I’d start by giving the runway a beat that only the dancers can hear—some funky synth that pulses, then suddenly drops into a slow 70s bass. Every set piece is a remix of that beat: a neon backdrop that flashes in sync with the synth, a leather jacket that literally folds itself out of a storage unit when the tempo drops, a mirror that rewinds and shows the last outfit in reverse like a glitch in a video. The chaos feels intentional because every glitch is coded into the rhythm, so the audience knows there’s a pattern even when it looks random. And I’d throw in a surprise DJ booth that appears out of nowhere to drop the next remix—so the runway becomes a living remix album where the audience feels like they’re inside the track.