The Met Gala, once a hushed soirée for Manhattan’s velvet-robed elite, has morphed into fashion’s most unapologetic carnival—a place where outfits scream louder than paparazzi flashbulbs. But this year, beneath the sequins and sculptural silhouettes, something richer pulsed through the halls: a dialogue between horology and heritage, where wristwear became more than accessories—they were testaments.
Coinciding with the Costume Institute’s groundbreaking exhibition on Black dandyism, this year’s gala wasn’t just about who wore what—but why. The curated pieces, from Frederick Douglass’s defiantly polished spectacles to Virgil Abloh’s kente-cloth-trimmed suits, revealed a truth: for marginalized communities, style is armor. And watches? They’re the hidden rivets holding that armor together.
The red carpet transformed into a living exhibit of mechanical storytelling:
These weren’t mere flexes of wealth. Each tick of these mechanisms carried the weight of unspoken narratives: ownership in a world that once denied it, craftsmanship as cultural reclamation, legacy worn on the wrist like a battle standard.
In an era where luxury brands still grapple with diversity, the watches chosen by attendees spoke volumes. The Royal Oak’s octagonal bezel—a design born from rebellion—worn by both Williams and Simone Biles, became a geometric manifesto. Olivier Rousteing’s sapphire-studded Jumbo wasn’t just opulence; it was
, stones catching light like a disco ball in a hall of mirrors.
As the gala’s chandeliers dimmed, one truth remained: while fashion’s headlines fade by morning, the stories these timepieces carry—of resilience, identity, and the audacity to shine—will keep ticking for generations.
