Gigi Goode doesn’t design clothes — she conjures creatures. In Alchemy, her second fashion collection, the Drag Race alum-turned-fashion force ditches the pattern for paint and trades precision for possession. This isn’t fashion. It’s invocation.
In this chapter, Goode steps into full creative trance. No sewing machines. No sketches. Just silicone, cheap painter’s canvas, and gallons of house paint. In one Instagram clip, she’s barefoot, painting directly onto a mannequin like a possessed couture priestess. “Hours and hours, even days, disappear,” she says. “Then I open my eyes and there’s a garment — and chaos everywhere.”
The pieces are post-apocalyptic couture armor: wet-look black capes that evoke radioactive nuns, scorched red ball gowns, jagged coats with brutal shoulders. “It’s like a film,” she says, “some dystopian, less-hot version of Dune. Mysterious, mutated creatures — but the girls still serve.”
Originally, Alchemy was meant to address the repression of women — with high necklines, covered mouths, motifs of silence. But the concept unraveled as Goode leaned deeper into process. “I just needed to make a mess,” she explains. What emerged is her most intuitive and unfiltered work yet.
Her lifelong obsession with 1940s fashion threads quietly through it all. Raised in a basement of vintage theatre costumes, Goode started experimenting young — styling her hair in pin curls and posing in drag at 15 in abandoned Illinois buildings. In one shoot, she played a housewife on a haunted piano. Minutes later, the keys she touched started playing on their own from the next room. “The only paranormal thing that’s ever happened to me — and I was in full nurse drag.”
Now, she’s trading the main stage for something deeper. “I love Drag Race. But I have nothing left to prove there,” she says. “It was a beautiful chapter — like a weird little diary — and I’m proud of it. But I don’t need to go back.”
Instead, she’s carving her own path — splitting time between LA and Paris, connecting with boundary-pushing designers like Fecal Matter and Luis De Javier. Her focus? Fashion that’s physically unwearable, spiritually irresistible. “I want the girls who wear this to feel it in their bones,” she says. “The shoes were so intense their knees buckled. But once they stood in them — they stood.”
Alchemy isn’t a red carpet moment. It’s a cinematic possession. Couture for a world that doesn’t exist yet — but maybe should.
