In ‘Sirens’, clothes separate the sheep from the wolves

Okay, Sirens isn’t a great show. There’s The White Lotus-like anxiety that lingers through all five episodes, culminating in a climax that’s, well, average. It does, however, have the elements of the frothy rich-people-mystery genre we’ve all been savouring lately. In these all-is-not-what-it-seems narratives, it’s always a house in a snow-laden wonderland, or an exotic retreat. Here, it’s a cliffside mansion in the Hamptons.

The show boasts a formidable cast: Julianne Moore, Meghann Fahy, and Milly Alcock. In a quest to reconnect with her estranged younger sister, Fahy’s Devon arrives at a sunny estate right out of a storybook. Having spent the previous night in jail for a DUI, she appears scruffy, racoon-eyed, dressed in an all-black ensemble of a lace camisole, utility jacket and combat boots, and is immediately mistaken for the valet. Her dishevelled appearance contrasts painfully with that of her sister, Simone (Alcock), sheathed in a fuchsia wallpaper-print dress, her coiffed hair held by a prim hairband, with a dainty gold locket dangling from her neck. Simone has shed her scrappy background to be groomed into the chief of staff for one rich housewife. She mans the mint-walled salons, brushing lint rollers against mint-hued uniforms.

But when it comes to clothing, the real contrast here is not between the two sisters. It’s between Simone and the other characters that frequent the manor versus the lady of the house, Michaela (Moore) aka Kiki. The flock of wealthy, middle-aged men and women—whom Devon refers to as 'Easter Eggs'—that pay their respects at the altar of Kiki and her billionaire husband Peter Kell (Kevin Bacon) dress alike, in an eerie uniform of sorts. The women don kitschy, pastel-hued tea dresses with frills and flounces, while the men are in exaggeratedly preppy shirts with saturated Madras checks and blazers with duck prints that look stripped off the mannequins at a Ralph Lauren store. Like them, Simone wears a series of mod-like ditsy dresses, many by famed American designer Lilly Pulitzer from her collaboration with Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goop. Pulitzer, a trailblazer in the preppy fashion movement, launched her eponymous label in the 1950s and is known to have dressed many first ladies, including Jackie Kennedy. She is also famous for creating matching dresses for mothers and daughters.

But while being Nantucket elite, these characters are still not the ones at the top of the pyramid. That spot is occupied by Kiki, who, in a sea of garish prints and pastel tones, chooses looks that are pared down and monochrome, signalling her dominance. In Greek mythology, sirens are mythical half-human, half-bird creatures known for their alluring, irresistible voices that lure sailors to their deaths. In accordance, we see Michaela don a slew of dreamy Grecian draped dresses. Reminiscent of the monastic attire of cult leader Masha, played by Nicole Kidman, in the drama series Nine Perfect Strangers, Michaela’s style follows the codes of quiet luxury akin to Succession—there are no visible logos or conspicuous brand markers, but look closely and you’ll identify a turmeric strapless gown by Alexander McQueen, a puritan one shouldered dress by The Row and an almost sterile puff-sleeved blouse by Proenza Schouler. The relative blank canvases of her outfits are lightly accentuated by precious emerald and gold jewellery from brands like Solange and Fred Leighton, adding to the Goddess-like appeal.

Similarly, her husband dresses in low-key but refined Brunello Cucinelli and Zegna suits, paired with Crocs or Dockers shoes—after all, he doesn’t need to announce his generational wealth.

Through the show, this visual contrast between the ones who hold real power and those who are simply followers is gently reinforced. The old, preppy handbook is for the sheep because now the truly wealthy have discarded the pastel tea dresses and boat shoes in favour of luxe loungewear and a neutral palette. As Simone’s character evolves, she tries to mirror Kiki in many ways, be it matching her athleisure to that of her boss while they practise yoga together or trying on her jewellery when nobody’s looking. Slowly, she ditches the printed dresses, and by the final episode descends the stairs in a silvery blue satin draped gown, nary a headband in sight.

While not groundbreaking, the costumes shed light on the two schools of wealth: one that uses the tool of fashion in a bid to ‘belong’ to a clique or community, setting aside personality-driven outfit choices for comforting congruence, and the other that explores the power of disruption through trendlessness with a lasting impact, fictional or IRL.