Sitting Down with The Cut’s Cathy Horyn
When my professor announced that Cathy Horyn would be coming to SCAD in just two weeks, I thought—wow. I had only read a few of her pieces at the time, but I knew enough to know she wasn’t just any fashion critic. We were assigned her review of a Phoebe Philo collection, and that kicked off a rabbit hole of reading. I quickly found myself immersed in her archive on The Cut, studying her voice, her point of view, her ability to cut through the noise with startling clarity.
The day of her talk, I arrived on time—early, even—but the event with Peter Copping, artistic director of Lanvin, was so packed I was directed to an overflow room to watch a livestream. I was a little crushed, but I let it go, knowing my writing class had a private session with her right after.
I made my way into the small conference room after the talk and sat right next to the podium. Bella, a new friend from class, sat beside me and opened her notebook filled with smart, beautifully worded questions. She showed them to me, and I saw one I had been thinking about asking. Hers was phrased so much better with better vocabulary. She smiled and said I could totally borrow it.
Then Cathy walked in.
She wore a cotton-blend black button-down, a simple black blazer, and carried a black leather Prada tote. She didn’t walk up to the podium. Instead, she pulled up a chair, sat down comfortably, opened a small bag of peanuts, and said, “So... any questions?” Just like that. She made the room feel like a roundtable, not a lecture. She was so casual.
Something about the vibe made me quietly close my notebook and just listen. I couldn’t stop watching her. Her voice was even, thoughtful, sometimes playful. The first thing she said stuck with me: “You’re not a good writer if you’re not clear.” That hit. She didn’t talk in abstractions or pretense—everything she said was direct, grounded, and real.
Before joining The Cut in 2015, Cathy spent fifteen years at The New York Times, where she was only the second person ever to hold the title of fashion critic. But interestingly, she didn’t enter fashion journalism because she loved clothes. She was drawn to the people. She wanted a “beat,” something she could cover deeply, and fashion seemed like something she could do—and do well.
That line stuck with me. Do I really care this much about clothes? I think about it all the time. And honestly, Cathy’s answer is the one I come to, too. I love fashion, but what I really care about is the people behind it—the designers, the seamstresses, the ones who obsess over a single pleat or hemline for weeks. They fascinate me.
She talked about how hard it is to write something good. That great writing should be clear, concise, and have rhythm—something you can almost hear as you read. She didn’t set out to be a critic. That came over time. In the beginning, she said she even experimented with other writers’ styles before she found her own. She didn’t really look to other fashion critics—if anything, she drew influence from food or film critics. Writers with a strong point of view. Writers who could make you feel something.
Cathy shared that she never felt an obligation to write about a brand just because it was popular. “If a brand is boring for too long, don’t cover it,” she said. Her job was never to flatter—it was to observe, to critique, to think. And to think well.
She spoke about her conversations with legends like Karl Lagerfeld and Yves Saint Laurent. She once stayed up talking with Lagerfeld until 2 a.m., and told us how Saint Laurent slept in a single bed with a cross above it. That kind of intimacy—those rare, textured human moments—that’s what her work is really about.
I loved how honest she was. She talked about the difficulty of getting into big publications today, how the path isn’t linear anymore. It’s about ideas, not just pedigree. She said if you want to start, start small. Pitch to people. Write 500–600 word stories. Read peoples Substack, although in her opinion theres one too many nowadays. Get your voice out there. Editors are always looking for great writers. Not just personalities—writers.
And then she said something that really landed: “Fashion is tough. Realistically, maybe two of you will go on to do what I do.” Not out of discouragement—but realism. “Think about how many places even have the position I hold,” she added. She mentioned Vanessa Friedman at The Times, and that’s about it. The roles are few and far between.
She’s right—fashion is tough. That morning, I had just gotten rejected from a job I was almost certain I had in the bag. One of the best interviews I’ve ever had. I even thought I charmed the crap out of HR. But rejection? Yeah. It still stings. And I don’t handle it well—not like a normal person. So hearing Cathy talk about the hard, unglamorous parts of the industry—about writing through rejection and ambiguity—was kind of exactly what I needed.
And honestly, who wants to work somewhere just for the name, if the people aren’t kind or inspiring? Cathy told us: “Work for people you like and respect. Choose people over brand.” I felt that.
That short 45-minute sit-down will probably be one of the most formative experiences of my undergrad. It was real, it was human, and it made me think differently—not just about writing, but about who I want to be in this industry.
She walked in, snacked around some peanuts, told the truth, and walked right back out—back to New York. But I’m still sitting with everything she said.
Here are some of my favorite articles Cathy has written recently that I recommend reading…
