What ‘Euphoria’ gets right about style and identity
There are shows that influence fashion—and then there are shows that become it. “Euphoria” sits somewhere in between. Not because it predicts trends, but because it understands something more specific: Style is unstable. It changes when you change. It reacts to pressure, trauma, growth, and regression.
And after years away, the upcoming season is not just about plot. It is about who these characters are now—and how that shows up in what they wear.
Because in “Euphoria,” clothing has never just been aesthetic. It’s also about emotional evidence.
Rue Bennett: Emotional dressing recalibrated
Take Rue Bennett for example. Before, her style existed almost in opposition to fashion itself. Oversized hoodies, worn-in tees, sneakers—always layered, always dark, always slightly removed. There was no interest in being seen. If anything, her clothing functioned as armor. Less expression, more protection. She existed outside the visual spectacle everyone else seemed to participate in.
Now, that same survival mode feels sharper. The silhouettes may not dramatically change—still casual and grounded—but there is a shift toward intention. Layered basics that feel chosen rather than default. Sneakers that look less incidental. A kind of “scavenger styling” that suggests she is piecing herself together rather than disappearing completely.
It is not a transformation. It is a subtle recalibration.
Lexi Howard: From observer to observed
Then there is Lexi Howard. Previously, Lexi dressed like an observer. Cardigans, simple silhouettes, practical pieces that allowed her to move through spaces without drawing attention. Her style was understated, almost invisible—but never careless.
It felt intentional, just quiet. Like someone more interested in documenting the world than participating in it.
Now, she has stepped into that world. Working in production, her wardrobe shifts toward secondhand, vintage, and more considered pieces. Still restrained, but more refined. There is a clearer point of view. She is no longer dressing to blend in. She is dressing as someone who understands how images are constructed.
Cassie Howard: Soft turned exaggerated glamour
Cassie Howard, on the other hand, has always dressed for perception. Before, it came through softness. Pastels, florals, delicate fabrics—ultra-feminine, almost fragile. Her style felt coded for approval, shaped by the gaze she wanted to attract. And when that shifted, so did her wardrobe. Mirroring others, especially Maddy, became part of how she tried to define herself.
Now, that instinct has not disappeared. It is intensified.
The aesthetic leans further into a kind of exaggerated glamour—pin-up, bombshell, hyper-curated femininity that borders on performance. Everything feels slightly overdone. Slightly too polished. Like she is constantly trying to outdo an idea of someone else.
The difference is that it no longer feels soft. It feels desperate.
Nate Jacobs: Controlled curation
With Nate Jacobs, the shift is less emotional on the surface—but just as telling. Before, his style was controlled to the point of rigidity. Polos, neutrals, structured fits. Clean, traditional, almost sterile. There was no room for experimentation, which meant no room for vulnerability.
Now, that control translates into something more aligned with status. Designer-heavy, particularly pieces from Bottega Veneta, his wardrobe leans into quiet expense. Still clean, still composed, but with a stronger emphasis on image. Bold colors sit next to neutrals. There is a subtle ’90s influence.
It is less about repression. More about power.
Maddy Perez: Winning attention and winning rooms
Maddy Perez has always understood power through clothing. Before, it showed up in hyper-feminine precision. Bodycon dresses, matching sets, sharp silhouettes, perfect hair. Everything was calculated. Dressing was not just about looking good—it was about dominance. Control. Presence.
Now, that energy is evolving.
Working in more elevated, industry-adjacent spaces, her wardrobe shifts toward something more polished and contained. Tailored pieces, refined silhouettes, a quieter kind of confidence. Access to higher-level fashion—couture, archival references—starts to show, but without excess. She is no longer dressing to win attention. She is dressing to win rooms.
Jules Vaughn: From hyper-feminine fantasy to ambiguity
And then there is Jules Vaughn. Her earlier style was built on a kind of hyper-feminine fantasy—bright colors, experimental silhouettes, a sense of play that felt almost otherworldly. But even there, it carried an undercurrent of uncertainty. Identity was something she was actively constructing.
That construction has started to unravel. Her style shifts toward something more ambiguous—looser silhouettes, layered textures, vintage influences, muted tones replacing neons. Less about performance, more about questioning. It feels introspective, slightly disjointed, and intentionally unresolved.
Now, that trajectory moves further. Darker palette. More minimal. Less playful. There is a sense that she is stepping away from the version of femininity she once performed—or at least interrogating it. The styling becomes quieter, but heavier in meaning.
On how fashion reacts to identity
What “Euphoria” gets right—and what makes its fashion feel so culturally specific—is that it does not treat style as a fixed identity. It treated it as something reactive. People do not dress the same after things happen to them. They do not evolve in straight lines. Some refine. Some unravel. Some repeat the same patterns, just louder.
And the show reflects that. The upcoming season will not just introduce new looks. It will show the after-effects—the subtle shifts, the overcorrections, the pieces that stay, and the ones that disappear.
In “Euphoria,” the most telling thing is not what a character starts wearing. It is what they cannot let go of.
