1. Mood boosting, retina blasting.

The functional-soda aisle has become so crowded with wellness promises and soft pastels that standing out requires genuine audacity. Fhirst, a probiotic soda claiming to be "Superfunktional" (a term that sounds like a Berlin nightclub), decided the best counter-programming to faux-zen minimalism was maximum chaos. Working with Mother Design, they created cans that look like someone blended Big Soda branding, 90s health-food signage, and a Lisa Frank folder, then cranked the blender to eleven. The result features over-the-top typefaces (yes, even Papyrus), wild animals, juicy gradients, and flavor names like "Pineapple Yuzuphoria" and "Orange Cola Joyride." If every other wellness drink whispers calm, Fhirst screams "YOU'RE ALIVE!"

It's a smart play in a category that's become painfully earnest. When every beverage promises to "support your microbiome" while looking like a spa brochure, Fhirst's maximalist approach suggests something more honest: joy isn't clean or neutral, it's messy, excessive, and a little camp. The design commits fully to the premise that if you're selling happiness in a can, the packaging should radiate that energy loud enough to stop shoppers mid-aisle. Whether the drink actually improves your mood is up for debate, but the design already does its job before you crack it open. In a wellness landscape obsessed with appearing credible and scientific, sometimes the boldest move is just being unapologetically fun.

2. The henley gains main character energy.

The henley, that collarless half-buttoned shrug of a shirt, has spent 150 years floating through culture without ever committing to an identity. It was underwear, then sportswear, then mall uniform, then a CW heartthrob staple. Its whole personality was being vaguely attractive and aggressively noncommittal. Now it's back with a vengeance: on runways, in Lyst charts, on Paul Mescal, on Kendall Jenner, on everyone who wants to look good without seeming like they tried. The henley does what the cultural moment demands: it broadcasts depth while revealing absolutely nothing.

Its return isn't really about fashion. It's about cultural climate. People want something familiar, unfussy, and emotionally low-risk. The henley fits because it's the platonic ideal of "mid": safe, flattering, impossible to mess up, and carrying just enough sex appeal to seem interesting. It's normcore's more charming cousin. It's the torso version of the messy bun: "I didn't try," except you absolutely did. Maybe that's why it's resonating, not because it's new, but because it's the rare piece of clothing that lets people opt out of the fashion conversation without opting out of looking good.

3. Self-portraits, minus the self.

Most portrait photography tries to reveal something about its subject. Gerwyn Davies does the opposite: he designs elaborate costumes that completely obscure his identity, then photographs himself performing blind in front of the camera. His head is always covered. His body becomes sculptural form draped in sequined fabric, vinyl, or faux fur. The images look like fashion photography collided with performance art and a B-horror film budget, set against glowing backdrops of deserts, skate parks, and anonymous interiors. Davies describes his practice as "queer photographic self-representation," but the twist is that representing yourself means making yourself impossible to fully see.

The work plays with a fundamental tension in portraiture: what happens when the subject is both hyper-visible and completely hidden? Davies is conspicuous in every frame, dressed in materials that shimmer and demand attention, yet the specifics of who he is remain obscured. By working blind and snapping automatic sequences while performing for the camera, Davies creates images where the artist is present but unknowable, seen but unseen, hidden in plain sight. It's a reminder that sometimes the most interesting thing a portrait can reveal is everything it deliberately conceals.