on October 28, 2025
Fantasy and memory are two things that fashion designers and film makers really like to marinate their work in. The best recipe however is using retro elements to tell contemporary stories. The return of vintage aesthetics in cinema is not a new trend by any means. It's more of a visual representation of longing. Vintage fashion gives audiences a sense of stillness that’s much needed in an era where culture moves at the speed of a screen tap. It also carries a tactile quality that digital life can’t compensate for anymore. Some audiences may not know the feel of a sun-faded cotton shirt, or that super bulky vintage denim but this is where cinema’s effect comes into play. Film conjures up nostalgic feelings for things one may have never experienced. And as much as directors swear they made the nostalgia out of thin air, it really boils down to the key elements of film making, of which fashion is a canonical one.
Yearning but make it fashion
It is safe to assume that all designers suffer from chronic yearning to a degree. For example, in the Star Wars movie series (set in the past, from a far far away galaxy mind you) the custom designers chose to dress some characters like Jesus' disciples instead of giving them sleek futuristic or unusual looks. That was a choice and it worked. They built wardrobes that breathe, pieces that wrinkle, fade, and look lived in. Galaxies may come and go but cotton and lenin textiles are here to stay. These details carry weight. They remind viewers that fashion, like film, is a record of time: imperfect, fleeting, and full of emotion. The clothes of that past become a way of revisiting who we once were or who we imagine we could’ve been.
Once Upon a Time in Hollywood: The Glamour of a Lost Era
Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (2019) is perhaps the clearest love letter to vintage style in contemporary cinema memory. Set in 1969 Los Angeles, it captures a city and an industry in transition. The film’s costumes, designed by Arianne Phillips, blur the line between nostalgia and realism.
Brad Pitt’s Cliff Booth is all worn jeans, moccasins, and sun-bleached shirts, the uniform of an American drifter who belongs to a disappearing West. Margot Robbie’s Sharon Tate, meanwhile, embodies the effortless optimism of late-’60s Hollywood: white go-go boots, yellow minidresses, soft hair, and unfiltered joy. Effort was put into curating time-accurate wardrobes because these wardrobes carry emotion. Watching them on screen feels like flipping through a vintage magazine that has come alive. Tarantino’s vision of 1969 is idealized, but intentionally so; the fashion keeps us yearning even as the story edges toward tragedy.
Call Me By Your Name: The Intimacy of Imperfection
While Tarantino’s film celebrates the spectacle of nostalgia, Call Me By Your Name (2017) does the opposite. Luca Guadagnino’s summer romance unfolds in northern Italy in the 1980s but instead of exaggerated period fashion, costume designer Giulia Piersanti went for quiet authenticity. Elio’s shirts are slightly oversized, his shorts a little too short. They don’t look styled; they look lived in.
Piersanti once said she wanted the clothes to feel like “something borrowed from someone you love.” That sentiment defines the entire film. When audiences fell in love with the film’s look, it wasn’t because it screamed “retro.” The cotton shirts, the loosely tied scarves, the sun-bleached palette, all silently communicate intimacy, youth, and the fragility of memory.
Unsurprisingly, after the film’s release, “Italian summer style” became a cultural reference point for airy shirts, vintage sneakers and earth tones. The film’s fashion became part of its emotional afterglow, living on in editorials, mood boards, and fashion campaigns years later.
The Talented Mr. Ripley and Saltburn
There’s another kind of nostalgia that’s less romantic and more dangerous. The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999) remains one of the most stylish psychological thrillers ever made. Costume designer Ann Roth crafted a 1950s Italian wardrobe that radiated effortless wealth: tailored suits, silk ties, and crisp shirts that spoke of privilege and leisure. Beneath the elegance, though, the clothes told a darker story: envy, imitation, and deceit. Tom Ripley dresses to belong, and in doing so, reveals that fashion can be a form of identity theft.
Emerald Fennell’s Saltburn (2023) channels that same quiet opulence for gen-z. Its crisp Oxford shirts, pearls, and cashmere sweaters revive the “old money” aesthetic, but with an undertone of menace. Somehow the film succeeded in making this menace feel aspirational enough to land in our pinterest boards. Viewers are drawn to the film’s aesthetic perfection even though the story itself is a spiral into dark obsessions. The fashion becomes part of the seduction and creates a sense of longing for a fantasy, for a world of taste and class that probably never existed, but still feels intoxicating to imagine.
Dressing the Feels, Not the Period
Different period films are divided by decades but united by the use of fashion. Retro style isn’t about accuracy anymore; it’s about atmosphere. Costume designers build wardrobes like emotional soundtracks. A certain cut of trouser or a faded silk blouse can summon an entire mood. The effect is less historical and more cinematic. It’s the same as when film makers use color grading or lighting to evoke feelings,.
In many of today’s most memorable films, the clothes do what dialogue can’t. They hold memory. They tell us what the characters don’t articulate. When we see those looks whether it’s Sharon Tate’s white boots, Elio’s unbuttoned shirts, or Felix’s pearls in Saltburn we don’t just recognize the era. We recognize the longing.
Why Nostalgia Still Sells
There’s also a marketing truth beneath all this: nostalgia works. It comforts and sells. Fashion brands know it; filmmakers know it too. However, to do it thoughtfully, the strategy has to step down from the priority place, and allow communication to rule. They must let the connection sit at the core of it. The reason we respond to vintage aesthetics isn’t because they’re beautiful (though they are), but because they make us feel something that modernity often strips away: time, patience, permanence.
Cinema gives those feelings texture again. It lets us inhabit a world where clothes weren’t disposable, where style was personal, and where beauty carried a little melancholy. That’s what people yearn for and like to wear.
The Past Is Always Present
The current wave of retro-inflected cinema is genius when it looks back and reinterprets. The best directors and designers curate the past, not copy it. creating for a conversation between decades. And maybe that’s what makes it so captivating. Vintage fashion on film isn’t really about yearning for another time, it’s rather yearning for another feeling. A world that felt slower, richer, and somehow more human. In a culture that’s constantly moving forward, the past has become the most chic place to linger.
