THE GRAMMAR OF FASHION
TLDR: AI stonks go up; taste stonks must also go up. If not P(doom)
LD;TR
About six months ago,
@mover333 and I started Lekondo. We wanted to think about fashion less through the lens of consumption and more through the lens of play. What happens when you stop shopping and start thinking with clothes? When fashion becomes less about products and more about propositions?
For the past nine weeks, we at Lekondo have been running the Aura Awards. It began as a small experiment in how our users express authenticity through clothing. Every week, we introduced a theme â Schrödingerâs Cat, Orpheus & Eurydice, Reverie â and watched how our communities engaged through ideas. The results were beautiful, but also revealing. People could tell when something âworked.â They just couldnât explain why.
That gap between knowing and naming became the center of our work. When you canât describe what you see, you start relying on proxies. Price. Brand. Algorithmic popularity. Over time, those proxies replace perception itself. Taste becomes something you buy or inherit, not something you practice.
That absence of language became the real problem we were chasing.
That insight brought us back to Wittgensteinâs Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus: a century-old book about the limits of language. Ludwig Wittgenstein was an Austrian philosopher who tried to map the limits of what language can say. The Tractatus, his only book published in his lifetime, is a series of numbered propositions that build toward a surgical idea: that if we could understand how words picture the world, we might finally see the limits of what can be thought or said.
Fashion, we think, has the same boundary. Beyond brands and products, thereâs a place where meaning stops being constructed and starts being felt. What if fashion had a shared vocabulary the way coffee does? A flavor wheel for style. A set of coordinates that helped people say why something felt elegant or loud or calm.
We began sketching axes: formal to casual, statement to subtle, colorful to muted. Most of us know when something works, but we donât know how to say why. Either a) the words donât exist, or b) they have been flattened by marketing until they mean almost nothing.
So we tried to build a place where people could express it with a different flavor. Where describing an outfit was not about signaling but curiosity. Where judgment could feel generous, not competitive. What happens when you give a community a new vocabulary (?) and let them engage visually.
At first, I thought we were building an app. But the longer we worked, the more it felt like designing a discipline. A way of being. A way of seeing. People began expressing their OOTDs (Outfit Of the Day) with precision, empathy, and humor. They were not optimizing. They were observing. And from those observations, a culture began to form.
Looking back, I think the real experiment was not in the technology or the aesthetic model. It was in creating a small garden of internet where lived experiences could be discussed with celebration and sincerity. A place where authenticity itself was the art form.
Wittgenstein spent his life chasing the edges of language. He wanted to know where thought ends and the world begins. The deeper he went, the more he realized that language isnât just how we communicate; itâs how we see. What we canât describe, we struggle to notice. What we canât name, we start to overlook.
Itâs a deceptively simple idea, but it carries enormous weight. If the boundaries of language are the boundaries of our world, then language is not just a mirror of reality but the infrastructure of it. Every new word is a small expansion of consciousness. Every word that loses meaning shrinks it.
Fashion lives right on this edge. It is a language made of texture, proportion, and gesture. Itâs not just about what we wear, but how those choices become legible to others. When we say, âthis feels right,â weâre really saying, âthis fits inside the grammar of my world.â
But fashionâs grammar is fragile. The words we use for itââchic,â âtimeless,â âminimal,â âavant-gardeââare constantly collapsing under commercial pressure. Once a word becomes profitable, it stops being descriptive. It turns into marketing. And when the language of style becomes marketing, the field of perception narrows. We stop seeing difference. We start repeating ourselves.
When our words no longer describe the world, we stop being able to think clearly about it. And this isnât just about fashion. Itâs happening everywhereâpolitics, art, technology. âInnovation,â âauthenticity,â âcommunityââthese words used to name real experiences. Now, they gesture at meaning without creating it.
Philosophyâs job was to show the fly the way out of the bottle; to remind us that the mazes we live in are often built from our own language. In some sense, thatâs what weâve been trying to do with Lekondo. To rebuild a part of that visual language. To make space for authenticity again. Fashion just happens to be the medium we use to think out loud.
Every formal system â from logic to software to AI â works by describing the world through symbols. Those symbols define the universe the system can understand. Anything outside that vocabulary is invisible to it. When the grammar expands, so does the world.
By turning aesthetic perception into structured data, we can begin to describe beauty in ways that machines, brands, and communities can reason about. The systems that increasingly shape culture â recommendation models, generative tools, and search algorithms â all depend on language. They can only optimize what they can describe. When beauty, taste, and authenticity exist outside that formal vocabulary, the result is sameness: the aesthetic equivalent of AI slop.
Beauty is the acute perception to the immense yet delicate. And there is nothing more immense yet delicate than taste.