Paris S/S 2025 Women’s Fashion Week Report

The City of Light welcomed this edition of women’s fashion week with pouring rain; proof that god hates fashion. No matter; the influencers influenced, and I am convinced that a tsunami could not stop the fake dressing for the cameras — mother nature is no match for late capitalism. At Dries Van Noten without Dries Van Noten the change in the makeup of the audience was palpable. The editors were mostly relegated to the second row to make room for “content creators.” In front of me sat a girl who must have been in her early twenties. She was armed with an iPhone ensconced in some gizmo that allowed her to record the show on video in a semi-professional way. Preoccupied with filming, she did not look at the clothes once. And what did she miss? A definite change.

The clothes looked younger, much younger. There was some Dries DNA left in tailoring and color play, but make no mistake, these were influencer clothes made for the girl sitting in front of me who wasn’t looking at them. There were frills (frills were everywhere this season, and I truly wish designers would stop communicating with trend forecasting agencies; wishful thinking, I know, but everything is starting to look the same.) There was negligé as dresses. There were bralettes that barely covered model-size breasts. The collection lacked the kind of restraint Dries is known for. His clothes gave women allure and dignity at the same time. These clothes, only allure and of the very obvious kind. And then there were bags. Many bags. Lots of bags. Bags with almost every look. The message was clear; Puig wants a return on its investment. Fair enough. But one piece of advice to a fragrance company that wants a fashion brand on the side, and you don’t have to take it from me but from another editor who brought up the subject unprompted while we were chatting before the Rick Owens show the next day. There are many more women who have money to spend on designer clothes than girls. Just ask the Olsen twins. Dries understood it and that’s why he sold clothes and not bags and shoes and cosmetics. He catered to women and women loved him for it. Which young girl will wear this over Jacquemus or Gucci, I don’t know. We’ll find out sooner or later.

My next showing was of Gauchere, which opted for a presentation, as did quite a few other brands this time. Many others showed in venues further out that were pretty much concrete boxes or something a step above. It seems like all but the richest corporate brands are running out of money, or shows are just becoming prohibitively expensive to put on. The clothes at Gauchere looked cool, calm, and collected, as usual. There is a certain nonchalance in the brand’s mostly loose silhouette that is appealing, along with a refreshing unfussiness.

There was no unfussiness at Rick Owens, who went for his usual Palais de Tokyo epic, for which the clouds mercifully parted and sunlight shone on a parade of black clothes that are starting to look a bit too familiar. Throughout his career Owens has been good at opening new chapters while keeping his aesthetic clearly recognizable. The time has come to do it again. And I hope that the new chapter will be less outré. Owens has been able to strike a perfect balance between the extreme, the challenging, and the wearable, but it’s been skewing towards the extreme a bit too much. The proof was in the show crowd that mostly looked ridiculous in head to toe Rick Owens. This reflects where Rick Owens the brand is right now – it is a big operation that attracts people who simply don’t have the disposition to pull it off. “Owens victims” is not a terms I want to introduce into the fashion vernacular. Wearing Rick Owens is not necessarily about being tall or skinny; it is about truly relating to the world he has built, one that champions nonconformity, in which, funny enough, cosplay is not welcome.

My Friday was spent mostly in museums until the Yohji Yamamoto show that evening. The collection Yamamoto showed was good but not great. Which is to say it was better than most, but not up to the standard the maestro has set for himself. Many of the clothes looked messy; they lacked structure that Yamamoto is so good at. The soundtrack of the show did not add much to the ambiance. I usually remember a show’s soundtrack either because it’s very bad or very good, and this was not good. There was a live piano performance that could be barely heard from where I was sitting; then I perked up when the music for Leonard Cohen’s anthem to death, “You Want It Darker” came on, until Yamamoto’s vocals butchered its haunting beauty. Singing is a temptation that all of us have, but most of us recognize that it should be done in private. Let those who are good at it do it and let’s not encroach on each other’s craft; I doubt that Cohen would want to design a fashion line.

Saturday was the Comme des Garçons day. It started with another Junya Watanabe bang. His tech fantasia was inspired by the movie Ex Machina, which showed in the metallic silver and the head dresses that referenced the film. As usual, the intricate construction of the clothes was incredible, especially the undulating numbers that were made from reversed “glitter” denim. I don’t know what they feed the pattern makers on planet Comme, but more power to them. Backstage Watanabe talked about wanting to use found materials in the clothes, which could be seen in the cut up rubber that resembled tires and reminded me of Rauschenberg’s combines. I examined all the clothes closely at the showroom and they were as appealing as they looked on the runway.

At Noir, Kei Ninomiya continued his brilliant construction explorations (one of his signatures is trying to construct garments without sewing). There was a jacket made of belts, and dresses painstakingly constructed like 3D puzzles. These feats of engineering have cemented Ninomiya as one of the most exciting fashion talents.

Perhaps it is strange to write that the Comme des Garçons show was my least favorite of the trio, given that Rei Kawakubo has given the world of fashion so much, both herself and via her proteges. But her runway offerings continue to move further and further away from any kind of recognizable sartorial reality. It seems that Kawakubo is increasingly talking to herself and not the world of fashion. I am all for complicated, even difficult clothes, but they must be clothes in the end. What Kawakubo shows are body sculptures. This was especially apparent in this show, where some of the looks were geometric encasements for the body. The collection would be better suited for an art gallery, and such recontextualizing may potentially lead to new thoughts on art, but I cannot conceive of a possible fashion context in which to think about these creations. Which is a shame, because Kawakubo has enriched the fashion narrative throughout her illustrious career.

In between the Comme universe I jetted to the show of Hermés, where Nadege Vanhee showed another confident collection. It was sexy, a word one does not readily associate with the only truly luxury brand left. But there it was in the silk mesh body suits and pants with zippers running full length of the leg, begging to be unzipped. There were also cool workwear elements in the jeans made from fabric that resembled the one Hermés uses for its dust bags, and leather- trimmed overalls. The leathers were sumptuous as usual; they are truly stunning on the runway, but even more so when you get to examine them up close.

On my last day I saw two wonderful shows, Lutz Huelle and Sacai. Huelle, who worked closely with Martin Margiela, has been quietly designing truly excellent fashion for years without much recognition from the fashion system. His experience shows in expertly combined garments that are chic, fashion-forward, and eminently wearable all at once. This collection was everything I miss about the ‘90s but updated for today; nonchalance, sophisticated sexiness, confidence, and — gasp — fun! Fun is the word fashion has forgotten. Fashion was fun in the ‘80s and the ‘90s. Now it is serious business in which everything is airtight to the point of suffocation. Huelle’s show, where the soundtrack went from Patti Smith to Italo disco, was a reminder that it doesn’t have to be this way.

Chitose Abe showed another excellent collection with garments of intricate proportions. Her usual fabric splicing took on new life in gently undulating backs and fronts. Abe has been brilliant in combining softness and toughness, and this show was no exception. I will never tire of saying this, but this show underscored yet again, that it is the Japanese that make Paris look exciting.