Fashion, Grief, and the Chaos of Ascend: A Seattle Fashion Show Review

On Saturday night, a group of models tiptoed their way down a three-foot-wide runway at the Covington Aquatic Center. The lights reflected off water, fringe, and wings. Seattle’s Ascend fashion show promised elevation, inspiration, and artistry. What unfolded was something far more complicated. A night where raw emotion eclipsed production polish, where artistry battled disarray, and where one designer gave everything he had to say goodbye. Real, bleeding, overwhelming emotion.

Designer Walace Style, known for his richly personal collections and rising star status in the Seattle fashion circuit, debuted what he confirmed will be his final show before taking an extended hiatus. "I just want people to feel something,” he told me. “Whether it’s joy or sadness. I just want them to feel." His final pieces, built on a foundation of grief, celebration, and cultural reverence, did just that. Walace’s final show didn’t come from a Pinterest board of “trends for 2025.” It came from every emotion imaginable. From that in-between place where creatives either evolve or collapse. “I didn’t really have inspiration like I usually do,” he told me backstage. “I was going through a lot. Some really happy moments, and also a lot of sad ones. This collection wasn’t a theme. It was a feeling.”

And you could feel it. In the fabric. In the silhouette. In his voice.

This wasn’t just a show. It was a love letter to resilience.

Walace leaned into his Brazilian roots with hints of Rio Carnival but scaled back the theatrics for one very real reason: the runway was practically nonexistent. His gowns are known for drama: big trains, sweeping structure, fantasy. But with less than three feet of walking space, Walace had to evolve. “If I couldn’t go big with the gowns, I had to go big somewhere else,” he explained. So he gave us movement: fringe, wings, motion. The result was a spiritual kind of fluidity. It was water, longing, and flight all wrapped in one.

But for all the beauty on the runway, the show’s surroundings betrayed the art. Guests fanned themselves in the unbearably hot room, many visibly uncomfortable. Others grumbled as the show began late, followed by a 20-minute long intermission that did not go over well with the audience. This was a pacing misstep that prompted a quiet exodus from several rows, including VIP guests. The tension was palpable. 

And yet, even amid the beauty, the room wasn’t full of the people who should’ve been there either. No press row, no stylists, no buyers. No influencers. Why? For NFM, whose media presence has elevated regional talent for years, being seated several rows back without access or acknowledgment spoke volumes. Professional media should never be treated as an afterthought at a fashion show, especially when the stated mission is to highlight emerging talent. Seattle’s creative community deserves better. 

Because Seattle fashion still allows gatekeepers to sell $50 tickets to your aunties and neighbors instead of investing in real visibility for emerging artists. The so-called “fashion show runners” aren’t building the future. They’re cashing in on a system that uses designers like Walace for clout while making them fund their own downfall.

Walace didn’t mince words.

“Do not do fashion shows,” he said. “Don’t pay thousands of dollars just to say you did one. Take that money and invest in yourself. Learn. Get better fabric. Take a course. The shows will come when you’re ready, and they’ll pay you, not the other way around.”

That’s the truth no one wants to say out loud. But NFM has never been about playing it safe.

At one point, Walace teared up mid-sentence. His voice cracked as he told us about Athena, his beloved dog who passed away recently and was the muse behind his final angelic looks. “I don’t think I did her justice,” he admitted, eyes welling. “I’m not done. I need to make an entire collection for her. Maybe just in my backyard. Twelve looks. Only people who love and support me. It will be everything Athena.” 

And just like that, Walace reminded us all why independent fashion still matters.

This show wasn’t sponsored by LVMH. It wasn’t filmed by Netflix. But it was honest. Vulnerable. Brave. That’s the kind of energy NFM will always champion. Walace's message lands hard because it's true. He didn’t just bring fashion to the room. He brought soul. What he left on the runway wasn’t just fabric and movement. It was truth. Designers and fashion enthusiasts of the Pacific Northwest hear him. We hear him, and at NFM, we’re calling for more. More access. More intention. More platforms that lift creatives with integrity, not exploitation.

Until his return, Walace’s work remains a testament to what’s possible when fashion stops performing and starts feeling.

To those who treat fashion shows like a cash grab, your time is up. We’re building something else. Something honest, powerful, and real. And designers like Walace? They’ll be the reason Seattle finally gets seen as the budding fashion mecca it is.

Because real fashion doesn’t need a middleman. It just needs space to breathe.

I look foraward to the day I can write a positive, Seattle fashion show review. Until then, I will continue to be the voice of truth.