Perfection in fashion: Must something be flawless to be perfect?

I recently had my hair done, blonde highlights, lighter and cooler than before. The thing about blonde hair, though, is that it’s almost impossible to get it exactly right. There’s the issue of blonde blindness, for one: that strange perceptual drift where, after a few days, your hair no longer looks quite blonde enough, or looks too warm, or too grey. And then there’s maintenance. Fake blonde reacts and changes due to the sun, pollution, sweat and the water in your shower. It shifts subtly and not-so-subtly. It’s high-maintenance and strangely unstable.

I’ve been trying to get my blonde “right” for the better part of a year. My previous hairdresser kept taking it darker and darker, even though I kept asking for lightness. So, I changed salons. This time, I walked out with very light blonde. At first, I loved it. But within a few days I started seeing the errors: a patch of warmth here, too much brightness there. The more I looked, the more I saw. That’s the thing about blonde, every imperfection is more visible. Every flaw is a little louder. Every inconsistency shows up under a different light.

And yet… I love being blonde. It makes me feel confident, bright, more myself. It’s one of the few aesthetic choices that changes my entire mood. So what if it’s not perfect? Maybe that’s not the point.

In fact, I’m starting to think there’s no such thing as the perfect blonde. Or rather, it cannot truly be achieved. Plato believed that the perfect version of an idea or a thing, like beauty or a table, exists in an ideal realm. He called these perfect versions the Forms. So, for him, the perfect blonde hair (the Form of blonde hair) exists in an ideal realm. However, and this is what’s key here, in the physical world, we can only access merely the imperfect copies, the reflections of the Forms. We can continue to chase the perfect blonde, but we’ll never fully get there.

Despite this, there’s something about blonde hair that attracts. It is beautiful, it is exciting, it is stylish, and it communicates. So perhaps, perfect is the wrong standard. What if the value of blonde lies not in its technical perfection, but in how it’s interpreted, how it makes you feel, how others see it, what it signals?

After all, some imperfections in blonde hair are part of the aesthetic. Think of the chunky highlights of the late ’90s and early 2000s. Brash. Bold. Contrasting. Those weren’t

accidents, they were statements. And even when they were accidents, they were often reinterpreted as style. Everyone sees something slightly different when they look at blonde hair. Some won’t even notice the so-called flaws. Others will find them charming. The same hair, seen through different eyes, holds different value.

Hair is everyday art. Maybe not for everyone, maybe not in every case, but I believe it counts as art in the sense that it says something through aesthetic means. It’s expressive, coded, communicative. Those who are in on it, who know what it takes to bleach hair, tone it, maintain it, will read the message one way. They’ll see the effort behind the shade, the choice of undertone, the way it catches the light. Others might interpret it differently. But either way, it says something. And what exactly it says depends on where, when, and how it's seen. The meaning is situated, shaped by the eyes that see it, the cultural moment, the intent (or accident) behind it.

Imperfection in fashion is sometimes more explicit. Take Golden Goose, the luxury brand known for selling sneakers that come intentionally scuffed, smudged, and dirty-looking, right out of the box. It’s a stark contrast to what we typically imagine when we think of brand-new shoes: pristine white soles, no creases, fresh out of the tissue paper. Golden Goose flips that completely. Their shoes arrive looking worn.

Besides the obvious socioeconomic questions this raises (why pay hundreds for shoes that look like they’ve been through mud?) there’s something deeply philosophical about it too. It makes us ask: What does perfect even mean?

If we accept that those shoes are fashion, stylish, desirable, intentional, then it challenges the idea of what counts as a “perfect” shoe. Clean, new, untouched? Or worn-in, lived-in, curated imperfection? It feels strange to say that a dirty sneaker could be perfect, but that’s exactly what happens when fashion changes the rules. Maybe perfection in fashion doesn’t mean without flaws, it means fitting into an aesthetic idea.

Maybe perfection doesn’t mean flawlessness at all. Maybe it simply means ready. Complete. Finished. A clothing item (or hair colour, or pair of shoes) is “perfect” when it’s exactly how it was meant to be. When it’s reached the end point the artist or wearer envisioned. And that depends entirely on context: the intent, the environment, the message being sent.

For a fashion house like Dior, perfection often means precision. Immaculate stitching, smooth silhouettes, fabrics that fall just right. Everything is controlled, finished, seamless. But for other designers, like Maison Margiela, Vivienne Westwood, or Comme des Garçons, the intention is different. Here, the garment might be ripped, asymmetric, raw-edged. These pieces are still “perfect”, not because they’re flawless, but because they’re true to their idea. They embrace imperfection as part of the form.

This is where fashion overlaps with art: perfection becomes about internal coherence, not universal rules. It’s not about cleanliness or symmetry, it’s about whether the piece is complete in its expression. And that depends on the eyes that see it. My blonde hair is perfect, not because it is flawless, but because it completes the aesthetic vision I have for myself.

Perfection in fashion: Must something be flawless to be perfect?

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