Forget cityscapes, xenomorphs, time-shuttles, Death Stars and holes in the sky – in movies, the future looks coolest when you can wear it. From Barbarella’s sexy sci-fi skimp to 1971’s bristling The Omega Man, filmmakers have long explored societal collapse and the impact of technological advance via costume design and fashion. In 1984’s Threads, director Mr Mick Jackson’s vision for functional survival-wear has traffic wardens patrolling a post-apocalyptic Sheffield in face bandages. Mr Kevin Costner’s Waterworld (1995) look is similarly surgical and DIY, owing to his amphibious militarism. The wipe-clean vinyls worn by the bionic Mr Michael Fassbender in Prometheus (2012) are more utopian than utilitarian, as he glides across director Sir Ridley Scott’s lens with a porcelain grace. Here are five other films that took us to the end of the world in style.

Somewhere between Mad Men and Mad Max, director Mr Andrew Niccol’s debut lifts the veil on a nightmarish future, where children are conceived to inherit their parents’ best qualities. A flop when it landed in 1997, Gattaca became something of a sleeper hit and now enjoys a huge cult following – not least for its inimitable depiction of a genetically engineered space fleet. Mr Ethan Hawke, whose genes weren’t messed with in utero, infiltrates the fleet and must dress to the tune of multi Oscar-winning wardrobe designer Ms Colleen Atwood’s muted and sharply symmetrical 1930s-inspired suits. Then, of course, there’s Mr Hawke’s then-partner Ms Uma Thurman, whose bracingly buttoned-up fits add so much to the menace.

In Mr Spike Jonze’s heartbreaking sci-fi film about a lonely man who falls in love with his AI PA, costumier Ms Casey Storm put the cast in retro-futuristic looks: high-waisted trousers, loud primary colours and V-necks. Ms Storm didn’t want to paint the future in broad strokes, like speculative fiction of the past. Instead, hero Mr Joaquin Phoenix looks strangely scholarly and of the 1970s, matching the film’s soft palate, whimsical romance and slightly detached dialogue. In Mr Jonze’s future, we don’t need clothes or chat to find companionship – it’s available at the touch of a button. Finding on-demand success after a false start on initial release, Her is now also seen as a touchstone of the dad-bod trend, and an oddly alarming premonition.

For latex fantasists, The Matrix was the trip of the century. After tapping out of the simulation and realising his transcendent powers as “The One”, Mr Keanu Reeves’ hacker protagonist suits and boots up, sealing what’s become known as the draping “Neo-coat” into movie iconography. Not to mention Mr Laurence Fishburn’s Morpheus and his famous armless sunglasses. Then there’s sidekick and love interest Trinity (played by Ms Carrie-Anne Moss), whose glistening PVC trousers defy gravity, twisting like the fabric of reality. The Wachowski sisters have since aligned their own gender transition to the movie’s “free will versus determinism” themes, and Ms Kym Barrett’s dynamic and sexy costume designs became a symbol of radical film freedom for future generations.

Only a year after The Truman Show trapped Mr Jim Carrey in a TV soap he assumed was real life, the Big Brother franchise launched in the Netherlands. In a dystopian twist, life was imitating art, was imitating life – and everyone was hooked. The poignancy of The Truman Show isn’t lost on our Instagram-saturated present, but it’s the fake world director Mr Peter Weir built that packs the biggest punch. Mr Carrey, his partner and colleagues live by mown lawns, scripts and suburban style: anaemic-looking cardigans, faded plaid, first lady waistbands and oversized hair clips. Mr Carrey’s final look – the geography teacher turtleneck he wears as he escapes the edges of his own reality show – purposefully undermines the prevailing drama. It’s the end of the world as we know it, but, perhaps appropriately, it’s also rather boring.

Dystopia never looked dirtier. Mr Frank Miller’s original sees Mr Mel Gibson roar his Interceptor through an Australia of the future, where violent motorbike gangs have taken control. As he avenges the death of his family, Mr Gibson’s two-piece leather outfit starts losing appendages and accumulating outback refuse. But it’s the gang’s faded glam-rock decrepitude that evokes social collapse best: roadkill shoulder pads; hairstyles that could double as tumbleweed; black eyes that could be blusher; and face-masks that appear to have been salvaged from Chernobyl. So memorable are the looks, there isn’t a dusty layby in the world that doesn’t summon the dark power of Mr Miller’s violent and stylish tale.