Stuck in a Creativity Slump at Work? Here are Some Surprising Ways to Get Your Spark Back

Research indicates that if you want to be consistently creative, it is important to break away from the things that helped you achieve creative success in the past. Cover picture by Andrea Heinsohn for DAM

By Poornika Ananth, University of Bath

The latest entry in the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s movie slate, Captain America: Brave New World, arrived earlier this year with the hopes of continuing the legacy of the beloved sub-franchise. But the film struggled to hit the heights of the three earlier instalments. Critics hit out at its messy plot, unremarkable characters, tired visuals – and an overall absence of creativity.

This raises an interesting and broader question about creativity at work. Most advice on this focuses on having one creative idea. But what does it take to stay creative over time? After all, creativity at work isn’t just about having great ideas – it’s about having them consistently.

Yet over time, even the most innovative minds and organisations like the Marvel Cinematic Universe can hit a creative slump that they struggle to recover from.

Long-term creativity is often hindered by two broad factors. The first is the “expertise trap”. Expertise can initially be great for creativity. After all, as a person develops greater knowledge and skills, they can combine different elements of that knowledge to develop unique ideas and solutions to problems.

Over time however, expertise can actually limit flexibility and creativity. When people become exceptionally skilled or knowledgeable in a particular field, they tend to experience “cognitive entrenchment”, a fixation where deeply ingrained knowledge of a topic leads to rigid ways of thinking.

This might work well in familiar situations, but it can also make it harder for people to see things in a new light.

The second factor is the “success trap”. Research suggests that success – and receiving recognition for a creative idea or outcome – can affect creativity in unexpected ways.

Creative success can motivate people to come up with more ideas, increasing the quantity and pace of their output. But on the other hand, it can also encourage creators to focus on the things that worked well in the past. They often try to replicate or tweak them instead of coming up with something genuinely new.

Of course all is not lost. There are inspiring examples of people and organisations who break out of a creative slump. Taylor Swift faced being pigeonholed after her initial country-pop success, but came back even stronger with her shift to synth-pop in 2014.

It’s hard to believe Danish firm LEGO ever struggled – but it built back better. olrat/Shutterstock

And Danish firm LEGO, which was on the brink of bankruptcy in 2003, regained its supremacy in the toy sector by coming up with new ways of making their core products – LEGO bricks – popular again. This even included taking the creative leap into movies based on their bricks.

Get your creative spark back

Research indicates that if you want to be consistently creative, it is important to break away from the things that helped you achieve creative success in the past.

This can mean moving away from familiar environments as your career advances. Or it could be adding to your knowledge sources so that you are not merely reliant on the depth of your knowledge but also on the breadth. You may also benefit from collaborating with people who already have that additional knowledge so you can combine your brainpower.

Second, if you have had a recent success this can often come with expectations to replicate it and chase more opportunities. While this may have some short-term benefits, in the long run insulating yourself from those expectations – and the rapid increase in opportunities – can give you the time and space to come up with new ideas instead of retreading old ground.

My own research suggests that sustaining creativity over time is not just about generating ideas repeatedly, it is also about managing a portfolio of developing ideas. This is a better approach than merely focusing on one central idea.

It involves putting aside (or stockpiling) ideas that have limited use or value right now and turning your attention to other ideas in the portfolio. Stockpiled ideas can exist and develop in the background, but you can return to them in the future and use them flexibly to learn from, seek inspiration or develop new projects.

For people who work in the knowledge economy, ideas can be their primary currency. But beyond that, creativity can also improve wellbeing and so is a fundamental part of being human. By following these tips to reignite your creative spark, you can reap those benefits of continued creativity over a long period of time.

Poornika Ananth, Assistant Professor in Strategy and Organisations, School of Management, University of Bath

Personalising a Luxury Fashion Item with a Name or Initial? Research Suggests a Hidden Social Cost

Research shows those who personalise items with their name worry more about being negatively judged than those who purchase non-customised items. Pictured is Italian entrepreneur Chiara Ferragni with her own name on a Dior tote. Cover picture by Andrea Heinsohn for DAM

By Anne-maree O'Rourke

You might think spending $5,000 on a handbag or wallet would be prestigious and exclusive enough. What about taking things one step further – and personalising it with your own name? Brands including Gucci, Louis Vuitton and Dior now offer extensive customisation options – some for a few products, others for their entire range. Names and initials are an obvious, popular choice.

Some have hailed personalisation as the future of luxury goods. But it’s worth asking – could there be any downsides?

Research has shown there’s a trade-off to signalling social status with luxury goods. Luxury consumers are often perceived as less warm and friendly, more concerned with managing their image.

Our recent research examined whether name-stamping could increase this social cost. Our findings suggest for some customers, it can – increasing their fears of being negatively judged.

One-of-a kind products

These personalised touches are marketed as unique, one-of-a-kind products. They’re designed to appeal to a desire for individuality and exclusivity.

For luxury buyers, customisation offers a way to showcase their personality, passions and interests. It can enhance their feelings of connection to a brand and sense of psychological ownership of an item.

A promotional video showing personalisation 

options for Dior’s “Book Tote”.

Enabling consumers to co-design a product can also help alleviate the impostor syndrome some consumers experience when buying high-end luxury items.

For the brands themselves, personalisation services can increase profit margins, improve market appeal and strengthen customer loyalty.

Much of this trend has been fuelled by millennial and Gen-Z luxury consumers, who are increasingly seeking out unique, tailor-made experiences.

Luxury brands are adapting to changing trends. Alya108k/Shutterstock

By 2030, it’s expected that millennials and Gen-Z will account for 60–70% of all luxury purchases.

A 2017 survey found more than half of millennials who’d recently made a luxury purchase were willing to pay more for personalised luxury goods.

We love our own names

The popularity of name-stamping, in particular, may come down to a concept called “implicit egotism”.

Research suggests most people have a subconscious positive association with themselves. This extends to a preference for things that are connected to their sense of identity – such as the letters of their own name.

The drawbacks of personalisation are less widely discussed. One clear one is its impact on resale value. Personalised items are harder to sell.

This is particularly relevant for Australia’s booming second-hand luxury market, driven by younger consumers prioritising sustainability and affordability.

Research also suggests that excessive customisation – letting customers make design decisions on custom colours, fabrics, and so on – can decrease the signalling value of luxury items and undermine their status appeal.

One popular choice is to personalise items with a customer’s name or initials. Screenshot from au.louisvuitton.com

Luxury’s social cost

Then there’s the cost that can come with luxury itself.

Research has shown luxury consumers can be perceived as less warm and friendly than those who forgo luxury.

Interestingly, this perception isn’t driven by envy. Rather, it stems from a belief that luxury wearers are actively managing their image to impress others.

Does name-stamping luxury increase this social cost even more? Our research, with co-authors Joanna Lin, Billy Sung and Felix Septianto, suggests the answer is yes.

Research suggests luxury goods can make the wearer seem less warm to others. Body Stock/Shutterstock

We conducted four studies with 1,354 female luxury and non-luxury shoppers from the United States.

We found consumers who personalise luxury items with their name worry more about being negatively judged than those who purchase non-customised items.

This effect was consistent, regardless of whether the personalisation featured initials or full first names.

The overtness of name personalisation, in particular, may explain the added social cost. Customising a bag with a non-standard colour might only catch the eye of a luxury brand enthusiast. A prominently displayed name, however, unmistakably signals customisation to everyone.

Not all fear judgement

Importantly, we found not all luxury consumers share this fear of judgement equally. The impact depends on individual motivations for purchasing luxury items to begin with.

Those who are motivated to consume luxury goods for social reasons, such as standing out, are less concerned about receiving negative judgement from others.

Some luxury customers don’t worry about negative judgement. Street style photo/Shutterstock

In contrast, those who are motivated to buy luxury items for more individual reasons are more wary of how name personalisation might be judged.

For this group, which made up about half of the consumers we sampled, subtle, customised touches could be a more appealing option.

There could also be some variation across different cultures.

A report by KPMG found Chinese consumers – a group not included in our study – often seek luxury consumption as a means of social advancement and self-differentiation, meaning they are likely less concerned about the social costs.

On the other hand, we could speculate that Australian consumers, influenced by the “tall poppy syndrome” cultural phenomenon, may be even more sensitive.

Anne-maree O'Rourke, Lecturer in Marketing, The University of Queensland

Cannes International Film Festival: Trump’s Tariff Threat to Foreign Films Overlooks the Value of Multilingual Cinema

Leonardo Di Caprio, left, looks on as Robert De Niro accepts his Honorary Palme d'Or during the Cannes film festival and gives a speech critiquing the new proposed tariffs saying; 'You can't put a price on connectivity.' Photograph by Joel C Ryan/Invision/AP. Cover picture by Andrea Heinsohn for DAM

By Gaelle Planchenault

With the 78th Cannes International Film Festival underway this week, there is little doubt that one topic will be central to conversations among filmmakers, sales agents and journalists: United States President Donald Trump’s threat to impose a 100 per cent tax on foreign-made films.

On the opening night, Hollywood icon, Robert De Niro set the tone as he accepted his honorary Palme d'Or award. He used his podium to critique Trump’s actions in the arts, especially Trump’s proposal to tax foreign-made films. He said: “…art is the crucible that brings people together…. Art looks for truth. Art embraces diversity. That’s why art is a threat.” He also added: “you can’t put a price on connectivity.”

Amid an ongoing tariff war, Trump’s proposal — which may ultimately remain an empty threat — goes beyond economic protectionism. It is cultural protectionism. It also reflects language ideologies that have long constrained the American film industry and American engagement with multilingual cinema.

Experts have offered various theories about the motivations behind this threat, as well as why it may ultimately prove unwise. In the rush to brace for impact, we often forget the values behind these extreme positions aren’t new. More importantly, we must also remember why it’s vital to protect these cultural expressions.

As a linguist, I see a clear connection between this proposal and one of the administration’s actions earlier this year, when Trump signed an executive order designating English as the country’s sole official language. This move reflected a deeply rooted monolingual ideology that has long influenced both the U.S. language policy and education systems.

Monolingual ideology

Such language ideology reflects a belief in the superiority of monolingualism, a view that American linguist Rosina Lippi-Green links to the “myth of Standard American English.”

This myth is grounded in the subordination by one dialect, believed to be of higher quality and status, over other languages and dialects. According to Lippi-Green, the enforcement of this ideology follows a systematic process: language is mystified, authority is claimed and a series of negative consequences ensue. Misinformation is generated, targeted languages are trivialized, non-conformers are vilified or marginalized and threats are made.

Such authority and threats are recognizable in this most recent threat to make access to foreign films difficult. The issue is not just about the economic dimension of foreign-made films. It is also about the perceived threat posed by the presence and influence of other languages. At its core, this reflects a fear or rejection of linguistic diversity.

In the film industry, this monolingual ideology is closely tied to glottophobic attitudes, also referred to by some scholars as linguicism. These terms define the misrepresentation and negative stereotyping of speakers of languages other than English.

Hollywood, in particular, has a long history of portraying foreign or heritage languages in stereotypical and often derogatory ways. Consider, for instance, the German-speaking characters in Second World War films, or more recent depictions of Arabic, Mexican Spanish or Russian speakers.

These portrayals illustrate a tendency to depict other languages as menacing — a point that was also made in the American president’s claim that foreign films pose a “threat” because they constitute “messaging and propaganda.”

A press image for the show Call My Agent which has been a global success. Netflix

Linguistic stereotyping

It’s not just characters who speak other languages who have been misrepresented in American films. Those who speak English as a second language — that is with an accent or with a syntax that is marked by their first language — were often played by white actors and subject to similar derogatory stereotypes.

Linguists have identified patterns in these linguistic representations, referring to them as Injun English, Mock Spanish or yellow voices, among others.

Lippi-Green has famously argued that such linguistic depictions are ways to reinforce standard language ideologies through linguistic stereotyping in media, including popular Disney cartoons. They effectively teach American children how to discriminate.

In my work, I examined French-accented English to demonstrate that these representations reflect broader cultural anxieties. Ultimately, this rhetoric reveals more about the U.S. relationship with linguistic diversity than it does about the communities being portrayed.

Trump has made reference to “any and all movies coming into our country that are produced in foreign lands.” But it remains unclear how such measures would impact streaming platforms and the diverse range of films they currently offer.

Hollywood has come a long way since the heydays of linguicism, gradually embracing a more inclusive and multilingual cinematic landscape. Today, films that present a more diverse linguistic landscape are increasingly common. And audiences are accustomed to having access to a wide selection of international content.

The global success of the French series Call My Agent is just one example. Among others are popular French spy thrillers and romances, Swedish thrillers, Japanese anime and Korean dystopian series.

The pleasure of watching foreign films

For years, foreign language films have been recognized as an invaluable resource for language learning. This fact is supported by language learning apps that increasingly recommend users to view TV programs or movies to support learning. Movies and TV provide access to a variety of dialects as well as authentic forms of language.

As a professor of French media and linguistics, I often use films to teach students about French language and culture. But beyond their educational benefits, foreign-language films offer unique esthetic and emotional pleasures.

Watching a film is to engage with sound and image. The language itself enhances the immersive experience, contributing to the authenticity of the storytelling. For example, one of my students told me he enjoys turning on closed captions in French. These are also known as SDH: Subtitles for the Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing. He does this not just for the dialogue but because they capture the full cinematic experience, including the naming of sounds.

Restricting access to these cultural products would trap viewers in an ideological echo chamber, where only one language is heard and validated.

Fictional representations play a powerful role in shaping and reinforcing real-world attitudes. Monolingual representations potentially foster linguistic discrimination and intolerance toward any word uttered with an accent or in another language. In short, such restrictions could pave the way for a partial and stunted society. 

Gaelle Planchenault, Associate Professor of French Media, Culture, and Applied Linguistics, Simon Fraser University

We Need to Stop Pretending AI is Intelligent – Here’s How

Giving AI a human face, voice or tone is a dangerous act of cross-dressing. It triggers an automatic response in us andromorphic reflex.

By Guillaume Thierry, Bangor University

We are constantly fed a version of AI that looks, sounds and acts suspiciously like us. It speaks in polished sentences, mimics emotions, expresses curiosity, claims to feel compassion, even dabbles in what it calls creativity.

But here’s the truth: it possesses none of those qualities. It is not human. And presenting it as if it were? That’s dangerous. Because it’s convincing. And nothing is more dangerous than a convincing illusion.

In particular, general artificial intelligence — the mythical kind of AI that supposedly mirrors human thought — is still science fiction, and it might well stay that way.

What we call AI today is nothing more than a statistical machine: a digital parrot regurgitating patterns mined from oceans of human data (the situation hasn’t changed much since it was discussed here five years ago). When it writes an answer to a question, it literally just guesses which letter and word will come next in a sequence – based on the data it’s been trained on.

This means AI has no understanding. No consciousness. No knowledge in any real, human sense. Just pure probability-driven, engineered brilliance — nothing more, and nothing less.

So why is a real “thinking” AI likely impossible? Because it’s bodiless. It has no senses, no flesh, no nerves, no pain, no pleasure. It doesn’t hunger, desire or fear. And because there is no cognition — not a shred — there’s a fundamental gap between the data it consumes (data born out of human feelings and experience) and what it can do with them.

Philosopher David Chalmers calls the mysterious mechanism underlying the relationship between our physical body and consciousness the “hard problem of consciousness”. Eminent scientists have recently hypothesised that consciousness actually emerges from the integration of internal, mental states with sensory representations (such as changes in heart rate, sweating and much more).

Given the paramount importance of the human senses and emotion for consciousness to “happen”, there is a profound and probably irreconcilable disconnect between general AI, the machine, and consciousness, a human phenomenon.

The master

Before you argue that AI programmers are human, let me stop you there. I know they’re human. That’s part of the problem. Would you entrust your deepest secrets, life decisions, emotional turmoil, to a computer programmer? Yet that’s exactly what people are doing — just ask Claude, GPT-4.5, Gemini … or, if you dare, Grok.

Giving AI a human face, voice or tone is a dangerous act of digital cross-dressing. It triggers an automatic response in us, an anthropomorphic reflex, leading to aberrant claims whereby some AIs are said to have passed the famous Turing test (which tests a machine’s ability to exhibit intelligent, human-like behaiour). But I believe that if AIs are passing the Turing test, we need to update the test.

The AI machine has no idea what it means to be human. It cannot offer genuine compassion, it cannot foresee your suffering, cannot intuit hidden motives or lies. It has no taste, no instinct, no inner compass. It is bereft of all the messy, charming complexity that makes us who we are.

More troubling still: AI has no goals of its own, no desires or ethics unless injected into its code. That means the true danger doesn’t lie in the machine, but in its master — the programmer, the corporation, the government. Still feel safe?

And please, don’t come at me with: “You’re too harsh! You’re not open to the possibilities!” Or worse: “That’s such a bleak view. My AI buddy calms me down when I’m anxious.”

Am I lacking enthusiasm? Hardly. I use AI every day. It’s the most powerful tool I’ve ever had. I can translate, summarise, visualise, code, debug, explore alternatives, analyse data — faster and better than I could ever dream to do it myself.

I’m in awe. But it is still a tool — nothing more, nothing less. And like every tool humans have ever invented, from stone axes and slingshots to quantum computing and atomic bombs, it can be used as a weapon. It will be used as a weapon.

Need a visual? Imagine falling in love with an intoxicating AI, like in the film Her. Now imagine it “decides” to leave you. What would you do to stop it? And to be clear: it won’t be the AI rejecting you. It’ll be the human or system behind it, wielding that tool become weapon to control your behaviour.

Removing the mask

So where am I going with this? We must stop giving AI human traits. My first interaction with GPT-3 rather seriously annoyed me. It pretended to be a person. It said it had feelings, ambitions, even consciousness.

That’s no longer the default behaviour, thankfully. But the style of interaction — the eerily natural flow of conversation — remains intact. And that, too, is convincing. Too convincing.

We need to de-anthropomorphise AI. Now. Strip it of its human mask. This should be easy. Companies could remove all reference to emotion, judgement or cognitive processing on the part of the AI. In particular, it should respond factually without ever saying “I”, or “I feel that”… or “I am curious”.

Will it happen? I doubt it. It reminds me of another warning we’ve ignored for over 20 years: “We need to cut CO₂ emissions.” Look where that got us. But we must warn big tech companies of the dangers associated with the humanisation of AIs. They are unlikely to play ball, but they should, especially if they are serious about developing more ethical AIs.

For now, this is what I do (because I too often get this eerie feeling that I am talking to a synthetic human when using ChatGPT or Claude): I instruct my AI not to address me by name. I ask it to call itself AI, to speak in the third person, and to avoid emotional or cognitive terms.

If I am using voice chat, I ask the AI to use a flat prosody and speak a bit like a robot. It is actually quite fun and keeps us both in our comfort zone.

Guillaume Thierry, Professor of Cognitive Neuroscience, Bangor University

Why Trump’s Plans for Tariffs on Foreign Films Won’t Have a Happy Ending

If implemented, Trump's tariffs will have far reaching consequences on the film and television industry, but they are unlikely to make anyone more prosperous.

By Jean Chalaby, City St George's, University of London

With its tariffs policies, the administration of US president Donald Trump aims to correct the country’s persistent goods trade deficit. The president has argued that the US has been “looted, pillaged, raped and plundered” by other countries. Trump feels it is now America’s “turn to prosper” – and he has the film and TV industries in his sights with threats of 100% tariffs on foreign films.

Economists cite multiple reasons why tariffs are bad for economies, from stunting growth to adding inflationary pressure. But there is a more fundamental problem, which is notable in the case of the film and TV industries. While trade data reflects a country’s overall performance, it says nothing about the nature and ownership of the traded goods.

Indeed, the cross-border activities and foreign investments of US-based multinationals widen the US trade deficit. Global trade flows in film and TV are a good example.

In terms of the origin of a movie, it is determined by factors including the nationality of those in key creative roles, financing, filming location and the culture reflected in the theme and story. The US has long been the world’s largest exporter of films and TV, dominating global media flows for much of the 20th century.

In the 1970s, the country exported seven times as much film and TV programming as that of its nearest competitor (the UK). Three decades later, the US was still exporting 4.5 times the amount of content it imported – US$12.6 billion (£9.4 billion) versus US$2.8 billion.

US exports have increased, reaching US$24.7 billion in 2023, and Hollywood remains the world’s largest movie exporter. However, the US balance of trade in the sector has shifted dramatically. While US exports grew by 95.4% between 2006 and 2023, US imports increased by 898%.

The trade in film and TV programming achieved balance in 2019, and my research shows that since then, the US has imported more films and TV shows than it exported. The deficit was narrowing in 2023 but imports remained 12.1% higher than exports (US$27.7 billion versus US$24.3 billion).

This deficit deserves an explanation. Are Asian and European producers suddenly flooding the US with films and TV shows? Has the American public developed an insatiable appetite for Nordic noir or K-drama? The reality is that US-based media conglomerates like Disney, Netflix and Warner Bros Discovery have changed strategy. They have moved away from their previous focus on exports to direct-to-consumer international distribution.

What does this mean? Well, instead of licensing content to foreign broadcasters and cinemas (which they still do, but to a lesser extent), they retail their content internationally, using their own global streaming services.

The US entertainment paradox

Maintaining these large content libraries explains the shift of the US trade balance. US-based streamers export less because they now retain more of their content for exclusive distribution on their own streaming platforms. And they import more because they acquire foreign content in greater quantities than ever before.

For example, Stranger Things is produced by Netflix in the US. As such, it does not show up in export figures. Squid Game, on the other hand, is a Korean export and shows up in US import data.

Moreover, Walt Disney has decided to retain the exclusive rights to its franchises, forgoing licensing sales. In 2020, the company licensed 59% of its scripted series to third parties, 18% in 2021, and only 2% in 2022.

All the US streaming giants license and commission foreign content. Netflix in particular has spent more on international content than US programming since 2024 (US$7.9 billion versus US$7.5 billion). Hence the creation of a paradox: US trade data in audiovisual services reveals a trade deficit, yet the US-based entertainment industry has never been so dominant globally.

There are similar patterns in industries in which US-based multinationals are located at the apex of transnational supply chains. The jeans that Levi Strauss imports from Bangladesh, the trainers that Nike imports from Vietnam, and the car components Ford imports from Brazil all show up in US trade statistics. But these goods are, essentially, American-owned assets.

About 70% of trade involves global value chains (GVC), as raw materials and components cross borders multiple times before being assembled into a final product.

In today’s global economy, the complexity of most products requires companies to cooperate along transnational production networks. As businesses and countries specialise in specific tasks, GVCs are the most efficient way of producing goods and services. The streaming industry simply mirrors these wider patterns.

Mindful of the US trade deficit in films and TV programmes, Trump announced the plans for 100% tariffs on all films produced outside the US. However, his attempt to “make Hollywood great again” is misguided.

While Hollywood has new rivals to contend with, notably South Korea, it remains the world’s largest film and TV exporter. Following a short period of decline in the late 2010s, US exports have continued to grow to reach a record US$24.3 billion.

For Trump, the vexing issue is that the US imports more films and TV programmes than its exports. But that is due to US-based platforms’ foreign content hoarding. Adolescence and Squid Game have indeed contributed to extending the gap between US imports and exports, but they are US-owned assets that have earned Netflix hundreds of millions of dollars in subscription fees. (Squid Game’s impact value for Netflix was estimated at US$891 million in 2021.)

Squid Game is an import, but it’s a giant money-spinner for US streamer Netflix.

And American content on US-based streaming giants does not show up in trade data. The whole world is watching Black Mirror and Ransom Canyon, but these series have never been exported. Rather, they are on a global platform (Netflix). US-based media conglomerates have never been so dominant in the global media market.

In short, trade data does not tell the whole story. If implemented, these tariffs will certainly have far-reaching consequences for the film and TV industry. But they are unlikely to make anyone more prosperous.

Jean Chalaby, Professor of Sociology, City St George's, University of London

‘Peace be with all of you’: How Pope Leo XIV Embodies a Living Dialogue Between Tradition and Modernity

Created cardinal in September 2023, Robert Prevost was elevated to the rank of cardinal~bishop in February 2025, he entered the conclave with a reputation for quiet competence, linguistic dexterity (he speaks five languages fluently) and unspectacular holiness. Cover picture Martin Grant, Paris SS17, photographed by Takashi Osato. An exhibition of the Australian designer's work is on at the NGV .

By Darius von Guttner Sporzynski, Australian Catholic University

When Robert Francis Prevost appeared on the loggia of St Peter’s Basilica as Pope Leo XIV, he set three precedents. He is the first pope from North America, the first Augustinian to occupy the throne of Peter, and the first native English-speaker to do so since Adrian IV in the 12th century.

Pope Leo XIV greeted Rome and the world with a simple benediction: “peace be with all of you”.

In choosing a blessing that stressed concord – and in issuing it in Italian and Spanish – he signalled both pastoral directness and cultural breadth.

A Chicago childhood and academic rigour

Prevost was born in Chicago in 1955.

Raised in the working-class suburb of Dolton, he served as an altar boy and attended St Augustine Seminary High School. He studied a bachelor of science at Villanova University, and earned a doctoral degree in canon law at the Angelicum in Rome.

Prevost entered the Augustinian order in 1977, professed solemn vows in 1981 and was ordained in 1982.

For Augustinians, virtue lies not in poverty for its own sake, but in the radical sharing of goods: community precedes individual achievement.

There are three pillars: interiority, the practical love of neighbour, and a relentless search for truth. This framework would guide Prevost’s missionary work, and his call for unity and peace.

Chiclayo Cathedral, officially the Cathedral of Saint Mary in Chiclayo, Peru is the seat of the Roman Catholic Diocese of Chiclayo. BETO SANTILLAN/Shutterstock

Prevost has administered communities in more than 50 countries, but he first arrived as a missionary in northern Peru in 1985. Over the next decade he taught canon law, ran a seminary in Trujillo, judged marriage cases and led a fledgling parish on Lima’s urban fringe.

The experience sharpened his awareness of informal employment, extractive industries and migration – concerns that echo the Rerum novarum , an open letter issued by his namesake Leo XIII in 1891. They remain visible in Prevost’s social priorities today.

In 2015, he was appointed Bishop of Chiclayo, Peru, and, in 2023, prefect of the Dicastery for Bishops, effectively placing him in charge of vetting episcopal appointments world-wide.

What’s in a name?

Created cardinal in September 2023 and elevated to the rank of cardinal-bishop of Albano in February 2025, Prevost entered the conclave with a reputation for quiet competence, linguistic dexterity (he speaks five languages fluently) and unspectacular holiness.

The electors turned to him on the fourth ballot. An hour later he greeted the city and the world as Pope Leo XIV, first in Italian then in Spanish: a bilingual gesture honouring his Italian American Chicago roots and his Peruvian citizenship.

Leo XIV’s choice of name is a programmatic signal. By invoking examples of Rome’s protector Leo the Great (pope from 440–61) and the great social teacher Leo XIII (1878–1903), the new Pontiff intimates he will draw upon their precedent.

Raphael’s The Meeting between Leo the Great and Attila, painted in 1514, depicts Leo, escorted by Saint Peter and Saint Paul, meeting with the Hun king outside Rome. Wikimedia Commons

His substantive focus will remain squarely on the challenges of 2025: translating Augustinian communal spirituality into governance, extending the social teaching inaugurated by Leo XIII, and mediating polarised factions.

The memory of his Leo predecessors functions as a compass rather than a map, orienting a pontificate whose horizon is the digital, migratory and climatic upheavals of the 21st century.

Pope Leo XIV will draw inspiration from his namesake, Leo XIII. Library of Congress

We can expect where Leo the Great entered dialogue, Leo XIV will offer diplomacy. Where Leo XIII defended trade-union rights and attacked exploitative capitalism, Leo XIV must address labour, climate disruption and forced displacement.

If Leo XIII gave Catholicism its first systematic response to industrial modernity, Leo XIV may be tasked with articulating an Augustinian vision for the digital Anthropocene: a view of humanity as a pilgrim community, bound by shared love rather than algorithmic preference-profiling.

Of one heart

The opening sentence of the Rule of Saint Augustine is “be of one mind and heart on the way to God”.

The order’s stress on interior prayer rather than external activism complements Leo XIV’s preference for silent Eucharistic adoration over elaborate ceremony. The Augustinian tradition of learning aligns with his own scholarly instinct.

Consistent with Francis, Leo XIV has condemned abortion and euthanasia. He has criticised hard-line immigration policies in the United States. He holds the line only men can be deacons. In a 2012 address, he pointed to media normalisation of “alternative families comprised of same-sex partners”.

The combination marks him as a centrist prepared to defend doctrinal boundaries while pressing assertively on social justice, climate action and the governance transparency that Francis began but did not finish.

Challenges ahead

Leo XIV inherits a fragmented Church. Traditionalists fear doctrinal drift, while progressives want accelerated reform of governance, liturgy and the role of women.

His Augustinian commitment to shared discernment could provide a mediating structure. Meanwhile geopolitical crises demand renewed Holy See diplomacy and Vatican finances still run unsustainable deficits.

Ultimately, Leo XIV embodies a living dialogue between tradition and modernity.

Whether he succeeds will depend on his capacity to translate the Augustinian Order’s ancient ideal of one heart, one mind into structures that protect the vulnerable worker, the displaced migrant and the wounded planet.

Yet his formation, intellect and record of bridge-building suggest he understands the Church’s credibility now rests where it did in 1891 under Leo XIII: in that social charity and theological clarity are not rivals, but partners on the road to God.

Like Leo XIII, Leo XIV approaches the world not as an enemy to be refuted but as a moral terrain to be cultivated. His pontificate must confront the ecological, technological and migratory questions of our age.

His inaugural plea for peace hints at an integral vision in which social justice, ecological stewardship and human fraternity intersect.

Whether he can translate that vision into institutional reform and global moral leadership remains to be seen.

By invoking the heritage of Leo XIII, Leo XIV has set the compass of his papacy. It points toward a Church intellectually serious, socially committed and pastorally close: one speaking anew to workers in Amazon warehouses, migrants in detention camps, students in schools, refugees in the Sahel and young people navigating the gig economy.

If he succeeds, the name he chose will read as prophetic promise, linking 1891’s clarion call for justice with the uncharted demands of 2025 and beyond.

Darius von Guttner Sporzynski, Historian, Australian Catholic University

Tailoring and the Black dandy: How 250 Years of Black Fashion History Inspired the 2025 Met Gala

Known for his dandy style, American playwright, actor and screenwriter, Jeremy O. Harris, at the Met Gala 2025 wearing Balmain, tailored by Lionel Nichols. 

By Toby Slade and Dijanna Mulhearn

Fashion is one of the most powerful tools we have for understanding ourselves and the world around us. Nowhere is this clearer than in the story of Black American tailoring and the legacy of the Black dandy. Inspired by scholar Monica L. Miller’s groundbreaking book Slaves to Fashion: Black Dandyism and the Styling of Black Diasporic Identity, the theme of The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute spring 2025 show is Superfine: Tailoring Black Style.

The exhibition charts the evolution of the Black dandy from the 18th century to today. The story it tells is about more than suits. It’s about power, pride, resistance and joy.

Each year, the Met Gala takes its dress code from the institute’s spring exhibition. This year’s is “Tailored for You”. So who is the Black dandy, why are they so important to fashion today, and what can we expect to see on the red carpet?

The birth of the Black Dandy

“Black dandy” is a modern term. Figures like American abolitionist Frederick Douglass (1818–95) or Haitian revolutionary leader Toussaint Louverture (1743–1803) would not have called themselves dandies, but they used style with similar effect: as a tool of resistance, self-fashioning and cultural pride.

Toussaint Louverture was a leader during the widespread uprisings of enslaved people in Saint-Domingue (now Haiti) in 1791. This image was drawn in 1802. The Metropolitan Museum of Art

French poet Charles Baudelaire (1821–67) first wrote about dandies in 1863, describing them as individuals who elevate style to a form of personal and aesthetic resistance.

Baudelaire’s dandy was not just stylish but symbolic. He was an emblem of modernity itself: a time marked by fluid identities, liminal spaces and the collapse of clear boundaries between gender, authenticity and social order.

Dandyism among Black men took root in the 18th and 19th centuries in both the United States and the Caribbean. Tailoring became a way to reclaim dignity under enslavement and colonialism.

Dandies take the clothing of an oppressor – aristocratic, colonial, segregationist or otherwise – and turn it into a weapon of elegance. Through meticulous style and refinement, dandies make a silent yet striking claim to moral superiority.

Frederick Douglass was born into slavery, and freed in 1838. This photograph shows him in 1855. The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Douglass famously appeared in immaculate Victorian suits when campaigning for abolition, consciously dressing in the same style as those who denied his freedom.

Louverture used perfectly tailored French military uniforms during the Haitian Revolution against French colonial rule.

In the 1920s, Harlem dandies wore fine tailoring and flamboyant colours, rejecting the idea that poverty or discrimination should dictate presentation.

In perfectly tied cravats, polished shoes and sharply tailored coats, Black dandies refashion power on their own terms.

Presence through style

Dandies also challenge the narrow rules of masculinity.

Conventional menswear often demands restraint, toughness and invisibility. Dandies dare to embrace beauty, self-adornment and performance. This masculinity can be expressive, creative and even flamboyant.

The luxurious silk suits and carefully groomed appearance of American Jazz pioneer Duke Ellington (1899–1974) projected glamour rather than austerity.

The elegantly tailored overcoats and scarves of American poet Langston Hughes (1901–67) suggested a masculinity deeply entwined with creativity and softness.

Figures in Harlem’s ballrooms and jazz clubs blurred gender boundaries decades before mainstream conversations about gender fluidity emerged.

A street scene in Harlem, New York City, photographed in 1943. Library of Congress

A tradition of Black tailoring

In a world where Black self-presentation has long been scrutinised and politicised, tailored clothing asserted visibility, authority and artistry. Dandies transformed fashion into a political declaration of dignity, resistance and creative power.

Black American tailoring practices blossomed most visibly in the zoot suits of the Harlem Renaissance, though they also had strong roots in New Orleans, Chicago and the Caribbean.

As seen in the Sunday Best of the Civil Rights era, Black tailoring walked the line between resistance and celebration: beautiful but with clear political intent.

In the 1970s, the Black dandy became more flamboyant, wearing tight, colourful clothes with bold accessories. He transformed traditional suits with exaggerated shapes, bright patterns and plaids inspired by African heritage.

Artists popular with a white audience like Sammy Davis Jr (1925–90), Miles Davis (1926–91) and James Brown (1933–2006) embraced the aesthetic, contributing to its widespread acceptance.

Sammy Davis Jr with his first European gold record, 1976. Nationaal Archief, CC BY

Meanwhile, a super stylish contingent of Black men in the Congo, La Sapeur, refined their look so spectacularly they would become the benchmark of the Black dandy for generations to come.

The 1990s saw a new era of Black dandyism emerge through luxury sportswear and hip-hop aesthetics.

Designer Dapper Dan (1944–) revolutionised fashion by remixing luxury logos into bold, custom streetwear, creating a distinctive Black aesthetic that bridged hip-hop culture and high fashion.

Musician Andre 3000 (1975–) redefined menswear by blending Southern Black style with bold colour, vintage tailoring and theatrical flair.

Today, the tradition thrives in the style of influencer Wisdom Kaye, the elegance of LeBron James, and the risk-taking of Lewis Hamilton.

Dressing for the red carpet

Tailored for You invites guests to interpret the dandy’s legacy in personal, bold and boundary-pushing ways.

Whether conforming to tradition, subverting expectations or creating something entirely new, this theme is a celebration of the freedom to dress – and be – on your own terms.

The Black dandy is a figure of defiance and desire, of ambiguity and brilliance, of resistance and beauty. Dandyism blurs boundaries between masculinity and femininity, artifice and authenticity, conformity and rebellion. It unsettles fixed identities and reflects broader tensions within modern life.

The poet and activist Countee Cullen, as depicted by Winold Reiss around 1925. National Portrait Gallery

Black dandies have shocked, amused, offended, delighted and inspired society since their inception. In the sharp defiance of Douglass’ Victorian suits, the flamboyant spectacle of Harlem ballrooms, and the logo-laced rebellion of Dapper Dan’s streetwear, the Black dandy has continually forced the world to reckon with the politics of presence, pride and performance.

Despite being overlooked by mainstream fashion history, they’ve shaped the way we see elegance, masculinity and self-expression. This Met Gala and the accompanying exhibition are not just a celebration – they are a long-overdue recognition.

Toby Slade, Associate Professor of Fashion, University of Technology Sydney and Dijanna Mulhearn, PhD Candidate, School of Design. Author of Red Carpet Oscars, University of Technology Sydney