Sofia Coppola is a bonafide style icon, not simply for her own pristine uniform of button-downs, denim, and ballet flats, but also because every single one of her films is catnip for fashion lovers, from the decadent fantasia of Marie Antoinette to the tongue-in-cheek ’00s-era styling in The Bling Ring. Her next release will, of course, be no different: Marc by Sofia, the auteur’s first-ever documentary, billed as a very personal love letter to her longtime friend Marc Jacobs. Ahead of its premiere at the Venice Film Festival, we take a look back at the director’s eclectic but always impeccably styled oeuvre.
Lick the Star (1998)
If you love Coppola but have yet to see this dreamy-eyed and darkly funny short, correct that immediately. Filmed in hazy black and white, it centers on a high schooler whose ruthless clique, led by the terrifying Chloe—a red-lipsticked, pigtailed tyrant who stomps down hallways chain-smoking in crisp, white shirts and lace skirts—hatches a plan to poison their male classmates. Their cold detachment and ennui is as quintessentially Coppola as their laid-back ’90s aesthetic. Oh, and look out for a cameo from legendary filmmaker Peter Bogdanovich as their stern principal.
The Virgin Suicides (1999)
A natural successor to Lick the Star’s tender and thorny depiction of teenhood is this sun-dappled cult classic, which follows the luminous Lisbon sisters, as played by the enchanting Kirsten Dunst, Chelse Swain, A. J. Cook, Leslie Hayman, and Hanna R. Hall. Stifled by their overprotective Catholic parents, they grow listless and then rebellious, climbing trees, breaking curfew, and sneaking off with boys while dressed in floaty floral frocks, crop tops, and lace, accessorized with dainty gold jewelry. And as for the objects of their affection? None can top Josh Hartnett as their school’s swaggering heartthrob, who somehow makes a bowl cut, leather jacket, beaded necklace, and orange-tinted aviators look unspeakably hot.
Lost in Translation (2003)
This wistful, sweeping mood piece, which earned Coppola a best original screenplay Oscar, remains her best: the gentle and expertly calibrated tale of two strangers—Scarlett Johansson’s recent Yale graduate and newlywed, and Bill Murray’s fading movie star, both in the midst of personal crises—who cross paths at the sleek hotel bar at the Park Hyatt Tokyo. Their adventure through the neon-drenched, cacophonous capital takes them to sushi bars, arcades, strip clubs, and karaoke dens, with each scene revealing their increasing closeness through stolen glances and knowing smiles. Although our heroine is hardly a fashion plate—in fact, she sets herself up as the bookish, introverted antithesis of Anna Faris’s gregarious, karate-chopping Hollywood starlet—there’s a quiet elegance to her asymmetric tops, crisp shirting, and slouchy tailored trousers. See photos of Coppola calling the shots on set, and you’ll find that they look strikingly similar.
Marie Antoinette (2006)
Books could be—and have been—written about the pastel-hued delights of this raucous romp: elaborately ruffled corsets, feather-strewn boaters, towering headpieces, ornate fans, velvet bows tied at the neck, copious amounts of glittering jewels, and Manolos that look good enough to eat. As Kirsten Dunst’s hedonistic French monarch blossoms from fresh-faced ingénue to reckless party girl and, eventually, (relatively) pared-back bohemian, her fashion evolution is a joy to behold, but if there’s a single scene which offers a microcosm of the film’s countless pleasures, it’s the thrilling shopping montage set to Bow Wow Wow’s “I Want Candy”—a veritable assault on the senses featuring overflowing champagne saucers and plate upon plate of Ladurée macarons. Bonus points if you spot the pair of blue Converse All Stars which lie discarded in a corner—just one of the many subtle ways in which Coppola injects a youthful, carefree, punk-rock spirit into what could have been a staid historical saga, quietly redefining the genre in the process.
Somewhere (2010)
Often overlooked, but as delicate and touching as any of Coppola’s releases, this intimate family drama tracks Johnny (Stephen Dorff), a dissatisfied actor, and Cleo (an angelic Elle Fanning), the young daughter who re-enters his life and pulls him out of his reverie. In place of his newly established routine of lounging around in a drunken stupor and engaging in anonymous sexual encounters, all the while nursing a broken wrist, at LA’s Chateau Marmont, he slowly returns to public life and regains control over his responsibilities. The styling, meanwhile, is all about Californian ease—sleek swimwear, linen dresses, shirts, denim—and understated polish, exemplified by the impossibly elegant but gloriously simple look Cleo chooses for an awards ceremony.
The Bling Ring (2013)
For ’90s babies like me, the 2008 look—bug-eyed, Rachel Zoe-esque sunglasses; leggings; graphic ponchos; giant handbags; Juicy Couture tracksuits worn with Uggs—will always be triggering. Still, there’s no denying that Coppola does it well in this delicious crime caper, which dramatizes the real-life story of the fame-obsessed teens who committed a string of high-profile burglaries in the Hollywood Hills. They chose targets whose clothes they admired, from Audrina Patridge and Rachel Bilson to Megan Fox, Lindsay Lohan, and Miranda Kerr, swiping Louboutins and Birkins from their overflowing wardrobes and wearing them on wild nights out. Emma Watson’s vacuous Nicki steals the show with her lace party dresses, slouchy beanies, and denim cut-offs, but so does her icon, Y2K queen Paris Hilton, whose fashion legacy seems to have seeped into the very fabric of the film—she was one of the gang’s hardest-hit victims, and appears in a brief cameo, besides allowing Coppola to film extensively in her real home and closet. As a snapshot of that specific time, there’s nothing better.
The Beguiled (2017)
Crucial to the hair-raising eeriness of this twisty Southern Gothic are the gently ruffled, floor-length, diaphanous white dresses worn by the few remaining residents of an almost entirely abandoned girls’ school in Civil War-era Virginia. Like serene spirits, they float through their grand house and grounds—that is, until they stumble upon an injured soldier (Colin Farrell) who must be nursed back to health. His presence gives them a reason to dress up again—in debutante-worthy hoop skirts and lace-embroidered bodices whose satin surfaces shimmer in the candlelight—but there’s something vaguely sinister in their stiff, austere silhouettes, as well as in their growing obsession with their new guest. As the plot thickens, their looks continue to complement one another, but also remain wonderfully distinct—particularly Nicole Kidman’s steely, buttoned-up headmistress; Kirsten Dunst’s more sophisticated, cosmopolitan teacher; and Elle Fanning’s unruly, undone pupil.
On the Rocks (2020)
At first glance, this stripped-back, father-daughter dramedy feels like an anti-fashion film: a slow-burning, comparatively low-stakes charmer where the plot takes precedence over the aesthetics. It casts Rashida Jones as a struggling novelist who worries her husband (Marlon Wayans) may be having an affair, and turns to her philandering father (Bill Murray) for advice. They conspire over martinis and arrange stake-outs, with the former dressed in the uniform of chic, intellectual Manhattan mothers with cash to spare: white shirts, cashmere sweaters, herringbone blazers, Breton jumpers, a Paris Review T-shirt, a Cartier watch, and the hilariously on-the-nose pairing of a Chanel bag and a Strand bookstore tote. It’s then that you realize that this heroine reflects Coppola’s own personal style more closely than any who’ve come before her.
Priscilla (2023)
A candy-colored fever dream chronicling the naive girlhood and then turbulent marriage of the supremely glamorous pin-up Priscilla Presley (a wide-eyed Cailee Spaeny), this slow-burning, observant coming-of-age tragedy is, in many ways, the thoughtful antidote to Baz Luhrmann’s barnstorming, star-spangled Elvis. It plays out in ice cream-hued diners, cotton candy-pink salons, sparkly Vegas casinos, and the jewel box-like Graceland, as the lovestruck teen is plucked from obscurity and, under the careful guidance of Elvis (a brooding Jacob Elordi), morphs into a bouffanted, cat-eyed doll in satin minidresses, lace confections, tulle nightgowns, dainty kitten heels and, of course, that unforgettable wedding dress. When she finally flees this gilded cage, she swaps all her finery for a crisp white shirt—a clear sartorial symbol for the liberated, unadorned future she’s driving towards.
