The Taste Gap: Fashion’s Most Protected Privilege

A reflection on how privilege—not talent—still decides who gets to chase a creative career

I keep seeing TikToks from kids attending the Vogue Summer School—an exclusive program run by Condé Nast that’s supposed to train the next generation of fashion’s brightest minds. And I’m sorry, but a lot of their outfits are... genuinely bad. Not “bad” in a bold, intentional way. Not bad like early-career Margiela or punk rebellion. Just disconnected. Confused. Uninspired. The kind of bad that happens when someone’s never actually had to develop taste—just proximity.

And that, to me, is the clearest visual proof of what fashion still runs on: access, not instinct.

Let’s be real. In most major fashion spaces—especially institutions like Vogue—you don’t always get there because you’re overflowing with vision or originality. You get there because you were already adjacent. Your last name gets you the email back. Your summer in the South of France becomes your “aesthetic.” Your parents know someone who knows someone, and suddenly you’re in the room.

And when access is the price of entry, taste becomes optional.

That’s why you meet interns and assistants at massive fashion houses who are dressed like they’re cosplaying creative direction—with no thread of intention, no understanding of silhouette, no eye. That’s how you end up with corporate fashion offices that feel like echo chambers—everyone dressed in a version of “cool” they were told was correct, but none of them building a new language. Because they never had to.

Now, here’s the part I need to say clearly:
I’m not exempt from this.

Even someone like me—who’s worked hard, who’s built something real, who’s put in the hours, the styling jobs, the unpaid labor—I still had a safety net. I had parents who supported me through and after college. I knew, deep down, that if something went wrong, I’d be okay. That kind of invisible privilege changes everything. It gave me space to take risks. To explore. To say no to things that didn’t feel aligned. That’s not a small thing. That’s everything.

And not everyone has that.
Most people don’t.

There are creatives out there who are just as hungry, just as visionary, just as skilled—but who don’t have anyone backing them. No financial safety net. No family connections. No extra time to experiment because they’re working two jobs and doing their real work after midnight. They’re styling shoots with borrowed clothes, filming content in natural light because they can’t afford gear, building vision boards on Canva because Adobe is $60 a month.

And still so many of them have better taste than half the people getting paid to be in the room.

Because they had to develop it. They had to study. Build references. Learn texture, silhouette, shape, pacing. They didn’t inherit access. They built discernment. And that kind of taste doesn’t come from status. It comes from paying attention.

So no, this isn’t just about bad outfits.
It’s about the lie we keep telling in fashion—that if you’re good, you’ll make it. That this industry rewards vision. That it’s democratic now.

It’s not.
It’s still deeply classist. It still hands out seats based on relationships. It still confuses lineage with talent.

If we want fashion to actually evolve, we have to stop pretending it’s fair. We have to stop applauding mediocrity in expensive clothes while overlooking people with real perspective just because they don’t come with a reference attached. We need to look at who’s being elevated, and ask—are they saying anything? Or are they just good at getting in the room?