A fashion prodigy who must have woken up one day and said to himself: ‘What if I made fashion into a vast playground where nothing makes sense any more, but everyone applauds?’

Born in Northern Ireland, an ideal place to develop a sensitivity to tartan-style curtains, the land of whisky where couture is a clan. He studied at the London College of Fashion before launching JW Anderson in 2008. His idea was to merge the masculine and the feminine, to reinvent gender codes and, let’s be honest, to wreak havoc on wardrobes, which is now forbidden in the United States. He was soon spotted for his keen sense of ‘Why make things simple when you can make them complicated?’ and his love of clothes that defy gravity and common sense, as well as his love for Hecate, the mythological goddess in love with the Moon and magic.

Loewe, the Spanish leather goods brand that decided in 2013 that it was time to abandon its image as a chic old house and invite Anderson to mess things up with his experimental aesthetic. The result? Bags that look like jigsaw puzzles, jumpers that look like they’ve been knitted on acid, and adverts in which you wonder if the designer and photographer hadn’t had a night out with Elon Musk before the shoot. And yet… the fashion world is begging for more, and we don’t know why.

Never has the LVMH Prize shone a light on undeniable talents designers capable of bringing a singular vision to the fashion industry. Today, it seems that this award has become nothing more than a marketing springboard for self-proclaimed creators, where craftsmanship takes a backseat and concept prevails over couture. The selection of the Berlin-based duo Ottolinger is a case in point a brand determined to prove that banality can be labeled as “avant-garde,” as long as it is wrapped in a pretentious rhetoric not of Ariadne’s thread, but of Buzz.

During the last Fashion Week, Ottolinger presented a collection so lackluster that it went unnoticed. A biker jacket in felted wool bonded with scuba fabric a concept that aims to be hybrid but never moves beyond workshop experimentation. Mesh-printed deconstructed dresses soulless variations of a trend exhausted to the core. Overdyed jeans with flipped pockets revealing the original denim a cutout game as revolutionary as a poorly stitched hem. None of this makes a couturier.

The real tragedy is that behind these lukewarm experiments lie the true artisans of fashion: the skilled seamstresses who will never leave the great houses, those who, in the shadows, uphold a craftsmanship that designers like Ottolinger reduce to a mere communication tool. Craftsmanship, tailoring, the precision of a perfect drape these are no longer priorities, replaced by hazy concepts that mask a technical void.

After transforming Balenciaga into a temple of chic streetwear (or chic in jogging pants, depending on the style), Demna is packing her bags to take over as artistic director of Gucci. Her mission? To revive the Italian fashion house with ever bolder ideas. In other words, to make new things out of old, but at a higher price.

‘Demna will bring something exceptional to Gucci,’ said Gucci CEO Stefano Cantino, looking serious and inspired in front of an army of journalists.  Translation: let’s hope he can sell sneakers with holes in them and bags that look like bin liners, but with Gucci branding.

The announcement came as a bombshell in the luxury microcosm, but had already been announced on Canal-luxe.com two months ago, and the musical chairs are endless. Matthieu Blazy at Chanel? Jonathan Anderson at Dior? Donatella Versace on holiday at last?

But back to Gucci. The brand is desperate to recapture its former glory, since the exuberant era of Alessandro Michele came to an end in 2022, leaving behind a baroque wardrobe and a rollercoaster turnover.

Miu Miu, a little-awaited moment to imagine the version of the woman in disguise for the long-gone ‘Uta de Ballenstedt’. However, will Miuccia serve us? The front row was filled with a cheerful kermesse, from a cowgirl in a swimming costume to an army of schoolgirls in pleated skirts ready for their first Manga playground.

But this season, the retro woman is back, with her hair ‘brushed’ like a Manniatis salon, granny pins and underwired bras sculpting the silhouette as if the 1950s were the new Madmen cool. The return of the good old conical bra, an icon of exaggerated femininity, revived in the 80s by Madonna and ‘Jean Paul Gaulé’, already copied from Elsa Schiaparelli, and today by Millennials fascinated by everything that preceded their birth. Nothing’s the same as it used to be! Nor afterwards.

Since arriving at the helm of Saint-Laurent in 2016, Anthony Vaccarello has breathed new energy into the house, juggling Yves Saint Laurent’s legacy while propelling it into a sharpened modernity. The Belgian designer has imposed his vision: a sculptural, sensual and striking style, where every line and every cut seems to have been cut with a scalpel.

Under the glittering spotlights of the Garde Républicaine, Nadège gives us a shiver of leather, like a mirror of time, a faithful reflection that flamboyant vintage would not disavow, and like a trend that wraps itself on a breath of silk on the black skin of time. The spring to come dances under the weight of the wind’s skin, riding jackets and wise trousers, coats like sails ready to open, sculpted suits and daring coats for a woman in lambskin plunged into a bath of sexuality.

Hold on to your Stetson, Schiaparelli’s cowboy sheriff-in-chief Daniel Roseberry is determined to stay in the saddle. Having already pulled off the chic western trick last year, the Texan designer is back with a rawer version of the genre: hammered leather like rodeo chaps, shearling jackets worthy of a trapper escaped from a Scorsese film, and XXL buckle belts worn…

But the big revolution this season isn’t the overdose of accessories, but the switch from gold to copper at seven thousand euros a kilo. Yes, this noble and under-appreciated material which, in burnished chic mode, gives a satin dress the charm of an old copper pot and transforms a pair of pearl pyjamas into an involuntary homage to the drainpipe of an old bathtub belonging to the Duchess of Châtelet. A daring choice or a shortage of gilding in the workshops? It’s a mystery.

Whatever the case, Roseberry is making a radical departure from its ultra-corseted Haute Couture collection of January. A change that, according to him, has nothing to do with feminist awareness. No, no, he bristles at the idea that the corset was designed to appeal to men. We can therefore imagine that he designed it above all to enable women to better store their floating ribs on the side. A pure act of ergonomic design. No ?

The title of Off-White’s fall show? “State of Resistance”. A bold name for a brand long celebrated for championing the Black community under the visionary leadership of the late, great Virgil Abloh. But times have changed since Abloh’s passing in 2021, and these days, designers are a little more hesitant to turn the runway into a soapbox.

Not Ibrahim Kamara, though. He’s here to remind us that community spirit and inclusive vision are still stitched into Off-White’s DNA. In today’s world, that might seem radical. Controversial, even. But really, isn’t it just about remembering how to exist alongside other humans without losing your style?

Kamara’s vision? Imagine Mars-style leather suits with varsity-style letters spelling out OO (Off-White? Or just Ooooh?). Biker jackets morphed into aerodynamic overcoats, while parkas and matching shorts featured just enough utility details to make you feel prepared for… whatever life throws at you.

There were also nods to tradition classic uniforms reimagined with ribbed panels and bold graphics inspired by the star and eagle from Ghana’s national emblem.

Continue reading →

Under the golden dome of an ancient temple, Where dreams are adorned with divine fabrics, A ballet of shadows and lights awakens, The curtain rises on a hymn to textiles.

With a white thread, the past whispers to the lapels, A masculine coat, austere and sculptural, Opens in cadence on the velvet of a dream, A dress undressed, draped in mystery.

The colors rise like fiery notes, Burnt orange, deep purple, eternal black, The silhouettes soar, chiseled and free, Capelines hemmed with a thread of desire. Jackets curl up in protective cocoons, While belts embrace the waist, Closing with one gesture the promise of the evening, Opening with another on a shiver of audacity.

And there, in the dance of skirts and pleats, The pants become accomplices of souls,

Sharpened legs, undone buttons, Freedom runs under the caressing fabric.The wind clings to ethereal blouses, the silks whisper forgotten stories, the tips stretch, the seams sing, a fabric opera, an ode to the ephemeral.

The great textile circus, where the important thing is no longer to dress up, but to dress down, starts with the IFM or the Art of Making Genius Without Genius. Fashion schools used to train dressmakers. Today, they produce ‘mastered’ students, well qualified, not unintelligent of course, but without intelligence. And at the head of this great standardisation is the IFM (Institut Français de la Mode), the Funny Man and the Man from Toledo. They have transformed this factory of standardised designers after absorbing the prestigious schools of French haute couture.

When Donatella Versace transforms your bedding into haute couture: is fashion reaching its peak or its point of no return? But for Bob the man who, blessed by the gods of kitsch, looked at a curtain rod and said to himself: “Hey, what if I made a dress for Scarlett Honiara. Result: a legendary parody of “Gone with the Wind” concept à la Jaques Mumuse. But if Mackie dared to hijack Donatella Versace’s living room decor then forget the concept of “dressing room”, welcome to the era of “bedroom chic”!

Festival of baroque! Prints so bold that we wonder if the wallpaper of a Venetian hotel from the 80s was not used as a moodboard. On leggings, sculpted skaters, “because we do not skate with love”, blouses with “leg of lamb by Agneli” sleeves.

Men’s fashion, with flashy shirts and gold accessories worthy of a nostalgic rapper from the 90s. We even had the right to sequined t-shirts and jeans, for those who want to sparkle for no good reason. To perfect this ode to maximalism, heated benches and rococo blankets were made available yes, we are close to the thermal experience and for my bimbo demi-mondaine neighbor “finally Hot”.

After conquering fashion with XXL-sized shoulder pads and futuristic looks, Roustintin has decided to invade space, and not just olfactory space. The house is launching Blanc Galaxie, the latest addition to its Les Éternels fragrance collection. And mind you, it’s not just a fragrance, it’s a powerful symbol of hope and confidence, as if a spritz of bergamot can change a life.

The creator describes Blanc Galaxie as a blank canvas to fully express who you are to yourself and to the world. And that’s all there is to it. No need for therapy, just invest $260 in a bottle to finally understand who you are. The long result of many hours of psychotherapy for itself.

It’s true that we’ve always dreamed of smelling an eclipse. A daring olfactory concept, which could give other brands ideas (‘Éclipse Totale’ – the fragrance for difficult Monday mornings?).

The flashes of colour, wispy fabrics and animal prints of past seasons give way to an army of sophisticated trench coats, revisited officer’s coats, raincoats with fur-trimmed hoods and imposing scarves with tapered fringes. The palette is organic: deep browns, mossy greens and intense burgundies intertwine in a stylistic narrative with earthy, racy accents.