How Putricia the Blooming Corpse Flower—the Internet’s Stinkiest It Girl—Should Dress for Her Coming Out

She first appeared to me soundtracked by Angelo Badalamenti’s enchanting Twin Peaks theme. She was on a stage, flanked by relatives, friends, and successors, with smoke swirling around her base. A snaking queue hundreds of people long had lined up to see—and smell—her.

Popping up on my FYP, all three meters of her, was Putricia the Corpse Flower, the Botanic Gardens of Sydney’s Araceae It girl.

To the scientific community, Putricia is known as amorphophallus titanum—derived from the Ancient Greek for “giant misshapen penis.” Part of an endangered species of plant, she’s one of only 1,000 left in the world, and, of the several titan arums in Sydney’s Royal Botanic Gardens, the first to bloom in more than 15 years.

So, Putricia has become a major event. I’ve been following along on TikTok and via livestream, while thousands more have turned up to her Sydney home to see her in all her glory. Right now, it’s said she smells like rotting flesh, but as she unfurls and shows her crimson, velvety insides, the smell from her long yellow spadix will only intensify.

And already, a rival has emerged: another corpse flower has begun to bloom at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, the first in New York. It’s roughly six foot tall.

As one of Putricia’s self-described “handmaids” shared, the Corpse Flower’s throne was variously inspired by Queen Victoria’s opulent funeral setting, Little Shop of Horrors, the work of David Lynch, some Gothic funeral parlor vibes, and vintage sideshows. The palm house in which she resides actually dates back to the Victorian age, though it has since been fit out with a red carpet, a guard of honor made up of other botanicals and plant life, and Putricia herself, lying in state on a raised stage. Puffs of mist float around her to mirror the wet, humid rainforests of the island of Sumatra, where the corpse flower is originally from, and a sign states her name in medieval font.

It’s clear we’re witnessing another society debut—which made us wonder what, ideally, Putricia would wear for the occasion. How does one approach the outfitting of a force of nature, a star in her field (or forest)?

If we’re to lean into Putricia’s horticultural roots, she could take a leaf out of Amelia Gray Hamlin’s book and copy her 2024 Met Gala look. Perfectly suited to the “Garden of Time” herself, Putricia could don the light-up terrarium dress from Jun Takahashi’s Undercover spring/summer 2024 show, its diaphanous fabric encasing her own unfurling leaves (or incorporating some of her smaller cousins).

Simone Rocha’s bouquet-embellished bodices and sheer, sheath dresses of spring 2025 are also rich in interpretation for the floral of the moment—as are Sandy Liang’s visions of girlhood and coquette core. (Putricia could definitely pull off a pink satin sash.)

The picture of a Lynchian muse, Putricia could also explore her more sensory, sumptuous side: Think black bodycon and crushed, textured fabrics by way of Laura Dern and Isabella Rossellini in Blue Velvet. Or, go spookier: If she’s indeed as confident as she presents, she could have a Comme des Garçons moment.

A taste for textures that depart from her planty waxiness could move Putricia in the direction of a Rodarte spring 2025 princess, wearing a regal gown that reflects like molten metal. Should she want more drama, Seán McGirr’s sophomore collection for Alexander McQueen has yet more gilded, romantic evening wear that hits the right avant-garde and otherworldly notes—like the silvery dress worn by Angelina Jolie at the 2025 Golden Globes.

Alternatively, Putricia could pay homage to her adopted home and opt for a look from an Australian designer like Christopher Esber; a good number of his sheer, figure-hugging silhouettes have enough liquidity in the draping to keep her quenched.

This will be a short and sharp promotion run: After a few days, the flower’s structure will shrivel and collapse. Eventually, a single new leaf will be produced, but it may be years before Putricia has the energy to flower again.

In many ways, it’s a tale as old as time; our most iconic It girls have often flashed before our eyes. But Putricia’s putrid smell will surely linger.