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Our 2024 holiday movie guide has you covered, from Hanukkah to 'Hot Frosty'

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Our 2024 holiday movie guide has you covered, from Hanukkah to 'Hot Frosty'

In Netflix’s Our Little Secret, Lindsay Lohan plays Avery, a woman spending Christmas with her boyfriend’s family — including her ex, who happens to be dating her boyfriend’s sister.

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As is tradition, we find ourselves once again in the heart of holiday movie season. This year’s installments include everything from a snowman who “comes to life,” shirtless Chad Michael Murray, Jack Black as Satan, and two Donna Kelce cameos. An exhaustive list would be prohibitive for both my editorial resources and your patience, but holiday movies are too dear to too many people to skip an update about what’s shaking in this particular glittery snow globe.

Here, we’ve broken down the highlights of the season, from the heavy-hitters to new franchise installments and goofy titles. There are casting surprises (like stars of The Office), and Hanukkah movies on the way. Many of these TV movies are out as of Thanksgiving, but we’ve noted the premiere dates of those yet to come.

Let’s take a tour through some highlights.

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High-profile entries

Every year, a few holiday TV movies poke their heads above the sea of films made for the die-hards — the people who can tell you off the tops of their heads exactly which frequent lead starred opposite Brandon Routh in The Nine Lives of Christmas — and become known to the wider population.

(It was Kimberley Sustad, obviously. She’s not only been a great lead for Hallmark, but she’s now writing for them, too.)

Here are a few that may reach you even if you are not a close follower of this space. They lean toward Netflix, simply because of its size and reach, as well as the fact that Netflix makes fewer movies and makes a bigger deal out of each of them than some of the other providers.

Hot Frosty

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Social media may have given you the lowdown on Hot Frosty, which ran for many days at the very top of Netflix’s list of hottest movies. But just in case: Hot Frosty stars Lacey Chabert (of Party of Five, Mean Girls, and roughly 15 prior Christmas movies by my count) and Dustin Milligan (Schitt’s Creek). She plays a woman who puts a magic scarf on a very realistic snowman who comes to life; he plays the “comes to life.” What follows is a very, very silly — but fortunately self-aware — little comedy also starring Craig Robinson and Joe Lo Truglio (in a Brooklyn Nine-Nine reunion) as local law enforcement. They are in pursuit of the snowman because they believe him to be a dangerous streaker. That’s right: a dangerous streaker. I mean, he did come to life without pants on.

The Merry Gentlemen

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Speaking of coming to life without pants on: I’ve always thought the holiday movie market needs more exotic dancers. Netflix comes through with The Merry Gentlemen, in which Chad Michael Murray (of One Tree Hill) and some other shirtless fellows save Christmas. He meets a woman, played by Britt Robertson, who wants desperately to save her parents’ struggling small music venue, The Rhythm Room (!). She comes up with an idea: a PG-13 all-male revue featuring hot men she happens to know in her personal life. My favorite supporting Merry Gentleman: a local played by Maxwell Caulfield, who looked great in Grease 2 when he was in his early 20s and looks great in this in his 60s. You go, Maxwell Caulfield. Don’t you let them touch your chest hair, either. (This, by the way, is the film that has dethroned Hot Frosty atop the Netflix Top 10 list as of this writing.)

Holiday Touchdown: A Chiefs Love Story

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When Hallmark announced Holiday Touchdown: A Chiefs Love Story (Nov. 30) over the summer, it seemed perfectly clear that its intent was to capitalize on the whole Taylor Swift-and-Travis Kelce thing. And don’t get me wrong: That’s true. (Donna Kelce has a cameo — although hilariously, she also has one in Hallmark’s Christmas on Call, which takes place in Philadelphia. No favoritism for Mama Kelce!) Holiday Touchdown was also made as a partnership with the team, much like Hallmark partnerships that have existed in the past with locations like Dollywood (Christmas at Dollywood), the Plaza Hotel (Christmas at the Plaza) and the Biltmore Estate (A Biltmore Christmas).

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If you want to see more TV movies from the high-volume producers, you can find the Hallmark ones here, the Lifetime ones here, the UPTV ones here, the BET ones here, and the “faith-based” Great American Family ones here.

But Holiday Touchdown is not directly inspired by the Travis/Taylor story. It’s about a woman (Hunter King) whose family is obsessed with the Kansas City Chiefs, and they’re being considered as part of the team’s Fan Of The Year contest. (…Sure.) She meets a guy (Tyler Hynes) who works for the team and becomes the family’s handler for the contest while also falling for her (an enormous conflict of interest, tssk). There’s a magic hat (sure!), there are many (many many) Kansas City cameos and references, and there is an avalanche of Chiefs branding. This one might be a B for regular Hallmark-ers, but it’s an A for Kansas City locals and anybody who’s ever shared a sports team obsession with people they love.

And here’s the twist! There is a movie that looks directly Travis/Taylor inspired, and it’s over on Lifetime. Called Christmas in the Spotlight, it is about a pop megastar and a football player – he’s just not a Chiefs player. Glad we could clear this up.

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Our Little Secret

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Lindsay Lohan was very charming in last year’s Falling for Christmas on Netflix; this year, she’s back with Our Little Secret, in which she plays a woman who goes to spend the holidays with the family of her new boyfriend and runs into — dun! — her old boyfriend, who’s dating her new boyfriend’s sister. Kristin Chenoweth has the time of her life as the prospective mother-in-law, and Lindsay Lohan is, yet again, a durably charismatic lead who’s still got her comedy chops.

Franchises and sequels

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You may remember 2022’s Three Wise Men and a Baby, starring three of Hallmark’s top leading men — Andrew Walker, Tyler Hynes and Paul Campbell, or as I admit I knew them for a long time while thoroughly enjoying their work, “that one guy,” “that other guy,” and “oh sure that guy.” They were brothers stuck caring for a baby over the holidays. Naturally, we now get the sequel titled Three Wiser Men and a Boy. This is mostly a straight-up family comedy; it’s one of several Hallmark is doing this year that are not really romcoms even if they have romance elements. And, driven by the charm of the three leads, it’s a lot of fun. (These stories are co-written by Campbell and … Kimberley Sustad!)

As a side note, it’s been interesting to see Hallmark lean into the popularity of their male leads, who, for a long time, were treated as largely interchangeable partners for higher-profile actresses. They’re even airing a reality show this year called Finding Mr. Christmas, hosted by Jonathan Bennett, in which men compete for a spot in a Hallmark movie called Happy Howlidays, which will then air on Dec. 21.

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Also up: BET+’s Brewster’s Millions: Christmas (Dec. 5), a sequel about the niece of Montgomery Brewster, played by Richard Pryor in the 1985 movie. Perhaps not the sequel we were expecting this year, but hey — long waits before stories get picked up again are the norm at this point.

We should also note a momentous franchise retirement: Between 2018 and 2023, Hallmark made the loosely connected films Time for Me to Come Home for Christmas, Time for You to Come Home for Christmas, Time for Him to Come Home for Christmas, Time for Her to Come Home for Christmas, Time for Them to Come Home for Christmas, and Time for Us to Come Home for Christmas. Perhaps owing to their exhaustion of the most familiar personal pronouns, they have seemingly completed this series.

What is that title?

Sometimes, the most enjoyable part of previewing holiday movies is looking ahead to the titles that will quite understandably make you wonder whether you are hallucinating — and then assuring you that you are not. Here are some of my favorite titles of 2024.

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A Very Merry Beauty Salon (Lifetime, Dec. 7)

Tia Mowry plays a salon owner who is preparing for a charity ball, and she meets a dashing wine CEO, and what’s not to like about that?

The Holiday Junkie (Lifetime, Dec. 14)

Jennifer Love Hewitt co-wrote, directed and stars in this story about a woman who works with her mother as a decorator with a special fondness for Christmas. After her mom dies, she meets a Grinchy man who can perhaps help her deal with grief and also kissing.

A ’90s Christmas (Hallmark, Nov. 29)

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I am deeply wounded by the suggestion that the ’90s are ready for their nostalgia run (I know, I know, you don’t have to tell me how the math plays out), but here we are. This one is about a woman who seemingly goes back to 1999 with the help of … an enchanted Uber? (The description says “a mysterious rideshare experience.” I think that means “enchanted Uber.”)

Fun with casting

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Confessions of a Christmas Letter (Hallmark) is about a mom played by Angela Kinsey (of The Office) who loves her family very much but struggles with her desire to write a competitively braggy Christmas letter about them. Her ultimate goal? To impress the man at the post office who keeps a “Hall of Fame” of Christmas letters. He is played by Brian Baumgartner (who played Kevin on The Office). So she hires a novelist to spend two weeks writing one for her (uh, I am AVAILABLE FOR THIS GIG). While sparks do fly between said novelist and her daughter, this movie is mostly about this woman’s efforts to accept her imperfect family Christmas as the one that’s perfect for them.

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Holiday Mismatch (Hallmark) features two moms who don’t get along, who accidentally set up their adult children and then have to try to get them to break up. The moms are played by Beth Broderick and Caroline Rhea, who spent years playing the two aunts on Sabrina The Teenage Witch.

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Something quite different: Jack Black’s holiday movie highlight up to this point might be, well, The Holiday. But this season, on Paramount+, in Dear Santa, he shows up as Satan (yep), after a kid’s misspelling accidentally summons the wrong higher power at Christmas. Also around for this one: Keegan-Michael Key and Post Malone. In some ways, it’s mostly surprising that Jack Black hasn’t played Satan before now.

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What about Hanukkah?

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When the big purveyors of holiday movies do Hanukkah, the results can be mixed, to say the least. BUT. Hallmark made an excellent Hanukkah one last year called Round and Round, so I have higher hopes for these entries than I used to. This year, Hallmark has two. One, called Leah’s Perfect Gift (Dec. 8), is about a Jewish woman who loves Christmas (though she doesn’t celebrate it) and welcomes the chance to participate with her boyfriend’s family, only to find things are more complicated than they might seem. It sounds like a tough premise to get perfectly right, but also maybe like a chance for some interesting storytelling.

More straightforward-sounding is Hanukkah on the Rocks (Dec. 13), in which a corporate lawyer ends up bartending for “quirky regulars” at a Chicago bar, goes on a quest for Hanukkah candles, and that’s about the size of that.

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Also of note

Most Hallmark Christmas movies have until very recently had a pretty consistent soft-rom-com tone, but it feels like they’re starting to branch out a little. I enjoyed The Christmas Charade, which is about a woman who gets wrapped up in a spy operation. It reminded me of ’80s shows I adored like Remington Steele, where beautiful and well-dressed people have adventures while flirting. More of this, say I!

The 5-Year Christmas Party (Hallmark) floats on the outstanding chemistry between Katie Findlay and Jordan Fisher, who play old friends who keep being tempted to make out all the time. It’s lovely and quite funny, and while I was watching this one, I had the thought: “It’s nice that women characters in Hallmark movies are sometimes allowed to have short hair now.”

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To say that Hallmark has a sketchy relationship with diversity is an understatement, but I liked Christmas with the Singhs, which tries to engage with difference in a more straightforward way than their past TV movies. This one is about what it’s like to try to manage families with different holiday traditions when they’re joined by marriage.

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As a person with a long history of watching The Amazing Race, I had a great time with Jingle Bell Run (Hallmark), which follows two people thrown together on a team for what amounts to a Christmas-themed Amazing Race. Obviously they fall in love, and it’s super-charming. It stars Ashley Williams and Andrew Walker, who are two of the bigger stars in the Hallmark firmament, and it even gently acknowledges once or twice that they’re getting older, which is very welcome. (I mean, it happens.)

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If you like Finland, or dogs, perhaps you’re up for The Finnish Line (Hallmark, Dec. 1), which is about dogsledding. As a person who has parasocial relationships with many internet dogs, including some sled dogs, this spoke to me personally. (Although I don’t think its grasp on the realities of mushing is terribly firm.)

So grab a blanket, grab your cocoa, grab a snuggly person or pet or just your warmest sweater, and enjoy some of the standard and not-so-standard offerings of the holiday season.

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It Started with a Midnight Swim and a Kiss Under the Stars

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It Started with a Midnight Swim and a Kiss Under the Stars

When Marian Sherry Lurio and Jonathan Buffington Nguyen met at a mutual friend’s wedding at Higgins Lake, Mich., in July 2022, both felt an immediate chemistry. As the evening progressed, they sat on the shore of the lake in Adirondack chairs under the stars, where they had their first kiss before joining others for a midnight plunge.

The two learned that the following weekend Ms. Lurio planned to attend a wedding in Philadelphia, where Mr. Nguyen lives, and before they had even exchanged numbers, they already had a first date on the books.

“I have a vivid memory of after we first met,” Mr. Nguyen said, “just feeling like I really better not screw this up.”

Before long, they were commuting between Philadelphia and New York City, where Ms. Lurio lives, spending weekends and the odd remote work days in one another’s apartments in Philadelphia and Manhattan. Within the first six months of dating, Mr. Nguyen joined Ms. Lurio’s family for Thanksgiving in Villanova, Pa., and, the following month, she met his family in Beavercreek, Ohio, at a surprise birthday party for Mr. Nguyen’s mother.

Ms. Lurio, 32, who grew up in Merion Station outside Philadelphia, works in investor relations administration at Flexpoint Ford, a private equity firm. She graduated from Dartmouth College with a bachelor’s degree in history and psychology.

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Mr. Nguyen, also 32, was born in Knoxville, Tenn., and raised in Beavercreek, Ohio, from the age of 7. He graduated from Haverford College with a bachelor’s degree in political science and is now a director at Doyle Real Estate Advisors in Philadelphia.

Their long-distance relationship continued for the next few years. There were dates in Manhattan, vacations and beach trips to the Jersey Shore. They attended sporting events and discovered their shared appreciation of the 2003 film, “Love Actually.”

One evening, Mr. Nguyen recalled looking around Ms. Lurio’s small New York studio — strewed with clothes and the takeout meal they had ordered — and feeling “so comfortable and safe.” “I knew that this was something different than just sort of a fling,” he said.

It was an open question when they would move in together. In 2024, Ms. Lurio began the process of moving into Mr. Nguyen’s home in Philadelphia — even bringing her cat, Scott — but her plans changed midway when an opportunity arose to expand her role with her current employer.

Mr. Nguyen was on board with her decision. “It almost feels like stolen valor to call it ‘long distance,’ because it’s so easy from Philadelphia to New York,” Mr. Nguyen said. “The joke is, it’s easier to get to Philly from New York than to get to some parts of Brooklyn from Manhattan, right?”

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In January 2025, Mr. Nguyen visited Ms. Lurio in New York with more up his sleeve than spending the weekend. Together they had discussed marriage and bespoke rings, but when Mr. Nguyen left Ms. Lurio and an unfinished cheese plate at the bar of the Chelsea Hotel that Friday evening, she had no idea what was coming next.

“I remember texting Jonathan,” Ms. Lurio said, bewildered: “‘You didn’t go toward the bathroom!’” When a Lobby Bar server came and asked her to come outside, Ms. Lurio still didn’t realize what was happening until she was standing in the hallway, where Mr. Nguyen stood recreating a key moment from the film “Love Actually,” in which one character silently professes his love for another in writing by flashing a series of cue cards. There, in the storied Chelsea Hotel hallway still festooned with Christmas decorations, Mr. Nguyen shared his last card that said, “Will you marry me?”

They wed on April 11 in front of 200 guests at the Pump House, a covered space on the banks of Philadelphia’s Schuylkill River. Mr. Nguyen’s sister, the Rev. Elizabeth Nguyen, who is ordained through the Unitarian Universalist Association, officiated.

Although formal attire was suggested, Ms. Lurio said that the ceremony was “pretty casual.” She and Jonathan got ready together, and their families served as their wedding parties.

“I said I wanted a five-minute wedding,” Ms. Lurio recalled, though the ceremony ended up lasting a little longer than that. During the ceremony, Ms. Nguyen read a homily and jokingly added that guests should not ask the bride and groom about their living arrangements, which will remain separate for the foreseeable future.

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While watching Ms. Lurio walk down the aisle, flanked by her parents, Mr. Nguyen said he remembered feeling at once grounded in the moment and also a sense of dazed joy: “Like, is this real? I felt very lucky in that moment — and also just excited for the party to start!”

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L.A. Affairs: I loved someone who felt he couldn’t be fully seen with me

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L.A. Affairs: I loved someone who felt he couldn’t be fully seen with me

He always texted when he was outside. No call, no knock. It was just a message and then the soft sound of my door opening. He moved like someone practiced in disappearing.

His name meant “complete” in Arabic, which is what I felt when we were together.

I met him the way you meet most things that matter in Los Angeles — without intending to. In our senior year at a college in eastern L.A. County, we were introduced through mutual friends, then thrown together by the particular gravity of people who recognized something in each other. He was a Muslim medical student, conservative and careful and funny in the dry, precise way of someone who has always had to choose his words. I was loud where he was quiet, messy where he was disciplined. I was out. He was not.

I understood, or thought I did. I thought that I couldn’t get hurt if I was completely conscious throughout the endeavor. Los Angeles has a way of making you feel like the whole world shares your freedoms — until you realize the city is enormous, and not all of it belongs to you in the same way.

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For months, our world was confined to my apartment. He would slip in after dark, and we’d stay up late talking about his family in Iran, classical music and the particular pressure of being the son someone sacrificed everything to bring here. He told me things he said he’d never told anyone, and I believed him.

The orange glow from my Nesso lamp lit his face while the indigo sky pressed against the window behind him. In our small little world, we were safe. Outside was another matter.

On our first real date, I took him to the L.A. Phil’s “An Evening of Film & Music: From Mexico to Hollywood” program. I told him they were cheap seats even though they were the first row on the terrace. He was thrilled in the way only someone who doesn’t expect to be delighted actually gets delighted — fully, without guarding it. I put my arm around his shoulders. At some point, I shifted and moved it, and he nudged it back. He was OK with PDA here.

I remember thinking that wealth is a great barrier to harm and then feeling silly for extrapolating my own experience once again. Inside Walt Disney Concert Hall, we were just two people in love with the same music.

Outside was still another matter.

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In February, on Valentine’s Day, he took me to a Yemeni restaurant in Anaheim. We hovered over saffron tea surrounded by other young Southern Californians, and we looked like friends. Before we went in, we sat in the parking lot of the strip mall — signs in Arabic advertising bread, coffee, halal meats, the Little Arabia District — hand in hand. I leaned over to kiss him.

“Not here,” he said. His eyes shifted furtively. “Someone might see.”

I understood, or told myself I did, but I was saddened. Later, after the kind of reflection that only arrives in the wreckage, I would understand something harder: I had been unconsciously asking him to choose, over and over, between the people he loved and the person he loved. I had a long pattern of choosing unavailable men, telling myself it was because I could handle the complexity. The truth was more embarrassing. I thought that if someone like him chose me anyway — chose me over the weight of societal expectations — it would mean I was worth choosing. It took me a long time to see how unfair that was to him and to me.

We went to the Norton Simon Museum together in November, on the kind of gray Pasadena day when the 210 Freeway roars in the background like white noise. He studied for the MCAT while I wrote a paper on Persian rugs. In between practice problems, he translated ancient Arabic scripts for me. I thought, “We make a good team.” Afterward, we walked through the galleries and he didn’t let go of my arm.

That was the version of us I kept returning to — when the ending came during Ramadan. It arrived as a spiritual reflection of my own. I texted: “Does this end at graduation — whatever we are doing?”

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He thought I meant Ramadan. I did not mean Ramadan.

“I care about you,” he wrote, “but I don’t want you to think this could work out to anything more than just dating. I mean, of course, I’ve fantasized about marrying you. If I could live my life the way I wanted, of course I would continue. I’m just sad it’s not in this lifetime.”

I was in Mexico City when these texts were exchanged. That night I flew to Oaxaca to clear my head and then, after less than 24 hours, flew back to L.A. No amount of vacation would allow me to process what had just happened, so I threw myself back into work.

My therapist told me to use the conjunction “and” instead of “but.” It happened, and I am changed. The harm I caused and the love I felt. The beauty of what we made and the impossibility of where it could go. She gave me a knowing smile when I asked if it would stay with me forever. She didn’t answer, which was the answer.

I think about the freeways now, the way Joan Didion called them our only secular communion. When you’re on the ground in Los Angeles, the world narrows to the few blocks around you. Get on the freeway and you understand the whole body of the city at once: the arteries, the pulse, the scale of the thing.

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You understand that you are a single cell in something enormous and moving. It is all out of your control. I am in a lane. The lane shaped how I drive. He was simply in a different lane, and his lane shaped him, and those two facts can coexist without either of us being the villain of the sad story.

He came like a secret in the night, and he left the same way. What we made in between was real and complicated and mine to hold forever, hoping we find each other in the next life.

The author lives in Los Angeles.

L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.

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The Nerve Center of This Art Fair Isn’t Painting. It’s Couture.

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The Nerve Center of This Art Fair Isn’t Painting. It’s Couture.

The art industry is increasingly shaped by artists’ and art businesses’ shared realization that they are locked in a fierce struggle for sustained attention — against each other, and against the rest of the overstimulated, always-online world. A major New York art fair aims to win this competition next month by knocking down the increasingly shaky walls between contemporary art and fashion.

When visitors enter the Independent art fair on May 14, they will almost immediately encounter its open-plan centerpiece: an installation of recent couture looks from Comme des Garçons. It will be the first New York solo presentation of works by Rei Kawakubo, the brand’s founder and mastermind, since a lauded 2017 survey exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute.

Art fairs have often been front and center in the industry’s 21st-century quest to capture mindshare. But too many displays have pierced the zeitgeist with six-figure spectacles, like Maurizio Cattelan’s duct-taped banana and Beeple’s robot dogs. Curating Independent around Comme des Garçons comes from the conviction that a different kind of iconoclasm can rise to the top of New York’s spring art scrum.

Elizabeth Dee, the founder and creative director of Independent, said that making Kawakubo’s work the “nerve center” of this year’s edition was a “statement of purpose” for the fair’s evolution. After several years at the compact Spring Studios in TriBeCa, Independent will more than double its square footage by moving to Pier 36 at South Street, on the East River. Dee has narrowed the fair’s exhibitor list, to 76, from 83 dealers in 2025, and reduced booth fees to encourage a focus on single artists making bold propositions.

“Rei’s work has been pivotal to thinking about how my work as a curator, gallerist and art fair can push boundaries, especially during this extraordinary move toward corporatization and monoculture in the art world in the last 20 years,” Dee said.

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Kawakubo’s designs have been challenging norms since her brand’s first Paris runway show in 1981, but her work over the last 13 years on what she calls “objects for the body” has blurred borders between high fashion and wearable sculpture.

The Comme des Garçons presentation at Independent will feature 20 looks from autumn-winter 2020 to spring-summer 2025. Forgoing the runway, Kawakubo is installing her non-clothing inside structures made from rebar and colored plastic joinery.

Adrian Joffe, the president of both Comme des Garçons International and the curated retailer Dover Street Market International (and who is also Kawakubo’s husband), said in an interview that Kawakubo’s intention was to create a sculptural installation divorced from chronology and fashion — “a thing made new again.”

Every look at Independent was made in an edition of three or fewer, but only one of each will be for sale on-site. Prices will be about $9,000 to $30,000. Comme des Garçons will retain 100 percent of the sales.

Asked why she was interested in exhibiting at Independent, the famously elusive Kawakubo said via email, “The body of work has never been shown together, and this is the first presentation in New York in almost 10 years.” Joffe added a broader philosophical motivation. “We’ve never done it before; it was new,” he said. Also essential was the fair’s willingness to embrace Kawakubo’s vision for the installation rather than a standard fair booth.

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Kawakubo began consistently engaging with fine art decades before such crossovers became commonplace. Since 1989, she has invited a steady stream of contemporary artists to create installations in Comme des Garçons’s Tokyo flagship store. The ’90s brought collaborations with the artist Cindy Sherman and performance pioneer Merce Cunningham, among others.

More cross-disciplinary projects followed, including limited-release direct mailers for Comme des Garçons. Kawakubo designs each from documentation of works provided by an artist or art collective.

The display at Independent reopens the debate about Kawakubo’s proper place on the continuum between artist and designer. But the issue is already settled for celebrated artists who have collaborated with her.

“I totally think of Rei as an artist in the truest sense,” Sherman said by email. “Her work questions what everyone else takes for granted as being flattering to a body, questions what female bodies are expected to look like and who they’re catering to.”

Ai Weiwei, the subject of a 2010 Comme des Garçons direct mailer, agreed that Kawakubo “is, in essence, an artist.” Unlike designers who “pursue a sense of form,” he added, “her design and creation are oriented toward attitude” — specifically, an attitude of “rebellion.”

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Also taking this position is “Costume Art,” the spring exhibition at the Costume Institute. Opening May 10, the show pairs individual works from multiple designers — including Comme des Garçons — with artworks from the Met’s holdings to advance the argument made by the dress code for this year’s Met gala: “Fashion is art.”

True to form, Kawakubo sometimes opts for a third way.

“Rei has often said she’s not a designer, she’s not an artist,” Joffe said. “She is a storyteller.”

Now to find out whether an art fair sparks the drama, dialogue and attention its authors want.

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