When A24 announced its two-year collaboration with Dior last week, it did so by satirizing Jonathan Anderson's very plain uniform: “slouchy flannels, oversized denim, sneakers.” The uniform is a strength for Anderson personally, freeing him to focus on more fantastical fits at Dior and JW Anderson (and, previously, LOEWE). 

But there’s a problem. This blandness has broken containment, infecting his work in the film industry he’s lankily strolled his way into. Just look at the cheeky A24 promo film. A phalanx of stars — Sabrina Carpenter, Josh O’Connor, Drew Starkey — dress up in Jonathan Anderson drag as they audition to be him.

It’s deliciously meta, sure, and very fun. I'd watch O'Connor and Starkey read a phone book aloud and sit with my mouth agape, in awe. But it's also all a bit too on-the-nose. Because this aversion to visual flair, to restraint, has filtered into the films he’s worked on as a costume designer with director Luca Guadagnino, from Challengers to Queer to the upcoming Artificial. 

The film’s first trailer, featuring Andrew Garfield as OpenAI founder Sam Altman, opens with an unintentionally Andersonian fit: plain jeans, plain shirt, sneakers. There are differences between this Altman and what Anderson favors — the jeans are tighter; the flannel swapped for a long-sleeve tee, adidas instead of Salomon. But when you dress plain and costume-design plain, it’s going to get the work Slack lit up with commentary about Garfield just looking like Anderson-lite. 

Look, I love what Anderson has done for fashion; he’s managed to concoct a perfect recipe of subversive wit, sculptural wearability, and intellectual curiosity. But I also love to see fashion designers who work on films actually, y’know, design fashion, not clothes. Anderson’s work on Challengers and Queer has been defined by a need to achieve subtlety. 

Challengers dressed one lead in On sneakers and UNIQLO tennis kits — not coincidentally, the one fast fashion company with a JW Anderson seasonal collection. And Queer, while boasting visually stunning set design and great fits, was less design than Anderson sourcing period-appropriate clothing. Something that, respectfully, scores of Hollywood costume designers have done for decades (without access to fabulously luxe fashion houses). The biggest narrative structuring through wardrobe was a gradual darkening of hues in Daniel Craig's suits to — spoiler alert — match his character's slide into heroin addiction. 

It wasn’t always this tepid. Coco Chanel, Yves Saint Laurent, Giorgio Armani, and Jean Paul Gaultier all dipped into cinema, creating stunning costumes that, rather than fading into the background of their respective films, became as much a character as the stars wearing them. Chanel reportedly re-cut each costume in the surrealist 1961 masterpiece Last Year at Marienbad for every individual camera angle so no element was lost, and Gaultier’s bombastic fits for The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover and The Fifth Element have made the films cult classics for fashion aficionados. 

Anderson’s runway shows have shown exactly the kind of subversive brilliance he’s capable of, yet all of that intrigue feels lost in translation with his filmic output. I’m not asking for Artificial-version Sam Altman to show up to his evil lair in a Victorian neck ruff or couture-quality jeans, but wouldn’t that be more fun?

See, that’s the key difference between making a fictional film and, say, a documentary: no matter how much your story is based on real life, cinema gives you an excuse to dream a bit bigger. If only Anderson would remember that. 

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