Are we searching for the meaning of life in our Chanels?
- Amy
- Oct 14
- 6 min read
Updated: Oct 15
Sometimes it takes a major fashion house to confirm that something’s officially “a thing.” Matthieu Blazy’s recent debut presentation for Chanel at Paris Fashion Week did exactly that. Models paraded through a spectacular, larger-than-life solar-system set — with metallic handbags, space-age planetary jewellery, fluid silhouettes, and sharp tailoring that felt part cosmic, part futuristic but, at the same time, so quintessentially Chanel. Suddenly, Spacecore isn’t just an underground aesthetic anymore; it’s stepping onto the runway and into the cultural conversation.
When I see Blazy being picked apart for his alleged sources of inspiration, it makes me wonder — where did he get his inspiration, and does it even matter? Is it, as some suggest, from Pakistani artist Sara Shakeel’s beautifully mastered The Jewel System exhibition in Hong Kong, with its glittering planets and dreamlike, intricately detailed spatial installations?
Even Martha Stewart’s grandchildren’s 2015 “space-themed” birthday party is being pulled up by certain members of the press as a possible source of inspiration — though that one feels a little far-fetched to me. Still, you never truly know what impacts a creative. And speaking from experience, the creative might not even be fully aware of what has shaped their ideas.
I can’t help but wonder — why are some people so quick to want to defame creatives who accomplish great things or even pit them against each other? If the inspiration did come from The Jewel System, then wouldn’t the comparison between Chanel and Shakeel only strengthen the value of Shakeel’s work? Or maybe it isn’t about direct influence at all. Maybe these moments happen because we’re all tuned into the same collective frequency — that shared creative pulse that surfaces when the world feels heavy and we start longing for something beyond ourselves. Or perhaps it’s something simpler, and slightly unnerving: maybe we’re all just being guided by the algorithm. But judging from the history of fashion and trends, I hold hope that isn’t entirely the case.
Other nods toward Spacecore on the runway included Jean Paul Gaultier’s futuristic silhouettes — shapes that could easily have been inspired by Star Trek — and Burberry inviting its attendees to gaze up at an artificial sky. And then there was Thom Browne, who went all in, sending oversized crystal-encrusted alien heads down the runway. Coincidence? Maybe. Or maybe it’s another small echo of that same collective energy — the desire to connect with wonder, with the unknown, with the idea that there’s more out there; a longing to escape this world and drift into another corner of the universe — or perhaps even toying with the idea that something extraterrestrial might come down to save us.
All of this got me thinking — is it really such a bad thing if we are inspiring one another? It’s never been a problem for me when others are inspired by my work, though I know some creatives find it deeply frustrating. I actually embrace it. I understand that outright copying is different, but inspiration is everywhere ---- and to inspire and be inspired is a gift. And perhaps collective consciousness, creating together, might just be where the answers to this world’s problems lie.
My views on trends have also shifted. I’m not sure they really start anymore — perhaps they simply arrive. They rise through us collectively — and maybe some of us have a certain sensitivity and openness that allows us to tune in a little earlier than others.
Maybe that’s exactly what happened all those years ago when I went full-on into what would now be classified as Floralcore at Eaton House — an explosion of flowers lit by ambient fairy and neon light. At the time, it didn’t exist anywhere else, not that I knew of anyway — and certainly not at that level of maximalism that I ended up creating. I am deeply inspired by the beauty of nature, and, being a Californian living in England longing to see a garden in bloom more than on the handful of warm days we get each year, I decided to bring the outside in — to create my own version of a secret garden indoors, imagineered for complete escapism and immersion.
Over the next decade, the world started turning pinker, with endless floral installations flooding our feeds. Flower walls appeared in cafés, arches suddenly flourished in commercial doorways, and floral neon quotes glowed across Instagram. Even a well known celebrity member's club in London took to the trend. Faux flowers had taken over as an interior aesthetic. Friends would constantly DM me pictures (and still do!) saying, “Here’s another copycat,” or simply, “This reminds me of you.”
But was it copying after all— or were we all just tuned into the same pulse, collectively craving more colour, more softness, more fantasy, more light? Or was it a ripple effect — because my project had gone viral around the world and resonated with so many, was it one idea sparking another until it became a global aesthetic that no longer remembered its source?
Of course, there were moments that felt unmistakably inspired. I was once asked to host a campaign for one of the biggest fashion houses in the world, but unfortunately The Pink House was already booked during the time they wanted it. And although I really wanted to do it, I equally didn’t want to let a private hire guest, who had booked their special occasion over a year in advance, down. I know not everyone would have made that decision — but for me it was simply the right thing to do.
Three months later, their perfume campaign came out — set in a space that looked strikingly reminiscent of the Green Room filled with blooms. And it didn’t stop there. After I created the Flower Girls for the garden, I saw Jeremy Scott’s models come down the runway in an almost identical concept. As my pink house continued to go viral in 2015, Marc Jacobs positioned a very similarly shaped and coloured pink house on the runway that same year. I could highlight so many comparisons like this — that still happen to this day ---- but some stories are best kept behind closed doors, or perhaps in the pages of a book.
My loved ones have always been protective — feeling I should be credited or financially compensated when these things pop up, as if there were a reason for me to be upset. But are you kidding me? Some of the biggest fashion houses in the world have drawn inspiration from my work. In those early days of The Pink House, it felt surreal — like a childhood dream come true; a quiet form of validation. Something I know now I don’t need from any outside source — but at the time, it meant more than money or a credit ever could.
One of my earliest dreams was to make a mark on the world’s aesthetic. I just never imagined that mark would filter down from high fashion to commercialism — to become a flower wall glowing in neon light. Sometimes I feel tempted to take it all down and start over, to reinvent. But then I remember: that was the beginning. That was the seed that everything else grew from — and, after all, I am the OG of Floralcore.
Maybe that’s the beauty of creativity — it moves like energy: never fixed, always finding new vessels to flow through. What began for me inside a pink house in rural Essex as a love letter to my inner child — a celebration of colour, joy, and light — has become something more cosmic, divine, and introspective at Starseed House, an entire continent away. The essence hasn’t changed — my work has always been both visual and vibrational — but now, the two are completely intertwined, resonating at that unmistakable frequency my projects seem to carry; one often described by guests as their spiritual home.
So as more and more Spacecore comes into our orbit, maybe it isn’t about space at all. Maybe it’s about spirit — that quiet, collective pull reminding us that when we look to the stars, we’re really just searching for hope, meaning, and belonging within a bigger picture. Perhaps that’s what fashion, art, and creativity have always been — our way of reaching for the divine through design.
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