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A national costume at Miss Universe always walks a fine line between fashion and cultural diplomacy, between stage spectacle and a visually precise concept capable of telling a country’s story through a few clear, easily readable images. That’s why such outfits face stricter requirements than any other stage look: they must not only be striking from a distance but also function as a symbol—simple, coherent, and concentrated.

In the case of Armenia’s 2025 costume, the issue lies not in the boldness of the idea or the professionalism of contestant Peggy Garabekyan, who walked the stage confidently and gracefully, but in the fundamentally flawed logic of the concept itself: an attempt to cram too many historical, religious, ethnographic, and national motifs into a single silhouette. The result is that the elements fail to cohere into a unified image, leaving the viewer with an impression far removed from what the creators intended.

The visual language of a national costume must be crystal clear. For viewers—especially an international audience unfamiliar with Armenian history, unable to recognize the nuances of its architecture, unaware of the sacred codes in the alphabet, or unaware of layered symbols from the Genocide to Garni’s “Stone Symphony”—the costume should function primarily as a cohesive artistic composition.

This is where the 2025 Armenian costume falls short: too many elements compete for dominance, too many meanings clash, too many forms and textures fight for the viewer’s attention, creating a sense of visual overload and stylistic inconsistency.

The church dome on the head, crowned with a cross and accompanied by red beads symbolizing bloodshed; armor-like shoulder pads evoking martial narratives; endless textured layers inspired by the “Stone Symphony”; pomegranate; Forget-Me-Not flower; three sacred letters; twelve columns; flag elements; glitter; plastic; metal plates; blue, red, orange, white, gold—each of these could have worked individually if subordinated to a single visual idea. Instead, they clash, producing a relentless sense of enumeration, as if the designer wasn’t creating a costume but trying to map Armenian identity, placing every symbol associated with the country onto it.

Such ambition is understandable—the young designer wants to say a lot, and loudly. But in fashion, especially in high-stage fashion, strength lies in selection, in artistic restraint, in the ability to forgo the unnecessary to enhance the expressive power of the main idea.

It is worth recalling previous contestants—not nostalgically, but as a professional reference for visual clarity.

In 2021, Nane Avetisyan appeared as the goddess Arubani—stylistically precise, monumental, based on a clear idea where every detail reinforced the others. The lower layers conveyed Ararat-inspired aesthetics, bronze tones evoked ancient mythology, and the fabrics formed a unified surface, complementing rather than breaking the silhouette.

Monica Grigoryan in 2020 presented a traditional taraz—restrained but incredibly colorful. The fabric texture, embellishments, proportions—all conveyed cultural authenticity.

Armenia was expressed not through symbols but through materiality: the warmth of fabrics, the softness of lines, the richness of craftsmanship.

In 2022, Kristina Ayanyan took a political approach with a manifesto-like costume. It was rich and layered, yet subordinate to a single idea: Armenia’s right to exist.

Clear structure dominated, with large elements working together rather than competing, forming a coherent symbolic gesture.

All three designs differed in mood and artistic basis, but they shared one key quality—compositional integrity. The 2025 costume lacks this. Martun Gevorgyan’s styling evokes attempts at Parajanov-like layering: textures, symbols, folk codes, decorative density. However, Parajanov knew how to use negative space: every layer had a rhythm, every symbol had breathing room. Here, there is no empty space: the eye cannot find a point of reference, the mind cannot process the composition. Symbols overlap, losing their meaning and undermining the overall perception.

The result is a chaotic assembly of ideas rather than a considered artistic statement. There is a desire to convey something meaningful, but no direction. There is love for the culture, but no professional distance to transform that love into art.

Peggy Garabekyan performed flawlessly. She did everything a model can do under structurally overloaded conditions. Her presentation was confident, fluid, and composed, yet a model cannot fix compositional mistakes. She is not responsible for explaining the story of the symbols—that is the costume’s job. And a costume that tries to include everything at once inevitably loses expressiveness, becoming a heavy construct incapable of functioning on a large stage.

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