Pop couture connoisseur CHRISHABANA FED NYFW with a ballroom banquet fit for kinky kings and kweens alike as nightclub legends and trans icons served us a slice of kinky club rebellion we didn’t even know we were hungry for.
Welcome to POP, darling. A fever-dream debut, a synthetic rebirth, a chrome-dipped love letter to desire itself. Somewhere between the bassline that won’t quit and the whisper that “people are still having sex”, CHRISHABANA cracked open the night like a latex whip at 3 AM. What spilt out wasn’t just a fashion show; it was a collective, glossy exorcism of restraint.
The New York-based cult favourite, long adored for its spike-heavy jewellery and pop-star costumery (hello, Beyoncé, Gaga, Madonna, Rihanna, the holy quad), finally went full runway. Picture it: clear plastic shorts clinging to hips like a fever. A six-foot Adonis trapped in acrylic briefs, his behind memorialised like a Greek statue dipped in lube. Denim, but shredded, stabbed, and reborn in a constellation of safety pins and silver beads. Everything shimmered like sin under fluorescent light, a wardrobe for androids who kiss with teeth.
And then there was the sponsor, Pornhub, naturally, the most on-brand collab since Vivienne Westwood met chaos. Habana calls it “synergy,” but it felt more like destiny. The Pornhub of it all wasn’t even shocking; it was a knowing wink. Just the tip.
Before the first look even stomped, a short film bubbled onto the screen, literally popping to signal liftoff. Then came the parade: JT, Uglyworldwide, Vivian Jenna Wilson, Queenie, each model a demigod of kink couture.
Look one: a mint-green two-piece puff dream, cute but dangerous, like a bubblegum grenade. Then came the blue-and-green BDSMesque fantasy, face fully veiled, sleeves ballooned to alien proportions, thong cutting through the silence like a scandal. The audience howled.
JT, ever the divine femme gladiator, emerged dripping in metallics, hoops orbiting her head like twin moons. Accessories here weren’t extras; they were architecture. Jewellery sharp enough to cut glass (or lovers).
And through it all, CHRISHABANA whispered a single thesis: control is an illusion. Latex, leather, plastic, they don’t hide anything; they frame it. The most “covered” look of the night, a black bodysuit glimmering with cyber paillettes, still screamed submission chic.
This was fashion as a feedback loop, sex, tech, and texture vibrating against one another until something popped (literally). Habana has always flirted with danger, but here he kissed it on the mouth. Full tongue.
By the end, the room smelled like heat, plastic, and revolution. The lights hit chrome, the models disappeared, and the crowd sat there sweaty, stunned, baptised. Moderately aroused.
CHRISHABANA didn’t just debut a collection; he cracked open a portal. And on the other side? Pure, unfiltered pleasure. Post show, Chris Habana and Kelly Cutrone stayed and greeted many of their guests, in a world that is currently and constantly removing and attacking queer and trans liberties at every opportunity, a runway ignition of queer culture is not only welcomed, it is REQUIRED. Period.
Words by Lewis Robert Cameron
Designer @chrishabana
Images courtesy of People’s Revolution
Photography by Randy Brooke @randybrooke
Styling: @annatrevelyan
Makeup:
@raisaflowers
Hair: @charlielemindu
Nails: @pattieyankee
PR: @peoplesrevteam @kellycutrone
Casting: @_annalev
Special Thanks to: @alexkekesi @mikkeds
and the
PORNHUB team @ideaglass_studios
