In a dimly lit studio in East London, surrounded by racks of flowing silks and structured tailoring that defies traditional gender norms, Harris Reed leans against a worktable strewn with sketches. The 26-year-old designer, often dubbed the "godfather of genderless fashion," exhales sharply before delivering a pronouncement that feels both radical and inevitable: "By 2025, the binary will be obsolete—not just in fashion, but in how we move through the world."

The statement might sound hyperbolic coming from anyone else, but Reed’s trajectory lends it weight. Since bursting onto the scene with their fluid, romantic designs—worn by everyone from Harry Styles to Solange—Reed has become synonymous with fashion’s accelerating dissolution of gendered boundaries. Their latest collection, "Fluid Dreams," features corseted ballgowns cut for male torsos and sharply tailored suits with plunging necklines, all styled interchangeably across gender identities during the runway show. "It’s not about unisex basics," Reed clarifies, fingers tracing the exaggerated shoulders of a prototype. "It’s about amplifying the drama of self-expression until the question of ‘who should wear this’ becomes irrelevant."

The cultural momentum behind this shift is undeniable. Recent studies by the Fashion Institute of Technology reveal that 42% of Gen Z consumers actively seek out gender-neutral clothing, while luxury conglomerates like LVMH have launched dedicated genderless lines. Yet Reed argues these efforts often miss the point. "Brands slap ‘gender-neutral’ on beige hoodies and call it progress," they say, rolling their eyes. "True fluidity isn’t dilution—it’s the freedom to embody hyper-femininity, hyper-masculinity, or something entirely other, depending on the day."

This philosophy manifests in Reed’s design process, where historical references collide with futuristic vision. A 18th-century military coat is reimagined in chiffon; a Victorian crinoline gets spliced with motorcycle leather. "I steal from eras when clothing was power, not just identity," they explain. The approach has resonated beyond fashion circles—Reed’s recent collaboration with MAC Cosmetics featured bold, gender-defying makeup looks that went viral, further blurring the lines between gendered beauty standards.

Critics argue that such flamboyance remains niche, but Reed counters with data: searches for "gender-fluid fashion" have increased 1,200% since 2020, while their own label’s sales grew 300% last quarter. "The kids are hungry for this," they assert. "The pandemic forced people to confront their authentic selves—now they’re dressing that truth." This cultural tipping point, Reed believes, will culminate by 2025, when Gen Z’s spending power peaks and societal norms catch up to their values.

Still, challenges persist. Many retailers still segregate clothing by gender, and mainstream red carpets remain stubbornly binary. Reed recalls styling a non-binary actor recently: "We had to hack a ‘women’s’ gown to fit their body because the brand wouldn’t make alterations for a ‘male’ client." Such anecdotes underscore the work ahead, but Reed remains characteristically undaunted. "Fashion has always been a battleground for social change," they say, adjusting their own billowing sleeves. "The next revolution won’t be whispered—it’ll be dressed."

As our conversation winds down, Reed gestures to a mood board plastered with androgynous Renaissance portraits and futuristic cyborg imagery. "This," they say, tapping the collage, "is 2025. Not men in skirts or women in suits—just people, fully realized." The certainty in their voice leaves little room for doubt. Whether the industry is ready or not, Harris Reed’s genderless future is already being stitched into existence, one radical silhouette at a time.