The 2025 Cannes Film Festival has seen its fair share of memorable red carpets, but the world premiere of Eddington gave us a cinematic moment for the fashion books.
Cannes red carpet has seen some wild things in its time, but nothing could have prepared me or anyone else for what went down at the Eddington premiere. You would think a psychological Western thriller by Ari Aster would be the talk of the night, and yes, it had its buzz, but not like the literal buzz that happened when a bee tried to crash Emma Stone’s moment. Yes, a bee. On the Cannes red carpet. You can’t make this stuff up.
So there she was, Emma Stone, gliding across the red carpet like some futuristic queen in white Louis Vuitton. Her gown had this architectural collar that fanned out like something you’d expect in a sci-fi fantasy—not over-the-top, just sharp, clean, and impossible to ignore. The silhouette? Minimalist perfection. No beads. No sequins. Just structure.
And then came the uninvited insect to Cannes. The poor girl was trying to pose, all graceful and ethereal, when this rogue bee decided her ribbed neckline looked like a good place to hang out. In swoops Pedro Pascal, followed by Austin Butler, both of them attempting to save the day. 
Pedro, with his signature dad-meets-secret-agent energy, did a dramatic little swat, while Austin tried the gentle blowing method, like he was coaxing it away with his Hollywood breath. Honestly, I don’t know what was funnier—the situation itself or Emma trying to keep a straight face while two grown men battled a bee on her collar. It was chaotic. It was comedic. It was Cannes.
And somehow, that was just the beginning. Emma recovered beautifully, by the way. Her diamond earrings—green emerald drops that peeked out from her updo—sparkled in the sun like nothing had happened. The way she carried herself? I mean, this is Emma Stone. You’d think she just walked off the set of a vintage Dior campaign. Calm. Collected. And still giving high fashion.
Then came Angelina Jolie, and honestly, I had to catch my breath for a second. She doesn’t show up often these days, but when she does, the earth shifts a little. She chose Brunello Cucinelli, of course; quiet luxury with a soul. A strapless, champagne-hued gown that caught the light like something from a dream. No harsh lines. No screaming logos. Just a soft, golden shimmer and the kind of silhouette that floats rather than walks.Her hair was that perfectly undone kind of undone, parted down the middle, long and wavy like she just walked out of a 1950s Mediterranean romance. She wore a simple teardrop diamond necklace and heels that didn’t compete for attention. You would think it was effortless, but that kind of grace takes intention. That’s the thing with Angelina, she doesn’t have to wear the loudest thing in the room. She is the moment.
And right behind her? Pedro Pascal and his beautiful wife, who has somehow mastered the art of looking like both your favorite history professor and the hottest man at the party. He showed up in a satin-lapel tuxedo that fit like it had been poured onto him, and he moved through the crowd like someone who knows he’s beloved. Because he is. Black tie perfection, with just the right amount of cool. His energy was playful, especially during the whole bee fiasco. But the suit itself? Classic, sharp, and deeply photogenic.
Austin Butler followed close behind in Saint Laurent, and I swear, if that man ever takes a bad photo, I haven’t seen it. His tux was all about glossy finishes; those exaggerated lapels caught every single flashbulb; and his shirt had this almost liquid sheen that made the whole look feel luxe and cinematic. He didn’t over-style it. No flashy accessories. Just crisp tailoring and the kind of bone structure that makes you wonder if he was sculpted rather than born.
Then there was Joaquin Phoenix, who truly couldn’t care less about any of it, and yet still managed to look like a legend. He wore a simple Dior Homme tux; black, clean, and intentionally unimpressive; and yet he somehow oozed that quiet, smoldering gravitas that reminds you why he’s an icon. Hair slightly pushed back, beard trimmed but not too neat, the whole vibe was: I’m here to act, not pose. And still, he posed. For about 20 seconds. And it was enough.
Jeremy Strong showed up like a man who had just come from reading a script on a terrace in Tuscany. No bow tie, slightly oversized Brioni suit, suede loafers, it was giving minimalist professor energy in the most expensive way.
There’s a subtle rebellion in not wearing a traditional tux at Cannes, and Jeremy leaned into it with grace. No bells, no whistles. Just quiet confidence. I mean, if you’ve got the acting chops and the cheekbones, why not?
And then there was Luke Grimes, who clearly got the Cannes Western memo and gave us cowboy chic in a Tom Ford tux with velvet lapels and a bolo tie. Yes, a bolo tie. And it worked. Like, really worked. His longer hair tucked behind his ears gave him a kind of outlaw-on-a-European-vacation look. It was polished, but it had edge. You could tell he wanted to nod to the spirit of the film without looking like he came in costume. Mission accomplished.
Clifton Collins Jr. opted for navy elegance in Dolce & Gabbana, and that color choice? Chef’s kiss. The rich, deep navy was the perfect canvas for the satin shawl lapels and glossy monk strap shoes. Hair slicked back, stance firm; he brought that seasoned, classic movie star vibe that Cannes thrives on. He wasn’t loud, but he was there at Cannes.It was honestly one of the most balanced carpets I’ve seen in a while. Nobody tried too hard. Nobody came in a cry-for-attention gimmick. It was refined, sometimes whimsical, but always wearable in that Cannes kind of way. The drama was in the details. The textures. The tailoring. The soft glam. And the bee. Let’s not forget the bee.
You would think that a Cannes red carpet would be all about the fashion, and technically, yes, it was. But there was something in the air that night. Something fun, a little chaotic, deeply glamorous, but not so serious.
It was the perfect reflection of a film like Eddington, which—by the way—centers on paranoia, masculinity, and cultural decline in the guise of a Western satire. Inside the theater, I’m sure it was heavy and haunting and brilliant. But outside? Outside it was a rom-com.
