’t something you borrow for a campaign.
It’s something you earn by not being a complete numpty.

AUDIENCE SEGMENTATION: In Marketing

INTRODUCTION: MARKETING IS EASY… SAID NO ONE WHO WORKS IN MARKETING

Somewhere in a parallel universe, marketers are calm, consumers eagerly pay attention, CTRs exceed 2%, and strategists don’t have to explain (yet again) why “Everyone is not your audience.”

But here?

In this chaotic, overly connected, occasionally delusional reality?

Marketing is a glorious mess.

Brands scream.

Consumers scroll.

Agencies panic.

Clients panic louder.

And somewhere in between, someone says the words:

“Let’s target everyone. Why limit ourselves?”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is precisely when a strategist spontaneously combusts.

If you’ve ever wondered why the marketing gods invented audience segmentation, it’s because they were tired of watching brands throw money at the entire universe like billionaires on a bender.

Audience segmentation exists to save your budget, your sanity, and your dignity.

It is the opposite of shouting.

It is whispering — to the right people — at the right time — about the right thing — in a way that doesn’t make them want to report you as spam.

This blog is your no-BS guide to segmentation.

Not the academic nonsense with Venn diagrams shaped like pastry.

Not the jargon-filled babble where “psychographic granularity” sounds like a skin disease.

No.

This is segmentation explained as if we’re in a pub, your client is three drinks in, and your job depends on making them understand why “males 18–60” is not a target audience but a police sketch.

Let’s begin.

1. WHAT THE HELL IS AUDIENCE SEGMENTATION (AND WHY SHOULD YOU CARE)?

Audience segmentation is simply this:

Dividing a crowd into smaller crowds so your message doesn’t sound like a megaphone having an identity crisis.

Imagine you walk into a stadium of 40,000 people and yell:

“HEY EVERYONE! DOES ANYONE WANT TO BUY A LUXURY DOG COAT?”

Most people will look at you the way they look at people who clap when a plane lands.

But if you walk into a park full of dog parents and politely say:

“Your dog is freezing. Stop pretending it’s fine.”

Boom.

Sales.

Segmentation is the difference between:

Marketing that feels personal and Marketing that feels like a mosquito buzzing in your ear at 2AM.

It matters because:

Not everyone wants your product. Not everyone needs your product. Not everyone should be allowed near your product.

And that’s beautiful!

It means you get to stop wasting time on people who don’t care — a concept shockingly radical for many marketers.

2. WHY MOST BRANDS SUCK AT SEGMENTATION

Let’s get one thing straight:

Marketers love the idea of segmentation.

Marketers hate the discipline of segmentation.

Here are the greatest hits of segmentation stupidity:

A. “Our audience is EVERYONE.”

If I had a rupee for every time a client said this, I could buy Cannes Lions with cash.

No product on Earth is for everyone.

Not tea.

Not smartphones.

Not oxygen — some people prefer chaos.

B. The “Age-Gender” Fallacy

“Females aged 24–40.”

Cool.

You’ve just described:

Rihanna

Greta Thunberg

Your yoga teacher

A woman plotting her ex’s downfall

And the lady who sells socks outside Andheri station

Do they want the same things?

No.

Do they behave the same way?

Absolutely not.

Will they buy the same product?

Only if you’re selling oxygen.

C. The “Income Bracket” Nonsense

“He earns 10–15 lakhs. He must be our customer.”

No, he might just be sad, lonely, confused, a gamer, a crypto bro, or saving for a 1BHK.

Income says nothing about what people want.

It only says what they can afford, not what they will spend on.

D. The Fantasy Persona

“Meet Rohan. He is 29, drinks artisanal coffee, loves sneakers, rescues puppies, runs half marathons and volunteers at orphanages on weekends.”

No, he doesn’t.

He’s fictional.

And if he did exist, he would be insufferable.

3. THE TRUTH ABOUT SEGMENTATION: IT’S NOT ABOUT DATA — IT’S ABOUT HUMAN BEHAVIOUR

Segmentation is fundamentally about why people do things, not just who they are.

Too many marketers obsess over demographics and forget:

People don’t buy products.

People buy better versions of themselves.

Segmentation is understanding that:

A 60-year-old who wants to feel young has more in common with A 30-year-old having an existential meltdown

…than two 30-year-olds who hate each other online.

Stop dividing people by age.

Start dividing them by motivation.

4. THE FOUR TYPES OF SEGMENTATION (EXPLAINED LIKE A HUMAN BEING)

Yes, academically there are four kinds.

But let’s explain them in a way your cousin who sells insurance on WhatsApp would understand.

A. Demographic Segmentation

(“Who are they?”)

Age, gender, income, education, marital status, etc.

Useful, but basic.

Like plain dosa.

Functional, but no one gets excited about it.

B. Geographic Segmentation

(“Where do they live?”)

Different places = different behaviours.

People in Mumbai buy umbrellas.

People in Bengaluru buy patience.

People in Delhi buy air purifiers and forgiveness from society.

Geography matters.

C. Psychographic Segmentation

(“Why do they behave like this?”)

Attitudes

Beliefs

Values

Lifestyle

Fears

Dreams

Secrets

This is where segmentation grows up, starts reading philosophy, and becomes interesting.

This helps you understand:

Who wants convenience

Who wants status

Who wants validation

Who wants to escape their family

Useful for many categories, especially alcohol.

D. Behavioural Segmentation

(“What do they do?”)

This includes:

Purchase frequency

Loyalty

Browsing habits

Reactions to offers

Whether they abandon carts like they abandon relationships

This one is gold.

Because people lie about who they are.

They never lie about what they do.

5. THE GOLDEN RULE OF SEGMENTATION: PEOPLE DON’T THINK ABOUT YOUR BRAND UNLESS THEY’RE PAID TO

Segmentation is simply figuring out:

Whose life you can make better

By how much

And whether they’ll give a damn

You’re not segmenting people.

You’re segmenting problems you can solve.

6. THE SEGMENTATION PYRAMID OF REALITY

There are three levels of segmentation maturity:

Level 1: The Amateur Phase (“Our audience is millennials”)

Congratulations.

You’ve identified 2.3 billion people.

Good luck.

Level 2: The Enlightened Phase (“Our audience is new parents in tier-1 cities who feel guilty about not spending enough time with their kids.”)

Now we’re cooking.

You’ve identified:

A life stage

A geography

A pain point

This is segmentation with a pulse.

Level 3: The Jedi Phase (“Parents who believe ‘quality time’ matters more than ‘quantity time’ and want guilt-free shortcuts.”)

Here you have:

A belief

A behaviour

A motivation

An emotional need

This is segmentation that sells.

7. HOW TO CREATE A SEGMENT THAT ACTUALLY MAKES SENSE

Follow this five-step process:

Step 1: Identify the real problem

Not the problem you want to solve.

The problem they actually have.

People don’t want financial planning.

They want to stop feeling like their bank account is a disappointment.

Step 2: Look for emotional triggers

Every purchase has an emotional trigger:

Fear Pride Convenience Status Love Laziness (a very underrated motivator)

Step 3: Group people by shared motivations

Examples:

“People who want to look healthier than they actually are.

People who shop online at 2AM because life is hard.”

People who pretend they know wine but don’t.”

These are actual usable segments.

Step 4: Check whether this segment has money

Without money, a segment is called a “community group,” not a market.

Step 5: Tailor messaging like you’re writing a text, not a brochure

Talk to them like they’re human.

Not like a marketing assignment.

No one says:

“I want to enhance experiential transformation.”

They say:

“I want to feel something again.”

8. THE SEGMENTATION MISTAKES EVERY BRAND SHOULD AVOID (BUT WON’T)

Mistake #1: Making segments too big

If your segment includes “people who breathe,” start over.

Mistake #2: Making segments too small

If your segment consists of 14 people in Bandra who like kayaking, maybe relax.

Mistake #3: Creating segments you can’t reach

If they live in a forest, don’t advertise on Instagram.

Mistake #4: Segmentation ≠ stereotyping

Not every woman in her 40s drinks wine and does yoga.

Some drink whiskey and scream into the void.

Mistake #5: Using segmentation as a crutch for bad ideas

Segmentation won’t save boring advertising.

Creativity will.

9. EXAMPLES OF BRILLIANT SEGMENTATION (FROM BRANDS THAT KNOW WHAT THEY’RE DOING)

Apple

Segments by mindset, not demographics.

Targets people who want to feel creative, even if the most creative thing they’ve done this month is rearrange apps.

Nike

Segments by motivation.

“You’re an athlete if you have a body.”

Boom — inclusive, inspirational, segmentation magic.

Old Spice

Segments by identity aspiration.

Targets men who want to smell like confidence even if their greatest accomplishment is ordering food on time.

10. WHY SEGMENTATION MAKES YOUR BRAND ACTUALLY LIKEABLE

When you talk to fewer people, you talk better.

When you talk better, people listen.

When people listen, they buy.

When they buy, your brand manager stops hyperventilating.

It’s a win-win.

Segmentation humanizes your brand.

It makes your message relevant.

It stops you from sounding like corporates who write sentences like:

“Our solution leverages agile synergies to maximize transformational value.”

If your brand ever writes something like that… seek help.

11. THE “SEGMENT OF ONE” MYTH (AND WHY PERSONALISATION ISN’T WHAT YOU THINK IT IS)

Some tech bros will tell you:

“The future is the Segment of One.”

No.

That’s called “stalking.”

Personalisation is good until it becomes creepy.

If your ad says:

“Hi Rajiv from Powai, how is your dandruff today?”

That’s not segmentation.

That’s a restraining order waiting to happen.

12. HOW TO USE SEGMENTATION IN ADS THAT ACTUALLY PERFORM

A. Speak the language of the segment

A Gen-Z ad that sounds like it’s been written by a board member will die a painful digital death.

B. Show them you understand their truth

A mother doesn’t want a vacuum cleaner.

She wants a home that doesn’t look like a tornado interned there.

C. Reflect their aspirations, not your QR codes

People buy identity.

Not click-through rates.

D. Make them feel seen

The greatest compliment any ad can receive is:

“This is so me.”

13. THE FUTURE OF SEGMENTATION (IF WE DON’T RUIN IT)

Segmentation won’t disappear.

It will evolve.

Expect:

AI that identifies micro-behaviours

Predictive behavioural clusters

Segments based on emotional states

Ads that adapt to your mood (terrifying, but here we are)

But no matter how advanced tech becomes…

Segmentation will always be human at its core.

Because marketing is not about impressions.

It’s about impact.

And impact happens when someone feels understood.

14. THE FINAL RANT (YOU KNEW THIS WAS COMING)

If brands spent half as much time understanding people as they do making 200-slide PowerPoints about “user personas,” the world would be full of better advertising.

Segmentation is not a formula.

It’s not a framework.

It’s not a matrix invented by someone who wears too many pastel shirts.

Segmentation is empathy with structure.

It’s psychology with purpose.

It’s saying:

“I see you.

I get you.

Here’s something that makes your life a little better.”

And if you can do that?

You won’t need to shout at the entire universe.

Your audience will come find you.

CONCLUSION: SEGMENTATION ISN’T ABOUT DIVIDING PEOPLE — IT’S ABOUT CONNECTING BETTER

Good segmentation doesn’t shrink your audience.

It sharpens it.

It doesn’t limit your reach.

It increases your relevance.

It doesn’t kill creativity.

It turbocharges it.

Because when you know exactly who you’re talking to…

you finally stop sounding like a brand talking to “targets”

and start sounding like a human talking to humans.

And that is how segmentation doesn’t just improve marketing —

it saves it!

Kantara, The Legend, Chapter 1 – Review

Now streaming on Amazon Prime

Kantara: Chapter 1 is set centuries before the events of the first film — a mythological prequel that dives into the origins of the Panjurli Daiva and the lineage bound to protect the land.

We follow Bhairava, an intense warrior bound by destiny, lineage, land, and divine forces.
The region is caught between a tyrannical feudal kingdom, spiritual prophecies, and brewing tribal unrest.

There’s a sacred conflict over who owns the forest, what the land demands, and how divine rage manifests when humans forget their place in the cosmic order. As Bhairava gets tangled in palace politics, forbidden romances, brutal battles, and spiritual calls he doesn’t fully understand, the film tries to trace how the legend of the Daiva began and why the divine-human connection in Kantara is so spiritually charged in the later timeline.

So yes — it sounds epic.
And in chunks, it is.
But… now let’s get to the actual review.

The Story Begins… and I leaned forward thinking: “Here we go!”

We open in a time long before scooters, smartphones, or even common sense. Kingdoms rise, forests whisper, and divine forces play tug-of-war with mortals. There’s a brewing prophecy, a sacred lineage, and enough atmospheric smoke to make you wonder if the set caught fire.

And honestly?
It starts off beautifully.
You think: “Yes yes YES — this is the Kantara I signed up for!”

But somewhere between the dramatic prophecies and the slow-motion swagger entries, you start noticing something… odd.

Rishab Shetty the actor? Missing. Rishab Shetty the STAR? Oh, very present.

It’s as if Rishab said to himself:
“Last time people praised my performance. This time… they MUST also praise my aura.”

And suddenly, you’re watching a man who was once an astonishing storyteller now trying very hard to be a Marvel superhero from the Hoysala Cinematic Universe.

He isn’t acting anymore — he’s posing.
He isn’t performing — he’s projecting.
He isn’t entering scenes — he’s making grand entries designed to be paused and screen-shotted.

It’s not bad… but it’s not Kantara either.
The earthy rawness of the first film has been replaced by an “I must look impossibly cool at all times” aura.

Then the histrionics begin… and my popcorn almost filed a complaint.

Now, I’m all for creative freedom.
But when a fight scene makes even a 6-year-old say, “Um… physics?” you know we’ve taken a detour.

There are leaps.
There are flips.
There are punches that send men flying like stray kites in Ladakh.
There are 3D effects that scream, “Look at me! LOOK AT ME!”

By the third such sequence, my eyes were rolling so much they completed 108 circumambulations of the living room.

At one point, I genuinely wanted to say to the screen,
“Please sir, can we get back to the actual story?”

And the humour… well…

Some jokes land like snowflakes.
Most land like coconuts.
They don’t hurt — but you do wonder why they exist.

It’s childish, oddly placed, and miles away from the subtle, authentic village humour that sparkled in Part 1.

But hang on — the second half arrives.

And suddenly…
Something shifts.
The plot grows a spine.
The world feels more connected.
There are flashes — beautiful flashes — of the magic that made the original such a cultural earthquake.

You go, “Ah! There it is. Why didn’t you do this from the beginning?”

But sadly, those moments are just that — moments.
Scattered, brilliant embers that can’t recreate the roaring spiritual fire we witnessed the first time.

Final thoughts: A visual masterpiece… missing its soul.

Kantara: Chapter 1 is stunning to look at.
No doubt.
The cinematography, the colours, the landscapes, the frames — each one is a painting.

But somewhere in the quest to build a mythological epic, the storytelling wandered off into the forest and didn’t return on time.

Rishab Shetty, the phenomenal actor-writer-director we admired, feels overshadowed by Rishab Shetty, the heroic legend who must look larger than the Himalayas.

The result?
A film that begins with promise, dazzles with spectacle, but forgets to carry the soul of the original.

Would I recommend it?
Yes — but with the same advice I give friends going on a tough trek:
“Go for the view, not the journey.”

THE 6 BEAUTY BRANDS RULING THE WORLD — AND YOUR MAKEUP BAG

WELCOME TO THE GLOW EMPIRE

Let’s be honest. You don’t simply “use” beauty products. You form relationships with them.

Your moisturiser is your emotional support animal.

Your mascara knows more secrets than your therapist.

And that liquid lipstick? It has personally witnessed every questionable life decision you’ve ever made past midnight.

But behind every cream, formula, serum and shade lies a global beauty empire — a dazzling, research-funded, celebrity-powered machine that whispers to you from glossy shelves:

“Come here. Glow with us. Don’t worry about your bank account.”

Today, we’re diving deep into the Top 6 Beauty Brands in the World, the ones who rule not just your bathroom shelf, but entire continents. We’ll uncover:

Who they’re owned by

How long they’ve been dominating the beauty world

Which countries they’ve conquered

Their brand positioning

Signature products and differentiators

Taglines

How they advertise

Buckle up, beauty lovers — the glow train is leaving the station.

🌟 1. L’ORÉAL PARIS — THE EMPRESS OF EVERYTHING

The French goddess of scientifically perfect pores

Who owns it?

L’Oréal Group — the Beyoncé of beauty conglomerates.

Age:

Born in 1909.

Yes, she’s 116 and still looks like she drinks collagen shots for breakfast.

Presence:

Found in 150+ countries, including probably that tiny island no one can pronounce.

Brand positioning:

Accessible luxury with science-backed superiority.

The vibe is: “I’m premium, but I also live at your neighbourhood mall.”

Differentiators:

Breakthrough formulas and patented molecules

Celebrity ambassadors with hair shinier than your future

4,000 scientists working to make sure your skin looks like it’s been photoshopped

Tagline:

“Because You’re Worth It.”

(And because we know you’ll buy it anyway.)

Advertising vibe:

Picture this: A woman standing on a cliff, wind blowing through her hair like she’s summoning the gods of glossiness, whispering words like “hyaluronic” with emotional intensity.

Why she rules:

Because she’s everywhere — drugstores, airports, supermarkets, duty-free counters. If Earth had an embassy in space, it would sell L’Oréal.

🌟 2. ESTÉE LAUDER — THE PRESTIGE PERFECTIONIST

The American matriarch of moisturised magnificence

Who owns it?

Estée Lauder Companies — also the proud parents of MAC, Clinique, Bobbi Brown, La Mer… basically every brand ever recommended by an expensive dermatologist.

Age:

Founded in 1946 — 79 fabulous years of taking wrinkles very personally.

Presence:

In 150+ countries, and probably in the boudoirs of royalty.

Brand positioning:

Classic luxury with scientific credibility and rich-aunt energy.

Differentiators:

The iconic Advanced Night Repair Formulas that feel expensive because they are a legacy that could give the British monarchy a complex

Tagline:

“Bringing the Best to Everyone We Touch.”

(Slightly unsettling, but we respect the ambition.)

Advertising vibe:

Soft-focus camera, gold lighting, violins, elegant women gently touching their faces like they’re made of moonlight.

Why she rules:

Because Estée Lauder sells not products — but hope.

Hope that you can glow through your problems.

Hope that fine lines are a choice.

Hope that 4 hours of sleep can look like 12.

3. CHANEL BEAUTY — THE COUTURE DIVA

Luxury so iconic it has its own gravitational field

Who owns it?

Chanel S.A. — a private, mysterious, fabulously wealthy empire.

Age:

Started in 1910, making her the original It Girl of beauty.

Presence:

In 100+ countries, but emotionally present in every luxury lover’s wallet.

Brand positioning:

Timeless Parisian elegance.

Chanel isn’t selling makeup — she’s selling a lifestyle. A black-and-white, perfectly symmetrical lifestyle.

Differentiators:

That instantly recognisable packaging

Cult fragrances

Makeup textures smoother than your last love affair

Tagline:

No official tagline, but spiritual essence:

“If you have to ask the price, darling, it’s not for you.”

Advertising vibe:

Black. White. Dramatic shadows.

Models who look like they eat pearls for breakfast.

Why she rules:

She is the fashion world’s deity. Wearing Chanel makeup makes you feel like the main character in a French art film — even if you’re actually stuck in traffic.

4. DIOR BEAUTY — THE PETAL-SCENTED DRAMA QUEEN

The couture botanical fantasy we can’t resist

Who owns it?

LVMH — the Vatican of luxury brands.

Age:

Born in 1946, she’s been booked and busy ever since.

Presence:

In 110+ countries, especially wherever elegance is considered a sport.

Brand positioning:

Artistic luxury meets floral science.

The brand whispers: “Why walk when you can float?”

Differentiators:

Rose-infused skincare that smells like a garden

Makeup that blends smoother than gossip in group chats

Fragrances that smell like they cost tuition fees

Tagline:

“Dior. Joy.”

Advertising vibe:

Petals. Water. Natalie Portman running in slow motion.

Everything is just so dramatic — and we adore it.

Why she rules:

Dior has mastered the art of making you feel like applying lipstick is a spiritual ceremony.

🌟 5. MAYBELLINE — THE PEOPLE’S PRINCESS OF BEAUTY

Affordable glam for the masses — and the TikTok generation

Who owns it?

L’Oréal Group (again — they collect brands like infinity stones).

Age:

Founded in 1915 — 110 years of serving lash drama.

Presence:

In 120+ countries, including your nearest supermarket.

Brand positioning:

Trendy, youthful, high-impact beauty for the everyday girl who wants to look snatched on a budget.

Differentiators:

Viral mascaras that should have their own passport

Affordable products with premium performance

TikTok domination

Tagline:

“Maybe She’s Born With It. Maybe It’s Maybelline.”

The line that launched a million memes.

Advertising vibe:

Fast cuts, loud music, big lashes, athletic jumps, dramatic eyeliner wings.

Why she rules:

Because Maybelline understands the economy, your wallet, and the struggle of wanting glam without the guilt.

🌟 6. PROYA — THE CHINESE DISRUPTOR TAKING ON THE WORLD

The rising giant with innovation in its veins and confidence in its packaging

Now, let’s talk about the brand that’s shaking up the global beauty hierarchy with the swagger of a prodigy who knows she’s about to steal the show.

Who owns it?

PROYA Cosmetics Co., Ltd — China’s homegrown powerhouse.

Age:

Founded in 2003 — a youthful 22-year-old overachiever.

Presence:

Strong in Asia, rapidly expanding into global markets, especially Southeast Asia, Middle East, and Europe.

Brand positioning:

Science-driven, youthful, innovative, proudly Chinese, modern, bold.

Differentiators:

Advanced marine and biotech-based skincare

Sleek aesthetics that feel premium without being pretentious

Gen Z community culture + social-first marketing

Constant trending moments on Douyin, Xiaohongshu, Weibo

Tagline (English campaigns):

Often variations of “Proya — Fearless Beauty.”

Advertising vibe:

Modern, clean, bold, conceptual.

Imagine: futuristic labs, empowered youth, emotional storytelling, and sometimes a dragon (China has range).

Why she rules:

Because PROYA is no longer “China’s big beauty brand.”

It’s a global contender, a disruptor challenging the Euro-American monopoly — and succeeding.

CONCLUSION: THE BEAUTY EMPIRES THAT RULE US ALL

Whether you’re a luxury maximalist or a drugstore darling, a science geek or a glam addict, these six brands have shaped the way the world defines beauty.

L’Oréal makes science sexy.

Estée Lauder makes luxury emotional.

Chanel makes beauty an identity.

Dior makes drama desirable.

Maybelline makes glam accessible.

And PROYA — bold, brilliant PROYA — makes the future exciting.

In a world obsessed with glow, these are the empires lighting up our shelves, our screens, our feeds… and occasionally, our bank statements.