With this story, we want to show the experience of going through this and continuing to resist in a city where job opportunities are declining, added to racism and a more perceptible classism day by day that deprives immigrants and proletarians, now more than ever, of new possibilities. To grow up in a country where, once upon a time, almost all your goals could become possible.
Since their splashy 2018 debut hosted by Kanye West and Asa Akira, with Lil Pump performing under Spike Jonze’s oversight, the Pornhub Awards have charted a careful course toward blending mainstream appeal with adult-industry visibility. Unlike traditional awards shows, these awards are entirely data-driven, with nominees and winners determined through algorithms tracking video views, search queries, and other metrics. Past editions flirted with the mainstream—John Waters once handed out a trophy. Last year it was Julia Fox. This time, Jordan Firstman hosted, hyper-social energy making scripted segments feel superfluous. This recalibration likely traces back to PR giant Kelly Cutrone, who smuggles provocation into mainstream polish, quietly refining the awards into something sharper, sleeker—edgy enough for mainstream consumption.
Later that night, I lifted him bridal-style as he jokingly sucked his thumb—a gesture unhinged in any other context, yet perfectly natural here.
Our plans for rapid-fire interviews off the red carpet dissolved into a fascinating, unexpectedly swift half-hour with Dana DeArmond—industry Hall-of-Famer since the Myspace era and dressed like a cottage-core Wojak—who delightedly discussed the joys of living alone, decentering men (except sigma males), domestic ergonomics, and the necessity of MILF content, noting it remains Pornhub’s most-viewed genre. Britney Amber, angling for this year’s MILF title, grinned: she’d jump into a scene with reigning champ Dana DeArmond right here, no call sheet required. After our conversation, Dana joked that we should start SigmaSingles.com.
Nearby, Riley Reid stood at the step-and-repeat, where her friends teased about retirement since becoming a mother. Reid corrected them gently, affirming her continued industry presence. A camera flash briefly recalibrated her stance, channeling Marilyn Monroe smiling coyly—as if caught over a subway vent—though in Reid’s case, it was lingerie and swinging tassels, not a skirt, that caught the air.
Inside, the mechanical bull—famous enough to collect royalties—thrashed under disco lights like a porn parody of a music video. Avalon Lurks DJ’d a set played Gen Z electroclash, while others spun Y2K chart toppers and Auto-Tuned country, stitched together with drunkenly in time square-dance drops. The vibe hovered between seizure and slow burn. Influencers drifted in loops, filming each other filming each other, caught in the algorithmic trance of pretending not to try.
As people trickled in—artists, writers, actors, lovers, fighters—there was a shared awareness that each person would eventually step onto that bed and offer something up in front of everyone. Denier became the compass. A word that measures the thickness of nylon—a material’s ability to conceal or expose. The stories that followed range from summer camp awakenings to old letters, oedipal confessions, and fresh fantasies of one opening their throat. Alice Scope had a conversation with the original chatbot E.L.I.Z.A., turning digital code into erotic reflection. Another guest sang. Another whispered. And some barely got the words out.
There were dirty martinis. Friends among friends. Strangers among strangers. Voices tangled with candlelight. The room held all of it—confession, humor, arousal, and hesitation. Some stories stayed with us. Others flickered out the second they hit the air. Still, for a moment, we stitched ourselves closer, thread by trembling thread.
In celebration of their 10th year of operation, the runway presentation showcased capsule collections from 26 CCS students across all class years, featuring over 100 looks. As I sat among the 400 attendees of entrepreneurs, recruiters, industry professionals and even some local NFL players. I couldn’t believe how each was more distinct than the last, from oversized plush cocoons to bowed wooden shoulder pieces, each unbelievable in originality, quality, craftsmanship and vision.
As part of their final project, the six seniors were required to present their collections to a jury panel the day before the runway show—a rare opportunity for members to examine each piece up close, noticing details that might be lost on the catwalk and to ask rigorous questions about concept, technique, and execution. The panel was made up of industry professionals who had flown in from Paris, Milan, Sweden, Germany, and across the United States, representing brands including Louis Vuitton, Hermès, Theory, Martine Rose, and others. We gathered in Detroit’s newly billion-dollar refurbished Michigan Central Station, where the collections were laid out like museum exhibits. As each juror engaged the designers in thoughtful conversation, I peeked over their shoulders, quietly eavesdropping on questions I’d never think to ask, listening intently.
“It’s hair,” designer Emma Wilson explained, holding up a pair of intricately patterned knee-high boots. On closer inspection, the “pattern” revealed itself to be real locks of hair, pressed between panels of leather and transparent lambskin. Sporting a suspiciously fresh pixie cut, she smiled and gestured toward a matching handbag—and actual resined dirt purse embedded with real mealworms. Grotesque yet seductive, her collection twisted femininity through possum fur, sheer leather, and literal insects.
Meka Johnson delivered a collection of bridal gowns warped by the seven deadly sins—envy took the form of an exaggerated, razor-sharp silhouette with a plunging neckline, while gluttony emerged as a mountain of endlessly layered tulle. Jackie Kramer built a world from sacred geometry, engineering leather and wood into wearable metaphysics.
(LEFT: Nick Madruga RIGHT: Veronica Wardowski's Collection)
Nick Madruga connected modern streetwear with nature. Two broken 3-D printers later, he unveiled intricate clogs that felt like feet breaking free from roots buried deep in the earth, alongside sculptural jackets and wide-legged, reworked trousers—one of which had been standing upright on its own for the entire semester.
Justin Hilberer was inspired by nature in a different way—by how human beings, like animals, adopt similar tactics for survival, both physical and emotional. He drew parallels between brutalist architecture and our instinct for self-preservation, expressed through leather, fur, and metal in the form of spikes and armor-like elements. His collection felt like a collision of medieval and streetwear.
(PICTURED: Nick Madruga's Collection)
Morgan Novetsky crafted deconstructed accessories that explored how feelings of uncertainty can hinder the path to success. Her shoes and bags appeared intentionally unfinished, exposing the technical process of shoemaking.
Bridget Weiss’s collection distilled the essence of placid water into shoes and handbags. Inspired by the idea of unattainable perfection, she incorporated a fishing lure motif throughout the pieces—exposing the irony that, while we’ve spent centuries distancing ourselves from nature through machines designed to perfect and homogenize, we now use those very tools to mimic the natural world. Maybe, she suggests, is the only true definition of “perfect.” I picked up a pair of sleek flat sandals. 'You’ll never catch me dead in a stiletto,' she smirked. I spent three hours circling back through the collections, discovering new details and nuances with each pass.
(LEFT: Briget Weiss RIGHT: Meka Johnson)
Shown in every wait staff's carhartt apron and ford escape passing by, the pride and loyalty of Detroit was undeniable. But beyond that, to my New York surprise, was the level of support and camaraderie—not just in the city, but among the creative community itself. After the jury panel I sat down with four local designers from Taylor Childs Studios, GODNII, Ruff Cut, and ROUGH-DRAFT, and in addition to being introduced to my new favorite drink “Last Word” (thank you Mariah) I was introduced to a tight knit supportive industry. In a field often propelled by competition, they choose instead to grow together, offering help, ideas, and encouragement when it's needed most.
I can’t imagine a better city to be a creative in—one with sky-high standards and a support system that doesn’t serve as a safety net, but as a catalyst. The next generation of designers has risen with boldness, intention, and a sense of community that feels entirely their own. “Believe in young people,” said Rey Pador, Associate Professor of Fashion Design at CCS who has poured his heart and soul into the program, “Give them something.”
The entire weekend I spent in Detroit, I was blown away. Beyond the expected Ford and Chevy at every turn, there was live music spilling from restaurant doorways, incredible murals wrapping entire buildings, and vibrant people with iimpeccable style. As I sat sipping a cocktail I’ll remember on my deathbed (in the third restaurant that weekend to have a disco ball) I couldn’t help but be embarrassed for New York, Detroit is the pulse everyone’s been chasing
