Welcome to 'The Velvet Hour'

I’ve gone back and forth trying to decide how I wanted to open up this column—how to introduce the place I’m coming from when I’m writing reviews or sharing thoughts on music, pop culture, and fashion. It’s an invitation, in a way, to step into the lens through which I see the world and how I make sense of it. As I wrestled with where to begin, I kept returning to the idea of taste—how we develop it, who holds it, what it even means, and where it comes from. Taste feels elusive, abstract and deeply personal, influenced by the people we meet, the experiences we gain, and the shifts we must deal with along the way, whether good or bad.

This year especially, I’ve found myself contemplating my own sense of taste and noticing how much it has evolved. I changed jobs, left the city, and spent considerable time adapting to a new reality—a period of upheaval that tends to nudge us toward new preferences, new interests, and new perspectives. In music, for instance, I’ve felt myself drawn toward pop more than ever, exploring artists and sounds I might have dismissed before. Having Brat as the soundtrack of my summer was unexpected, but even more surprising is how its influence has continued into fall; a season when I usually stick to darker, slower, moodier music, rarely straying from my usual R&B projects. Instead, this season’s playlist has been filled by the newest pop princess, Sabrina Carpenter, and FKA Twigs (also Ariana Grande, but that’s nothing new). There’s something freeing about pop that feels especially powerful during times of uncertainty, and maybe I’ve just given into the wave of “recession pop,” or maybe it’s the influence of Jack, my coworker at the Fashion History Museum, whose love for pop music has definitely rubbed off on me.

My relationship with fashion has undergone a similar evolution. Working in fashion, handling vintage pieces daily, has made me reconsider the value of quality and timelessness. It’s one thing to admire a well-made piece, but when you begin to understand the context—what led to a garment’s creation, the trends, societal shifts, or economic turns that birthed it—you start to appreciate the craft and history of fashion a little more. I find myself leaning into a more thoughtful approach to fashion, where I have a better eye for detail and quality, and I’m trying to incorporate that into my own exploration of fashion. I’m now seeking more vintage, well-constructed pieces for my wardrobe, even though finding them can be difficult when you’re 6’2” with a size 11.5 shoe…

These new influences have undoubtedly shifted my taste, but the foundation of my perspective—the guiding principles that shape my critical lens—remains unchanged. Much of my degree was spent writing through lenses of feminism, anti-racism, queerness, and anti-elitism, and these frameworks continue to anchor my thoughts. I’m often critical of art, not to dismiss its creativity, but to explore its awareness of the world it inhabits. I believe art has a responsibility to acknowledge the context in which it exists. While not every project needs to be drenched in social commentary, I feel there’s a responsibility for artists to hold a level of awareness—to consider the social climate and the cultural forces that shape their work. Ignoring this can feel, not only irresponsible, but a missed opportunity to push forward–something that we need now more than ever.

So, as I open this column, I invite you to join me here; a place to question what we consume, celebrate projects of excellence, and examine the ones that fall short. I expect this space will be messy (hopefully in a way that’s charming,) and grounded in the critical admiration I have for music, art, fashion, and all things cultural. Taste, after all, is an ever-evolving exploration, both personal and shared, and I hope this column can capture a bit of mine.

-Liam