During her own fashion show, Victoria Beckham didn’t just showcase looks—she was the look. Arriving in a champagne silk blouse, perfectly tucked and ever-so-slightly sheer, she caused more chatter than the models on the catwalk.
The blouse caught the light like a halo. Her smirk said, “Yes, I designed this.” The front row gasped. One editor reportedly spilled her flat white. Others took notes, not on the collection, but on Victoria’s buttons—how many were open, how many dared to dream.
It wasn’t just a blouse. It was a calculated slay. Subtle? Maybe. Effective? Devastatingly.
