She wore it like it didn’t matter.

A narrow strip of tortoiseshell, perched on top of a crown of blonde hair.

A simple Charles Wahba headband, purchased quietly from C.O. Bigelow in Manhattan’s Greenwich Village, which opened as a true apothecary in 1838.

Now, decades later, there are lines outside C.O. Bigelow again.

Thanks to Ryan Murphy’s ‘Love Story: John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette’, flocks of women are queuing up outside C.O. Bigelow to buy the headband in an effort to “get the CBK look.”

But the truth is, they can’t.

Because what made the headband iconic was not the object itself, but what it carried with it – an association with a specific woman, in a specific time in 90s New York.

Nineties minimalism was not so much a trend, so much as a way of moving through the world. In every photograph the paparazzi managed to steal of Carolyn – whether she was walking her dog, doing cartwheels at the Kennedy compound, or stepping into a gala in one of her Yohji Yamamoto dresses – there was a kind of authenticity that could not be manufactured.

She looked real. Lived in. And her clothes felt like an extension of a life already in motion, rather than something assembled for the masses.

The irony of modern style culture is that, for all its talk about individuality, it is built on replication.

“Steal her look.” “Build her wardrobe.” “How to dress like Carolyn.”

There is now an entire ecosystem dedicated to Carolyn Bessette – curated Pinterest boards and Instagram accounts cataloguing every coat, every skirt, every pair of sunglasses she wore, as though proximity to the object might offer proximity to the woman herself.

What these tributes often pay little regard to is the girl behind the clothes.

Who was the girl behind the tortoiseshell headband?

Carolyn Bessette grew up in sleepy suburban Connecticut, the daughter of a public school teacher. She studied education at Boston University.

Her entry into fashion was nothing out of the ordinary. She started on the shop floor at Calvin Klein in Boston. It was on the shop floor that she began to develop the sense of style that she would later be known for.

She moved into public relations, eventually climbing the ranks to become a senior publicist at Calvin Klein in the 1990s, at a time when the United States had entered into an economic recession and the bold, shoulder-padded excess of the 80s suddenly felt too loud.

Calvin Klein was quietly setting the visual language of modern minimalism. As Lisa Marsh, author of The House of Klein: Fashion, Controversy, and a Business Obsession, says, “Calvin Klein’s era of minimalism was a sign of the times. History remembers this era as one that is an antidote to ’80s maximalism. No one will ever don a simple slip dress without, consciously or unconsciously, saying a little thank you to Calvin Klein.”

In that context, the headband made sense. Simple, yet practical.

Now, search for “tortoiseshell headband” online, and thousands of results appear. But what is being traded is not the headband itself. It is the association with Carolyn’s style.

Which begs the question: how far does the law go in protecting personal style, and more importantly, taste?

Where the law draws the line: why personal style resists ownership

In the eyes of the law, a tortoiseshell headband is unremarkable.

A tortoiseshell headband sits almost entirely outside the boundaries of intellectual property law protection in Australia.

It is unlikely to attract meaningful copyright protection. Copyright law in Australia protects original works of expression, not ideas, not style, and not functional objects as such.

For protection to arise, there must be an original artistic work that reflects independent intellectual effort. A tortoiseshell headband, as a mass-produced, functional accessory, does not readily meet that description. There is no identifiable artistic expression in the object itself that copyright is designed to protect.

It is neither new nor distinctive, and therefore unlikely to satisfy the threshold for registrability under the Designs Act 2003 (Cth) (Designs Act).

Under the Designs Act, a design must be “new and distinctive” to be registrable. A design is distinctive if it is not substantially similar in overall impression to any prior design (the “prior art base”), as judged through the eyes of the informed user. An “informed user” sits between a casual consumer and a design expert.

Viewed through that lens, a tortoiseshell headband is unlikely to meet the threshold. The form is already well established: a slim, curved band, worn pushed back from the face, typically in acetate or plastic. These features dominate the overall impression and have existed in the prior art base for decades. Any variations in tone, finish or thickness are minor and do not meaningfully alter that impression.

And so, dupes circulate freely. Near-identical versions are produced across price points, from fast fashion to boutique labels.

The question, then, shifts to the consumer. What protects them from ordering what they think is a piece of fashion history and instead receiving a plastic torture device?

Under the Australian Consumer Law (ACL), a seller must not engage in conduct that is misleading or deceptive, or likely to be misleading or deceptive. Nor can they make false or misleading representations as to origin, endorsement or authenticity.

The prohibition applies even if there was no intention to mislead or deceive. A seller cannot suggest that a product is the same item worn by Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy, nor imply any form of affiliation that does not exist.

A seller may trade on aesthetic resemblance, but not on false provenance. It may say “in the style of”, but not “as worn by”. But it cannot assert a history it cannot prove. It can invite comparison, so long as it stops short of making a claim it cannot substantiate.

So why then do we still want to buy it?

While Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy’s headband was never distinctive in design, it was distinctive in context.

And so, you can purchase the headband, wear the black turtleneck sweater and don the mid-calf Prada boots.

But, despite the insistence of fashion magazines and TikTok creators, you cannot “steal her look”.

What you cannot acquire is the thing that made it so coveted in the first place: her taste.

Taste, in this sense, remains entirely unprotected. And entirely out of reach.

Screenshot That is a series by Chloe Mo that explores iconic fashion pieces from film, television and cultural history that live rent-freee in your mind long after the scene ends, and unpacks each item’s cultural significance and the legal issues that sit behind it.

The post On Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy & Identity: The Girl Behind the Tortoiseshell Headband appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

The Depop Deal: Why eBay Went All-In on Secondhand Cool

eBay, the auction house grandpa of e-commerce, just dropped $1.2 billion cash for Depop- a mobile-first app that’s basically an Instagram-laced thrift store. Depop’s stats show 7 million active buyers and 3 million sellers, with 90% under 34 (primarily Gen Z and young Millennials). Its U.S. GMV neared $1 billion in 2025, up 60% year-over-year. So why pay a premium? Because consumer wallets are voting with their feet (or thumbs in this instance) toward resale.

Fast fashion is losing its grip, and we can clearly see that with new green regulations, sustainability-focused fashion laws, etc. Post-pandemic, Gen Z paused impulse-buying Shein hauls. Instead, they’re hunting Depop for vintage Levi’s or indie streetwear that screams “me.” eBay’s fashion GMV already tops $10 billion annually (growing 10% YoY), but Depop injects fresh blood, sort of proving that the shift to circular spending is mainstream. Maybe eBay is admitting that people spend where value meets vibe?

Decoding Gen Z Wallets: The Real Why Behind the Resale Obsession

Let’s talk consumer behaviour 101: Depop users aren’t casual browsers. They log in daily, flipping pre-loved gems for profit, clout, and conscience. 39% of young shoppers hit social commerce for secondhand last year, per reports, drawn by affordability (items under $50 dominate), uniqueness (no duplicates in your feed), and eco-brags (“I saved a tee from landfill”). I can personally attest to the same, noting that my Screen Time on Vinted averaged 19 hours per week. 

And marketing’s cracked the code: TikTok lives and Insta Reels turn hauls into social proof. Gen Z spends 2x more time (and cash) on resale than legacy sites, prioritising self-expression over status logos. This comes after a shift in consumer behaviour following the slow death of micro-trends. People want to be more authentic instead of chasing every small trend that will cause a dent in their wallet. Compared to eBay’s older crowd chasing deals on toasters, this demo is fashion-forward, sustainability-savvy, and fickle. And the acquisition is hard evidence that spending habits are pivoting. Resale’s hitting $53.7 billion globally by 2026, growing 11% CAGR. People aren’t necessarily cutting back, but priorities have shifted in a world where inflation rises more than our jeans, so people are redirecting dollars smarter.

Culture Clash Incoming: Can eBay Keep the Gen Z Magic Alive?

Depop’s sauce was the social-first feeds, seller follows, and community chats. eBay’s a powerhouse, but it feels like a digital flea market. Post-deal, eBay vows to run Depop as a standalone brand, adding shipping perks and Authenticity Guarantees, which is smart since Gen Z loyalty hinges on feeling seen, not sold. But if you botch the culture? I guarantee users will bolt to Vinted or Poshmark.

From a consumer lens, this tests behavioural glue: People spend where they belong. Marketing that force-feeds corporate polish kills it (incoming rant on IRL marketing and influencer fatigue). 72% say secondhand stigma’s gone, but vibe dilution revives it. And eBay’s challenge is to prove they get the social job-to-be-done: not just transact, but participate in trend ecosystems.

Recommerce Battlefield: Depop’s Secret Weapons in the Mix

Resale’s on fire, projected to hit a massive $367 billion by 2029, growing twice as fast as the whole apparel world. You’ve got ThredUp, Poshmark, and The RealReal scrapping for every sale, but Depop? It’s got this killer Gen Z edge with its streetwear obsession and creator collabs, and now paired with eBay’s global muscle, they’re building a total powerhouse. The roadmap’s stacked: AI-powered recs that nail your style, cross-listings to flood more eyes, and influencer drops that’ll have everyone buzzing.

And the real proof is in how we’re shopping. Nearly 60% of folks are already planning secondhand splurges this year, chasing those affordable gems, the thrill of the treasure hunt, and that feel-good planet-saving vibe. Heck, even Boomers are jumping in. This deal just shines a spotlight on the big spending shift: with 38% of us tightening belts amid economic pinches, resale’s the ultimate hack: stylish, budget-smart, and zero guilt. Platforms that mix that social discovery magic with rock-solid trust in authenticity? They’re the winners. eBay’s move says it: consumers are all-in on brands riding this circular wave.

eBay’s Full Gen Z Playbook: Depop’s Just the Opener

This grabs the headlines, sure, but eBay’s not stopping at Depop. They’re stacking the deck with a whole playbook to win over Gen Z. Think anti-counterfeit AI that sniffs out fakes before they hit your feed, super-personalised recommendations that feel like they read your mind, and cosying up to influencers who actually get the vibe.

And honestly, it makes total sense. Consumers are done with knockoffs; surveys show 69% of us will ghost a site the second we spot something shady. Throw in those slick TikTok glow-ups to amp up the fun factor and sustainability badges that let you flex your eco-cred without even trying.

Depop just proves the whole thesis: spending’s evolved into this perfect mix of social buzz, planet-friendly choices, and straight-up savvy moves. And fast fashion? That’s so yesterday’s news; it’s out, and this circular wave is where the real party’s at.

The post eBay’s Depop Acquisition: A Smart Move or a Desperate Grasp for Gen Z? appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

This is the first investigation of its kind by a European regulator. It will not be the last.

What actually happened

The Autorità Garante della Concorrenza e del Mercato, Italy’s competition and market authority, did not send a letter. It sent investigators. Officials from the AGCM, along with officers from Italy’s financial police, the Guardia di Finanza, physically inspected the premises of Sephora Italia, LVMH Profumi e Cosmetici Italia, and LVMH Italia on Thursday, March 26. The Friday announcement followed those raids.

The AGCM said the investigations centre on possible unfair commercial practices linked to the premature use of adult cosmetics by children and adolescents, including those under 10 to 12 years old, encouraged through the compulsive purchase of face masks, serums and anti-ageing creams. It specifically flagged the use of “very young micro-influencers” as part of what it called a “particularly insidious marketing strategy.”

LVMH confirmed in a statement that Sephora, Benefit, and LVMH P&C Italy had been notified of the proceedings. The group said all three companies affirm “strict compliance with applicable Italian regulations” and that they will fully cooperate. Beyond that, it declined to comment.

What “cosmeticorexia” actually means

The AGCM used a specific clinical term in its statement: cosmeticorexia. It describes an unhealthy, compulsive fixation on skincare among minors, a condition now documented in peer-reviewed medical literature and increasingly flagged by dermatologists treating children presenting with skin damage from products they should never have been using.

A 2025 study published in the Journal of Drugs in Dermatology specifically examined the Sephora Kids phenomenon and found that key ingredients common in the products children are purchasing, including retinol, exfoliating acids like AHAs and BHAs, and high-concentration vitamin C formulations, have not been tested on children and can cause real harm. Rashes, allergic reactions, dermatitis, heightened sun sensitivity, and in some cases lasting skin damage are the documented outcomes when children apply adult-grade actives to skin that has no business being treated with anti-ageing chemistry.

Skincare routine videos posted by teenagers on TikTok contain an average of 11 irritating ingredients. Those are not random products the children found. They are products that brands sold to them, or allowed influencers to sell on their behalf, without clear warnings that children should not be using them.

The Sephora Kids machine

To understand the investigation you have to understand the trend it is targeting. Sephora became the physical and symbolic home of Gen Alpha beauty consumption in a way that no brand strategy quite planned for and no brand did very much to slow down.

Sephora has more than 20 million Instagram followers and 2.1 million on TikTok. Its stores became a destination for children, some under ten, filling baskets with Drunk Elephant, Glow Recipe, and Sephora Collection serums while filming “Sephora kids haul” and “Get Ready With Me” videos for social media. Parents complained. Dermatologists warned. Nielsen data shows Gen Alpha households now spend billions annually on skincare and makeup. The industry took note of that spending and did not noticeably slow it down.

In 2024, Sephora North America’s CEO Artemis Patrick said in an interview that “we do not market to this audience.” The Italian investigation essentially challenges that claim directly. The AGCM is not asking whether the brand passively allowed children to shop in its stores. It is asking whether the brand actively marketed to them, used young influencers to reach them, and failed to warn them that products were not intended for minors.

Those are three separate and serious allegations.

What the legal exposure looks like

Italy’s AGCM has the authority to impose substantial fines for unfair commercial practices. Under Italian consumer protection law, aligned with the EU Unfair Commercial Practices Directive, brands can face penalties into the millions of euros if investigations conclude they misled vulnerable consumers, and children are explicitly recognised as a particularly vulnerable category.

The investigation is also notable because it sits at the intersection of two different legal frameworks. One is consumer protection, specifically the obligation to accurately label and communicate product warnings, including who a product is and is not suitable for. The other is advertising law, specifically the rules around marketing to minors through influencer content that is not clearly labelled as commercial or that targets an audience that legally cannot give meaningful commercial consent.

Italy’s AGCM called this a first for European regulators. The European Union has been tightening digital marketing rules for years. The EU Digital Services Act requires additional protections for minors on major platforms. The EU’s Cosmetics Regulation sets out labelling standards. The question Italy is now asking is whether Sephora and Benefit met those standards when their products were being actively marketed to under-12s through covert influencer channels.

Other European regulators are watching this case. If AGCM finds in favour of the investigation and issues fines, expect similar proceedings in France, Germany, and Spain before the year is out.

The broader industry problem

Sephora and Benefit are not the only names that should be paying attention to this investigation. The Sephora Kids trend was powered by brands that sold products knowing children were buying them, platforms that served children the content, and influencers, many of them children themselves, who promoted adult skincare routines to audiences of peers and younger kids.

The regulatory response is still catching up. California’s proposed AB 2491, which would have restricted the sale of anti-ageing products to children under 18, was killed in committee partly because of lobbying by the skincare and retail industry, which argued social media, not the products, was the problem. That argument is becoming harder to sustain when Italy’s financial police are walking through a brand’s offices with a list of specific marketing practices they consider unlawful.

For LVMH, the timing is not ideal. The group is already managing significant brand complexity in 2026, from Saks Global’s bankruptcy affecting luxury retail in the US to the broader luxury slowdown compounded by Middle East war uncertainty. An investigation into the ethics of marketing cosmetics to children adds reputational weight to an already difficult year.

For the beauty industry more broadly, this is a question that will not stay in Italy. The “Sephora Kids” phenomenon is global. The regulation is only beginning. 

The post Italian Regulators Raided LVMH Over Sephora Kids. Here Is What That Actually Means appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

When I was a child, the word “presentable” was not a suggestion but a family law. My mother – an exacting woman who measured the world in who wore what and whether or not they looked good in it – insisted that we never left the house unless we looked our best. The result was a paradoxical upbringing: on one hand, I learned the grammar of a well‑tailored suit, the poetry of a perfectly coordinated accessorized outfit, and the confidence that comes from knowing you have earned visual respect. 

On the other hand, the same regimen taught me the freedom of being able to “slum” as effortlessly as I could appear on a runway. I could and did glide from a quiet country kitchen in a thrifted pair of jeans to a glittering beauty‑pageant stage in a one-of-a-kind evening gown (even making the local newspaper) without feeling the slightest dissonance.

Now, more than four decades later, I find myself watching the very same world that once cherished sartorial etiquette devolve into what feels like a collective amnesia about the power of dress. Pyjamas have become streetwear, far too “weighty” exposed midriffs are glorified as rebellion, and cut‑off shorts that barely cover the posterior are celebrated as avant‑garde. The notion that something as simple as a dress code could still hold relevance seems, to many, antiquated. 

Yet, I am convinced that fashion events—perhaps the only remaining sanctuaries for those of us who still believe that clothing can communicate intelligence, intention, and respect—must cling to their dress‑code traditions.

The Historical Weight of Dress Codes:

The concept of a dress code is not a modern invention; it is a centuries‑old social contract. In the courts of Versailles, the “sumptuary laws” dictated who could wear silk, gold, or fur, creating a visual hierarchy that reinforced order.

In Victorian England, the “three‑piece suit” became a symbol of propriety, allowing a man’s character to be read at a glance. 

Fast forward to the twentieth century, and the “black‑tie” dress code emerged as a dashing shorthand for ceremony, dignity, and shared cultural understanding. Each of these moments illustrates a fundamental truth: clothing is a language, and dress codes are the grammar that keeps that language intelligible.

Fashion shows, galas, and industry mixers have historically been the most conspicuous arenas where this grammar is both taught and tested. By requiring attendees to adhere to a prescribed aesthetic—whether it is “cocktail attire,” “business‑formal,” or a specific thematic palette—organizers signal that the event is a serious forum for dialogue, critique, and the celebration of craft. In doing so, they protect the space from becoming a chaotic free‑for‑all where the message of design gets lost in a sea of mismatched patterns and colors.

Why Dress Codes Matter in Fashion:

Respect for the Designers’ Vision

Designers spend months, sometimes years, curating a narrative through fabric, cut, and movement. When an audience arrives dressed in a way that deliberately clashes with the show’s aesthetic—think bright orange sneakers at a minimalist monochrome runway—it diminishes the immersive experience the designer intended. A dress code ensures that the audience’s attire functions as a neutral backdrop rather than a competing visual stimulus.

Professional Credibility

The fashion industry is still a business. Investors, editors, buyers, and media professionals use these events to make high‑stakes decisions. 

When a buyer or even guest attendee shows up in an ensemble that appears to have been salvaged from a local dumpster, he/she sends an unintentional signal: “I do not take this event, the market or the industry seriously.” 

A well‑curated look, on the other hand, conveys that the attendee respects the stakes, understands the industry’s standards, and is prepared to engage on equal footing.

Cultural Cohesion

Fashion, unlike many other arts, straddles the line between the personal and the public. A shared dress code creates a fleeting community—a tribe of people who, for a few hours, are united by a common visual vocabulary. That sense of belonging can spark authentic conversation, mentorship, and collaboration that would be harder to achieve in a setting where everyone is shouting their individuality through clashing patterns and “anything‑goes” wardrobes.

The “Anything‑Goes” Counterargument:

Critics of dress codes argue that they enforce conformity, suppress self‑expression, and perpetuate classist gatekeeping. They point to the democratizing power of streetwear, the rise of gender‑fluid fashion, and the historical role of dress codes in excluding marginalized groups. 

These concerns are not without merit. 

The fashion world has a well‑documented history of gatekeeping—whether it is the horrific treatment of models forced to starve themselves, to designers who fuel the realm nightmares hail from, by looking askance at anyone deemed “not worthy.”

However, there is a distinct difference between a systemic exclusionary practice and a contextual expectation of attire. A dress code applied to a fashion event is not a blanket rule for everyday life; it is a temporary, situational standard that serves a specific purpose: to preserve the integrity of the event’s artistic and commercial objectives. Moreover, contemporary dress codes can be crafted with inclusivity in mind—allowing for gender‑neutral options, accommodating traditional dress, and providing clear guidance that does not rely on vague or outdated gender binaries.

When a dress code is articulated transparently—e.g., “business‑casual with an emphasis on clean lines; shoes must be closed‑toe; no visible logos larger than 2 inches”—it becomes a tool for equality, not oppression. It levels the playing field by letting everyone know exactly what is expected, thereby removing the guesswork that can penalize those without insider knowledge of fashion etiquette.

The Real‑World Cost of Abandoning Dress Codes:

Consider the last major fashion weeks that abandoned any semblance of a dress code. Reports from industry insiders noted a marked increase in “distractions” during runway presentations: bright neon accessories that reflected onto the catwalk, oversized handbags that blocked sightlines, and footwear that clanged on the platform, disrupting the designers’ audio cues. More importantly, buyers and editors complained that the chaotic visual environment made it harder to assess the garments themselves, leading to delayed purchasing decisions and, in some cases, lost orders.

The ripple effect extended beyond the runway. Media coverage shifted from a focus on collection details to sensational headlines about “the most shocking outfits.” 

While clickbait may boost short‑term traffic, it dilutes the seriousness with which the collection is treated and ultimately harms the designers whose livelihoods depend on thoughtful critique.

A Pragmatic Path Forward:

If we accept that dress codes have a legitimate role, the next question is how to enforce them without alienating the very audience we hope to engage. Here are three practical steps that event organizers can adopt:

Publish a Clear, Accessible Dress‑Code Guide

A one‑page PDF circulated with the invitation, posted on the event website, and highlighted in registration emails eliminates ambiguity. Include visual examples (e.g., “appropriate: tailored blazer; inappropriate: hooded sweatshirt”) and note any allowances for cultural or religious attire.

Offer a “Dress‑Code Concierge”

For emerging designers, students, or professionals from non‑fashion backgrounds, a short consultation (in‑person or virtual) can help them interpret the guidelines and assemble a suitable outfit, perhaps even providing rental options for items they do not own.

Enforce at the Door, Not the Gate

Rather than policing guests with confrontational security, employ friendly “fashion stewards” who greet attendees, verify compliance, and, if necessary, suggest quick adjustments (e.g., swapping a T‑shirt for a provided polo). This approach maintains dignity while upholding standards.

Conclusion: A Call to Preserve the Sanctity of Fashion Venues:

The world may be shifting toward ever‑more casual norms, and that evolution is not inherently negative. Streetwear has birthed iconic designers, gender‑fluid fashion has expanded the visual lexicon, and the self-expression of style has brought fresh perspectives to the runway. Yet, just as we reserve quiet reverence for a symphony hall and demand silence in a library, we must preserve a space where the language of fashion is spoken with intentionality, respect, and collective understanding.

A dress code at fashion events is not a relic of aristocratic snobbery; it is a deliberate instrument that safeguards the seriousness of the industry, protects designers’ artistic visions, and fosters professional credibility. 

Abandoning it in the name of “come as you are” risks turning our most vital showcases into abysmal costume parties, eroding the very platform that elevates talent and drives commerce.

So, to the organizers, sponsors, and attendees who still cherish the transformative power of well‑chosen garments: please enforce, and continue to enforce, dress codes at fashion events. Let us keep at least one bastion where elegance, thoughtfulness, and a dash of disciplined flair remain the default, not the exception. 

In doing so, we honour not only the heritage of fashion but also its future—one where style still matters, and where what we wear continues to speak louder than words.

Author: Andrea Dean Van Scoyoc

Andrea Dean Van Scoyoc is a burgeoning force of nature in the influencer‑fashion‑marketing arena—a true alpha businesswoman who shatters conventions with unapologetic clarity. Her “no‑holds‑barred” approach translates into campaigns that cut through the noise, holding high-end brands accountable while honoring the trend-craving palate of today’s consumers.  Van Scoyoc’s straight‑talk perspective guarantees results that are as impactful as they are authentic.

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/hr42_consulting

The post Dress Code Debate: Should Fashion Events Still Have Them? appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

This comes as part of their second collab (yay!), showing that these two powerhouses are serious about making sustainability feel fresh, not just another buzzword we’re all getting tired of.

Cue Usher and let’s dive in!

H&M Stella McCartney Insights Board: Who’s On It and What’s the Vibe?

Let’s set the stage:

A room full of fresh perspectives: technologist Kiara Nirghin (sustainability innovator extraordinaire), model Amelia Gray, fashion editor Susie Lau (aka Susie Bubble), Gurls Talk founder Adwoa Aboah, and singer/activist Anitta, all chatting with Stella herself, H&M experts, and moderated by industry strategist Julie Gilhart.

It’s not your typical stuffy board meeting. And the goal? Curiosity, listening, and bold ideas to tackle fashion’s big challenges like innovative materials, animal welfare, and transparent comms. Their London kickoff zeroed in on how sustainability shows up online, influences shoppers, and needs fact‑based stories to cut through the noise.

Stella puts it perfectly: “Fashion has an opportunity to lead with honesty… keeping sustainability front and centre in a way that sparks real dialogue and hope for change.” H&M CEO Daniel Ervér adds they’re “excited to connect different voices” and explore what’s possible together.

Why This Matters: Customer Love for Sustainable Fashion Is Back (Sort Of…)

Here’s the tea: shoppers are craving real sustainability, but they’re tired of greenwashing. Consumers want brands to prove their eco creds, yet trust is low when it’s all vague claims. This board is H&M and Stella’s way of saying, “Let’s listen to Gen Z, creators, and experts to figure out what actually resonates.”

Think about it: Amelia Gray reps the next gen who grew up with TikTok trends and climate anxiety. Anitta brings global music vibes to show how culture shapes buying. Adwoa’s activism reminds us that fashion is a platform for change. It’s diverse AF, and that’s the magic.

First Meeting Highlights: Materials, Transparency, and No More Hype

At the London powwow, they dug into sustainable materials, circularity, innovation, and comms; agreeing that fact‑based, accessible info is key to rebuilding trust. No more “100% recycled” labels without proof. They want brands to show the data, tell the story simply, and link it to customer lives.

Kiara Nirghin shared: “Fashion is at a fascinating crossroads where science, innovation and creativity can come together to drive real change” Susie Lau wants sustainability “embedded in culture, not slogans.” Love that energy!

Insight: Boards like this could lead to tangible outcomes, such as H&M piloting new bio‑fabrics based on board ideas or Stella influencing supply chain shifts. It’s collaborative disruption at its best.

H&M and Stella McCartney Collab History: From Runway to Real Change

These two go way back. Their first drop in 2019 was a game‑changer: vegan leather, organic cotton, no fur/plastic. It sold out fast and proved green can be glamorous. Now, collab #2 brings this board to challenge norms and accelerate progress.

H&M’s pushing hard on circular goals (100% recycled/renewable by 2030), and Stella’s lifelong no‑cruelty stance makes them perfect partners.

Together, they’re proving fast fashion + luxury ethics = future‑proof business.

Fun Fact: Their past drops influenced millions (celeb fans like Dua Lipa rocking Stella x H&M). This board amps that up with Gen Z input.

Sustainable Fashion Trends 2026: What the Board Signals

Zoom out: sustainability fatigue is real, but 2026 is pivoting to “conscious cool”. Shoppers want:

• Transparency: Traceability apps, blockchain for fibres.

• Innovation: Mushroom leather, lab‑grown silk.

• Community: Co‑creation with users (hello, Insights Board!).

Insight: Fast fashion’s under fire (H&M’s no stranger), but moves like this show adaptation. Expect more boards blending insiders + outsiders. Data says 65% of Gen Z skips brands without clear green proof. Stella’s clout + H&M’s scale = massive ripple effect.

Pro tip for brands: Ditch jargon. Say “this tee saved 2,500L of water”, and shoppers automatically connect.

Challenges Ahead: Greenwashing, Supply Chains, and Customer Buy‑In

Let’s be real now. Fashion’s eco journey has bumps. Supply chain opacity hides dirty secrets, and “sustainable” claims often flop without proof. The board’s tackling this head‑on: animal welfare, material innovation, and customer‑facing stories that stick.

Anitta nailed it: “Fashion is a language that connects people all over the world, just like music.” Adwoa adds it’s about self‑expression with purpose.

Insight: Watch for regulatory push: EU’s Green Claims Directive fines greenwashing. H&M/Stella could lead voluntary standards, boosting trust and sales (sustainable lines grow 28% faster per McKinsey).

What’s Next for H&M Stella McCartney Insights Board?

They’re committed to outcomes + action steps, so next meets will hit circularity, innovation, and more. Expect reports, pilots, or collabs born here. H&M’s teasing “disrupt what’s possible”, so maybe bio‑dyes or resale tech?

Reader takeaway: Love sustainable fashion? Follow this board. They’re voicing what we all want: honest, fun, planet‑friendly style.

This launch feels like a breath of fresh air, and is actual proof that big brands are listening.

The post H&M and Stella McCartney Team Up for Sustainability Insights Board: Fresh Voices on Fashion’s Green Future appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

This case is not about identity. It is about entitlement to who gets to commercially own a name, and on what terms.

And in answering that question, the law delivered a quiet but powerful message: visibility is not a substitute for legal legitimacy.

Beyond the Obvious: Why This Case Resonates

At first glance, the outcome appears counterintuitive. How does a globally recognized artist whose name carries undeniable commercial magnetism fail to secure exclusive rights over that very name in a lucrative product category?

The answer lies in the structural integrity of trademark law. Unlike the fluid world of branding and consumer perception, trademark systems are deliberately rigid. They are designed not to reward fame, but to protect order in the marketplace.

In this case, that order was anchored in something deceptively simple:
a prior right, properly secured, in the relevant class of goods.

The Australian designer had done what the law expects of any brand owner; she adopted, used, and registered her mark in connection with clothing. The celebrity, despite her global reach, entered that commercial space later.

The law, in effect, asked a question stripped of glamour: Who was there first, and who secured their position?

The Fragility of Celebrity Brands

The modern celebrity brand is built on a powerful premise that identity itself can be commercialized across categories. Music becomes merchandise. Persona becomes product. Influence becomes inventory.

But this case exposes the fragility of that model when it encounters the formalities of intellectual property law.

Celebrity branding often operates on the assumption of seamless expansion:

• If a name is globally recognized, it can be extended into fashion, cosmetics, or lifestyle goods
• If consumers associate the name with a persona, legal protection will follow

This assumption is not entirely misplaced, but it is incomplete.

Trademark law does not ask whether a name is famous. It asks:

• Is it registered?
• Is it used in this class?
• Does someone else already hold rights here?

These questions may seem procedural, but they are determinative. And they reveal an uncomfortable truth for modern brand architecture: the stronger the brand in the cultural sense, the greater the risk of legal complacency.

A Case About Boundaries

At its core, this dispute is about boundaries between identity and property, between reputation and rights, between global presence and local protection.

Trademark law is territorial. It is also categorical. Rights are not universal abstractions; they are carefully demarcated entitlements.

The idea that a name can exist simultaneously as:

• A personal identity
• A global entertainment brand
• A registered trademark in a specific class

…creates inevitable friction.

What the court ultimately affirmed is that these layers do not automatically collapse into one another. A celebrity identity does not override a pre-existing commercial right simply because it is more visible.

Reframing “Confusion” in a Saturated Market

One of the more nuanced aspects of this case is the treatment of consumer confusion. Intuitively, one might assume that the overlap of identical or near-identical names in fashion would create confusion, particularly when one party is globally famous.

Yet, the legal threshold for confusion is not based on instinct. It is based on evidence, context, and market realities.

In a saturated, digitally mediated marketplace:

• Consumers are exposed to multiple brands with overlapping identities
• Purchasing decisions are influenced by channels, pricing, and positioning, not just names

The court’s reluctance to assume confusion reflects a broader shift in trademark analysis:
Consumers are not passive; they are discerning, and sometimes surprisingly so.

The Ethical Undercurrent: Power and Protection

There is also an ethical dimension to this dispute that deserves attention.

Trademark law, at its best, serves as an equaliser. It allows a small business, operating with limited resources, to assert rights against a far more powerful commercial entity, provided those rights are properly established.

In that sense, the outcome is not anti-celebrity. It is pro-system.

It reinforces the idea that:

• Legal rights are not hierarchical
• Economic power does not automatically translate into legal dominance

For the fashion industry, where independent designers often coexist uneasily with global brands, this is a significant signal.

Implications for the Fashion Industry

Fashion, perhaps more than any other sector, sits at the intersection of identity and commerce. Names, signatures, and personal narratives are not just branding tools; they are the very substance of the product.

This makes the industry uniquely vulnerable to:

• Overlapping identities
• Cross-border expansion conflicts
• Merchandise-driven disputes

The Perry case highlights the need for a more disciplined approach to brand expansion within fashion ecosystems:

• Designers must think beyond aesthetics and invest in an early trademark strategy
• Celebrity brands must treat fashion not as an extension, but as a legally distinct market entry
• Collaborations and licensing arrangements must be grounded in clear rights allocation

The Indian Perspective: Familiar Tensions, Different Outcomes?

For Indian practitioners, the case echoes familiar tensions.

Indian courts have, on multiple occasions, recognised the doctrine of trans-border reputation, allowing well-known international brands to assert rights even in the absence of extensive local use.

At the same time, Indian law places significant weight on prior use, often elevating it above registration.

Would a similar dispute play out differently in India? Possibly, but not predictably.

The outcome would hinge on:

• The strength of the celebrity’s spillover reputation in the specific product category
• The evidence of prior use by the local rights holder
• Whether the mark qualifies as “well-known” under Indian standards

What remains consistent, however, is the underlying tension:
The law must balance recognition with fairness, and influence with integrity.

From Trademark Dispute to Enforcement Narrative

Viewed in isolation, this case is a dispute over a name. Viewed in context, it is part of a larger enforcement narrative, one that is increasingly relevant in a world of globalised brands and decentralised marketplaces.

As brands expand, so do points of conflict:

• Counterfeiting networks exploit brand visibility without legal consequences.
• Marketplace platforms blur jurisdictional boundaries
• Licensing arrangements create fragmented ownership structures

Against this backdrop, the lesson from the Perry case is not merely about filing strategy. It is about building a culture of enforcement.

A brand is only as strong as its willingness and ability to defend itself.

Conclusion: Reclaiming Discipline in an Age of Visibility

The enduring value of this case lies not in its outcome, but in its restraint.

It reminds us that trademark law, despite operating in a world increasingly driven by perception and influence, remains anchored in structure, discipline, and proof.

For the fashion industry and for brand owners more broadly, the message is both simple and demanding:

A name may carry meaning.

But only a right secures it.

As the boundaries between identity and commerce grow more fluid, the need for rigorous, forward-looking trademark strategy becomes not just advisable, but indispensable.

Because in the end, the law does not ask who is better known.

It asks who is better prepared.

The post Katy Perry v Katie Perry: Rethinking Trademark Power in the Age of Celebrity Commerce appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

Trump’s legal team filed a cancellation petition at the United States Patent and Trademark Office in late February 2026, targeting two registered trademarks belonging to D&J Xin Rong International Trading Company Ltd — “DJT” and “DJT Fashion.” The USPTO has now marked both registrations as “cancellation pending.” The company has a set window to respond. If it doesn’t, the trademarks could be wiped out. If it does, the dispute heads toward formal litigation, with a timeline pointing to fall 2026.

The legal argument being made is not that the Chinese company set out to impersonate the 47th President. It’s something more legally interesting than that. Attorney Michael Santucci, representing Trump’s side, argued in the USPTO filings that “DJT” has become so widely associated with Donald J. Trump that any commercial use of those letters risks creating what trademark law calls a “false suggestion of connection” with a public figure. Three letters. Twelve years of commerce. No apparent controversy — until now.

What the law actually says

The petition leans on Section 2(a) of the Lanham Act, which bars registration of marks that “falsely suggest a connection with persons, living or dead.” This is not the same as alleging that someone is selling knockoff Trump merchandise. The claim is narrower: that consumers might incorrectly assume some association, endorsement, or relationship between the brand and Trump himself.

US trademark law does give public figures meaningful tools here. Once a set of letters, a name, or even a phrase becomes closely identified with a specific public figure, that association can carry legal weight — even in the absence of any intentional copying.

The filings also argued that Trump’s name and image carry “very high recognition in the US and globally” and that commercial use of his brand has long been “systematically protected.” Trump’s organisation has been aggressive about this. In recent months, it has separately moved to rename Palm Beach International Airport and change its code to DJT. The initials are being consolidated as a brand marker across multiple contexts.

Why this case is not straightforward

Here is where it gets complicated. Courts have not always been sympathetic to public figures trying to clear the field of mark-holders who never intended to trade on their identity.

The Trademark Trial and Appeal Board and federal courts apply a multi-factor test for false association claims. The key question is whether the public would reasonably assume a connection. For that, courts look at how famous the person is, how unique the name or mark is, and whether there is any evidence consumers were actually confused.

“DJT” is not “Donald Trump.” It is not even “Donald J. Trump.” It is three letters that happen to be initials. The Chinese brand has been operating for twelve years, primarily through e-commerce platforms, primarily outside the US market. There is no evidence, at least publicly, that any customer ever bought a high-waist miniskirt thinking they were purchasing from Trump’s fashion line.

Compare this to the “Trump Too Small” case, where the Supreme Court unanimously upheld the government’s right to deny trademark registration for a phrase that directly included Trump’s name. The Court in that case was dealing with Section 2(c) of the Lanham Act, which requires a living person’s consent before their name can be registered as a trademark. Three initials sit in a different legal category. The false association analysis under Section 2(a) requires demonstrating actual associative confusion — and that bar is harder to clear when you are dealing with an abbreviation that the average consumer may never connect to a specific person at all.

The broader context: short marks, rising scrutiny

There is a wider pattern worth noting. As cross-border e-commerce has grown, short letter-combination brands have proliferated globally — and they are increasingly running into legal scrutiny when they happen to overlap with the names, initials, or abbreviations of well-known individuals or entities.

The DJT situation is not isolated. In early 2025, the USPTO issued a show cause order that could potentially cancel over 40,000 trademark registrations tied to Chinese filers, citing fraudulent filings and tainted examination processes. The Trump administration has also separately pushed staffing changes at the USPTO that, according to some analysts, are already causing examination delays — creating a processing environment where trade disputes involving politically connected parties can move through the system with particular visibility.

What happens next

D&J Xin Rong has to decide whether to fight this. Responding means engaging with US trademark proceedings, hiring US counsel, and mounting a defence that essentially argues three letters are generic enough to be used by anyone. That is not an impossible argument — but it is an expensive one, especially for a small fashion company that sells through Amazon and was not built around the US domestic market.

The practical calculus for a small foreign brand facing a cancellation petition backed by a sitting US president is not entirely a legal one. Settlement — surrendering the marks and rebranding — may be the path of least resistance, regardless of what the law might actually support on the merits.

If the case does reach formal proceedings, it will forc a direct answer to something US trademark law has never had to address cleanly: when does an initial combination become so synonymous with a public figure that a decade-old clothing brand in Hong Kong has to give up its name?

That question has no obvious answer. But it is going to get one.

Sources:

Vision Times

Perfil (Spanish)

Morrison Foerster — Vidal v. Elster analysis

National Law Review — USPTO China filings

Carlton Fields — Section 2(a) analysis

The post Trump’s Team Just Filed to Cancel a Chinese Fashion Brand Over Its Name. The Name? DJT appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

The Past

Estée Lauder is currently suing British perfumier Jo Malone over her use of her own name in a fragrance collaboration with Zara. The dispute dates back to 1999, when Malone sold her perfume brand, Jo Malone London, to the US cosmetics giant for millions of dollars. The acquisition included not only the brand and its business operations but also the commercial rights to the name “Jo Malone” itself for marketing and branding purposes.

At that time, this deal appeared to be a success story for a founder-led beauty brand. However, the agreement came with significant restrictions. As part of the sale, Malone agreed not to use the Jo Malone name in fragrance branding or marketing and was also subject to a non-compete clause that prevented her from working in the fragrance industry for several years. 

Malone later described the sale as “the worst decision of my life,” explaining that the contractual restrictions effectively separated her from the industry she had helped shape. For years after the acquisition, she was unable to commercially use her own name or return to perfume creation in a meaningful way.

When the non-compete clause finally expired in 2011, Malone returned to the fragrance world by launching a new venture of her own called Jo Loves. The brand allowed her to re-enter the market creatively, while carefully avoiding direct use of the Jo Malone trademark in ways that could conflict with Estée Lauder’s rights.

The Present

The current dispute arose from Jo Loves’ collaboration with Zara on a fragrance collection. Packaging and marketing materials for the products reportedly included the phrase “Created by Jo Malone CBE, founder of Jo Loves.” Estée Lauder argues that this reference legally breaches a boundary established in the 1999 agreement.

The lawsuit alleges breach of contract, trademark infringement, and passing off, a doctrine that addresses situations where consumers may be misled into believing that goods are associated with another company. According to Estée Lauder, referencing Malone’s name in connection with fragrances risks trading on the goodwill of Jo Malone London, the brand it has owned since 1999.

At the heart of the dispute is a question common in founder-led industries: how far can creators go in referencing their own identity after selling trademark rights tied to their name? As legal commentary has noted, “the devil will ultimately lie in the details of the original agreement. What rights were transferred, how the restrictions were drafted, and how broadly they were intended to apply.”

The conflict also reflects a broader pattern across the fashion and beauty sectors. Eponymous brands, those named after their founders, often blur the line between personal identity and corporate ownership. Once brands are sold, the founder’s name may legally become a commercial asset controlled by someone else.

Several designers and beauty entrepreneurs have faced similar dilemmas after selling their companies. While founders may seek to build new ventures around their personal identity, previous agreements can limit how that identity is used in marketing or branding. 

Editorial Opinion

The Estée Lauder and Jo Malone dispute, therefore, highlights a fundamental risk in selling an eponymous brand: the transfer of trademark rights can place lasting restrictions on how founders present themselves in the same industry. 

For lawyers and entrepreneurs alike, the lesson is straightforward but significant. Contracts involving name rights must be drafted with extraordinary precision. Founders should carefully consider whether they are permanently relinquishing the ability to use their own identity commercially and whether any restrictions should be time-limited or narrowly defined. 

As the lawsuit progresses, it will test the limits of how personal identity can be referenced after trademark rights are sold. For an industry built on personal storytelling and founder narratives, that question carries substantial legal and commercial implications.

Ultimately, the case serves as a cautionary reminder that selling a brand name may also mean selling a piece of oneself. Ensuring that contracts clearly define what is being transferred and what remains with the founder may be the difference between a successful exit and decades of legal restraint.

The post Jo Malone Can’t Use “Jo Malone”? Welcome to Fashion Law appeared first on Fashion Law Journal.

The 48-year-old founder and former CEO of CaaStle Inc. pleaded guilty to securities fraud before U.S. District Judge J. Paul Oetken, agreeing to forfeit nearly $300 million and facing up to 20 years in prison. Sentencing is scheduled for August 5, 2026.

“Christine Hunsicker fashioned a massive fraud scheme, built on forged documents, fabricated audits, and material misrepresentations to hundreds of venture capital investors,” said U.S. Attorney Jay Clayton. “Today’s guilty plea sends a clear message: individuals who exploit investor trust for personal gain will be held accountable. Fraud in the venture capital ecosystem not only harms investors financially, but also undermines innovation and confidence in emerging businesses.”

The $200 Million Screenshot That Showed $200,000

The details in the federal indictment read like a masterclass in financial fabrication.

In one instance, Hunsicker provided an investor with fake bank account screenshots showing nearly $200 million in available cash. The actual balance? Less than $200,000.

That wasn’t a one-off. According to prosecutors, Hunsicker provided investors with falsified income statements, fake audited financial statements, fictitious bank records, and sham corporate documents that grossly overstated CaaStle’s operating profit, revenue, and available cash.

She also told investors their funds would be used to purchase discounted shares from existing shareholders who needed liquidity. Those shareholders didn’t exist. She fabricated them entirely, using the money as new capital for CaaStle while concealing the company’s desperate cash needs.

At its peak, CaaStle was valued at over $1.4 billion. Behind the “Clothing-as-a-Service” buzzwords and sustainability narratives, the company was in financial distress with limited cash and significant expenses.

The Brands That Bought In

CaaStle wasn’t some obscure startup operating in the shadows. It powered rental services for recognizable names across the fashion industry.

The company’s client roster included Vince, Rebecca Taylor, Express, Banana Republic, Scotch & Soda, Walmart’s Eloquii brand, Lauren Ralph Lauren, L.K. Bennett, Derek Lam 10 Crosby, and Destination Maternity. In the UK, it partnered with Moss Bros to launch “Moss Box,” a men’s subscription rental service.

Hunsicker positioned CaaStle as the infrastructure layer for fashion’s circular economy. Brands used their own inventory while CaaStle handled the technology, logistics, cleaning, and fulfillment. It was meant to be the unsexy but essential backbone of sustainable fashion.

The Princeton Lie

The DOJ press release reveals a particularly brazen moment in October 2023, when an audit firm confronted Hunsicker about transmitting a fake audit to an investor.

Her response? She claimed she had created the fake audit in connection with a lecture she gave at Princeton University, and that sending it to the investor had been “a one-time error.”

In reality, Hunsicker had provided two fake audits to that investor while soliciting an investment. She later repaid that investor to prevent the public disclosure of her fraud.

But she didn’t stop. One month later, in October 2024, she provided a different investor with yet another fake draft audit.

Forging Board Signatures

The fraud extended beyond fake financials.

In 2024, Hunsicker falsified the signatures of two Board directors to make it appear that the Board had authorized the grant of stock options to another investor. This forgery helped her raise more than $20 million for CaaStle.

When the CaaStle Board finally caught on in December 2024, they removed Hunsicker as Chair and explicitly prohibited her from soliciting investments.

She continued anyway.

P180: The Scam Within the Scam

In 2024, as CaaStle’s finances crumbled, Hunsicker launched a new venture called P180. The plan was elegant in its circularity: P180 would acquire clothing brands, those brands would then pay for CaaStle’s services, and that money would flow back into the failing company.

She raised millions from the same investors she had already defrauded with CaaStle. In soliciting these investments, she repeated the same misrepresentations about CaaStle’s financial performance and failed to disclose that her prior representations had been false.

P180 did complete one acquisition: Vince Holding Co. in January 2025. That company has not been implicated in the fraud.

The FBI Seizure She Ignored

In February 2025, Hunsicker attempted to sell an additional $19 million of her CaaStle shares to another investor—despite the Board’s explicit prohibition.

Then, in March 2025, law enforcement agents seized her electronic devices.

Even that didn’t stop her.

According to prosecutors, after the FBI seizure, Hunsicker continued to meet with the investor about a fake audit without revealing its fraudulent nature, her removal from the Board, or the prohibition against her selling shares.

CaaStle filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy on June 20, 2025.

The Rise and Fall

Hunsicker’s credentials once seemed impeccable. She was named one of Inc. magazine’s “Most Impressive Women Entrepreneurs” and featured on Crain’s “40 Under 40” list.

She first entered the rental space with Gwynnie Bee in 2012, a plus-size subscription service that later evolved into CaaStle’s B2B platform. Her pitch was compelling: in a world of fast fashion and overproduction, rental offered brands a way to monetize inventory more efficiently while giving consumers access to variety without the waste.

“Instead of disposing of it, someone else is wearing it,” Hunsicker told WWD in 2018. “You can still have the same ‘I’m only going to wear it once or twice attitude,’ but the next person is wearing it once or twice and the next person is wearing it once or twice.”

The sustainability angle was particularly appealing in an industry under pressure to address its environmental impact.

What This Means for Fashion Tech

The CaaStle collapse raises uncomfortable questions for an industry that has embraced the language of disruption and sustainability.

Fashion rental as a concept isn’t dead. Urban Outfitters’ Nuuly continues to grow, and Rent the Runway remains operational. But the CaaStle case demonstrates the dangers of venture capital’s growth-at-all-costs mentality when applied to fashion’s traditionally thin-margin economics.

“We will continue to pursue those who deceive investors and distort our private markets,” Clayton said.

For brands that partnered with CaaStle, the fallout has been minimal—most had already wound down their rental programs or transitioned to other providers. But for the hundreds of investors who believed in Hunsicker’s vision, the loss is real.

The Lesson

The fashion industry has been slow to adopt technology and slower still to embrace circular business models. CaaStle positioned itself as the solution to both problems—a bridge between legacy retail and sustainable innovation.

What Hunsicker sold was a story: that fashion could be profitable, sustainable, and technologically sophisticated all at once. It was exactly what investors wanted to hear.

The guilty plea reveals the reality was far more mundane: a company that couldn’t generate meaningful revenue, run by a founder willing to fabricate whatever numbers were needed to keep the money flowing—even forging Board signatures, inventing shareholders, and lying to the FBI.

Sentencing is scheduled for August 5, 2026. Hunsicker faces up to 20 years in prison.

For now, the case stands as a warning: in fashion tech, as in fashion itself, not everything that glitters is gold.

Sources:

1. U.S. Attorney’s Office, Southern District of New York – CaaStle Founder Pleads Guilty to $300 Million Fraud Scheme
2. WWD – CaaStle Rental Tech Platform Expands to the U.K. with L.K. Bennett and Moss Bros
3. WWD – Christine Hunsicker’s Fraud Scheme a Lesson for Fashion Investors
4. WWD – The Savvy Rental Strategy behind CaaStle (2018)
5. Business of Fashion – Rental Retail: Is There Enough Demand?

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The glasses sold over 7 million units in 2025. Meta marketed them as “designed for privacy, controlled by you.” Turns out, that’s not quite how things work.

What Workers in Kenya Are Actually Seeing

The investigation focused on Sama, a Nairobi-based company that Meta hired to train its AI systems. Journalists talked to more than thirty employees. All of them spoke anonymously because they were worried about losing their jobs.

What they described was not subtle.

“In some videos, you can see someone going to the toilet, or getting undressed,” one worker said. “I don’t think they know, because if they knew, they wouldn’t be recording.”

Another put it more bluntly: “We see everything—from living rooms to naked bodies. Meta has that type of content in its databases.”

The list of things contractors have watched includes bathroom footage, people changing clothes, sexual activity, credit card numbers visible in recordings, and private conversations about relationships and alleged wrongdoing. One worker described watching a man leave his glasses on a bedside table, then seeing his wife walk in and undress—completely unaware she was being recorded.

The workers draw bounding boxes around objects, assign labels, check transcriptions. Standard AI training work. Except the material isn’t stock photos. It’s other people’s lives.

The Privacy Features That Don’t Work

Meta says faces get blurred before contractors see anything. According to the workers, that’s hit or miss at best.

A former Meta employee confirmed it to the Swedish reporters: “The algorithms sometimes miss. Especially in difficult lighting conditions, certain faces and bodies become visible.”

The glasses have a small LED that’s supposed to light up when recording. In theory, people around you can see it and know what’s happening. In practice? Bright sunlight washes it out. Crowded rooms make it easy to miss. Some people just cover it up.

There’s no real opt-out either. If you want the AI features—the translations, the object identification, the hands-free assistant—you have to agree to let Meta process your footage. The AI doesn’t work offline at all. Journalists tested it.

Meta’s terms do mention that “in some cases, Meta will review your interactions with AIs, including the content of your conversations with or messages to AIs, and this review may be automated or manual (human).”

Manual. Human. Workers in Kenya watching you in your bathroom.

The Lawsuits and Investigations Piling Up

Things moved fast after the story broke.

On March 5, Clarkson Law Firm filed a class action in the Northern District of California. Plaintiffs Gina Bartone from New Jersey and Mateo Canu from California bought the glasses believing Meta’s marketing. The lawsuit also names EssilorLuxottica, Ray-Ban’s parent company.

Ryan Clarkson, the firm’s managing partner, wasn’t gentle: “Meta made a promise to millions of consumers while knowing full well it could not keep it. Workers thousands of miles away have been watching footage from inside people’s bedrooms all along. That is not a technicality or an oversight—that is a system working exactly as designed.”

The UK’s Information Commissioner’s Office announced it would contact Meta for information about data protection compliance. They called the allegations “concerning.”

In the EU, 17 Members of Parliament from four different political groups formally asked the European Commission whether Meta is following GDPR rules. The problem? Kenya doesn’t have EU “adequacy” status. That means its data protection standards haven’t been recognized as equivalent to European law. The EU and Kenya only started talking about this in May 2024.

In Kenya, The Oversight Lab filed a petition with the Office of the Data Protection Commissioner. Sama is already dealing with human trafficking and labor exploitation claims from former Facebook content moderators. A Kenyan court ruled Meta can be sued there. That case is moving forward.

What This Means for Fashion Tech

Smart wearables are becoming normal. That’s the whole point—the glasses look like regular Ray-Bans. You can’t tell someone is wearing a camera on their face anymore.

This is the trade-off nobody talked about clearly enough.

There’s the bystander problem. People around someone wearing these glasses have no idea they’re being filmed. That little LED isn’t doing much. There’s the cross-border data problem. Your footage can end up on a computer in Nairobi whether you’re in Stockholm or San Francisco. There’s the human review problem that Meta buried in its terms of service.

Kleanthi Sardeli, a data protection lawyer with the privacy group NOYB, called it “a clear transparency problem.” Once footage gets fed into AI models, she said, “the user in practice loses control over how it is used.”

Petter Flink, a security specialist at the Swedish data protection authority, put it simply: users have “really no idea what is happening behind the scenes.”

Meta’s Position

The company has responded with carefully drafted statements.

“Ray-Ban Meta glasses help you use AI, hands-free, to answer questions about the world around you. Unless users choose to share media they’ve captured with Meta or others, that media stays on the user’s device. When people share content with Meta AI, we sometimes use contractors to review this data for the purpose of improving people’s experience, as many other companies do. We take steps to filter this data to protect people’s privacy and to help prevent identifying information from being reviewed.”

When the Swedish journalists visited ten eyewear stores, employees often didn’t know what data the glasses transmit, where it goes, or how recordings get processed. The people selling the product couldn’t explain what it actually does with your information.

If You Own These Glasses

Check your settings. Go to Privacy, then Data Sharing. Understand what you’ve agreed to.

Know that any time you ask the AI to “look” at something, that image could end up in front of a human reviewer.

Don’t leave them in private spaces. The bedside table is the worst possible spot.

Treat them like a live camera that someone else might be watching. Because sometimes, they are.

The Uncomfortable Question

One early adopter posted on social media after the investigation came out: “The day I found out my glasses were sending video to Kenya, I stopped wearing them.”

The post got two million views.

Fashion tech is supposed to make life easier. These glasses can translate languages, identify landmarks, take hands-free photos. The features are genuinely useful.

But someone in Nairobi is watching footage of strangers in their bedrooms to make those features work. The face-blurring doesn’t always blur. The privacy promises have asterisks. The terms of service are unreadable on purpose.

Is smart fashion worth it? That depends on how much you trust the system. And whether you think your bathroom should be part of someone’s workday.

Sources:

1. Svenska Dagbladet and Göteborgs-Posten Joint Investigation (February 27, 2026) — Primary source for contractor testimony
2. TechCrunch: “Meta sued over AI smart glasses’ privacy concerns” (March 5, 2026)
3. Clarkson Law Firm Press Release: “Meta AI Glasses Class Action Lawsuit Filed” (March 5, 2026)
4. Euronews: “Meta faces privacy lawsuit over AI smart glasses” (March 6, 2026)
5. Digital Watch Observatory: “EU pressures Meta over alleged smart glasses privacy breaches” (March 2026)
6. The Register: “Meta smart glasses face UK privacy probe” (March 5, 2026)
7. Help Net Security: “Workers reviewing Meta Ray-Ban footage encounter users’ intimate moments” (March 5, 2026)
8. HapaKenya: “Oversight Lab petitions ODPC to probe Ray-Ban Meta glasses” (March 9, 2026)
9. TechCabal: “Kenyan workers say Meta Ray-Ban AI glasses expose intimate moments” (March 4, 2026)
10. Decrypt: “Inside the Ray-Ban Smart Glasses Controversy Plaguing Meta” (March 2026) — Cited for 7 million units sold
11. Engadget: “Meta hit with a class action lawsuit over smart glasses’ privacy claims” (March 5, 2026)

Disclaimer: This article is for informational purposes and does not constitute legal advice.

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