Something's in the water. Something Scottish. And though it's not not Nessie, what I'm actually trying to get at pertains to the broader, iconographic influence Scotland is currently exerting on fashion and pop culture. Because in scanning everything from the copy of Douglas Stuart's John of John I just tore through to Literary Sport's most recent campaign and Demna's upcoming Gucci kilts, I've found myself on the verge of checking Duolingo for lessons in Gaelic.

Jokes aside, the Isles really are coming for the aisles, with Scott-ish references surfacing across entertainment, moodboards, and retail — in the very Outlander, Alan Cumming in his campy tartans on Traitors sort of way, but in subtler, more profound ways, too.

For one, I'm seeing truly Scottish brands moving to the fore of the season, thanks to a homegrown expertise in great-looking clothes that withstand colder, wetter, windier weather. I'm talking excellent Kestin puffers, Mackintosh's time-honored trench coats (or “macs”), and sweaters from the centuries-old Johnstons of Elgin. Zooming out a little, you'll notice plenty of international labels proudly claiming Scottish textiles and craftsmanship as part of their wintery rollouts. Think Another Aspect's Scotland-knitted jumpers, Jeanerica and Begg x Co's plaid cashmere scarves, and A Day's March's Harris Tweed overshirts. Or, how about Antwerp's eccentric Howlin’, Copenhagen's minimalist Norse Projects, and New York's preppy NOAH, even? All of them source wool and knowledge from Scottish manufacturers.

There are, of course, brands that occupy the wider British countryside niche year-round and have done so for ages — the Burberrys and the Barbours. The latter's back-to-back Paul Smith and J. Crew collaborations proved particularly adept at parlaying the whole Highland-farmer-wax-jacket theme without feeling trite in either product or imagery. Nor, for that matter, did they make a mockery of rural dress codes or treat them as interchangeable.

That said, the visual language here isn’t exactly new, but it's not trendy per se either. Sometimes it's loosely based on its source material, modernized, romanticized or fantasy-tinged; sometimes it's faithful. But I think that's precisely the point of what I'm perceiving as an uptick in moory, mountainy worldbuilding. However my American mother when she took the family on a so-called roots tour to Scotland to learn about our ancestors this may sound, I'd posit there's a sentimental, endearing reason for why this motif appeals to people: the character, ruggedness, and folklore inherent to these Scott-ish aesthetics lend an analog quality, (literal) texture, and history to the clothes at hand. Amid fears of AI eroding distinctly human touches, it's this exact sense of familiarity, heritage, and identity that consumers connect with emotionally — even if only at Loch Ness monster depth.

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