Paris Don’t Get Fired Week
Did luxury wake fashion up?
By the time Paris Fashion Week began, I had already reached the stage of exhaustion where your brain feels like a phone permanently stuck on 2% battery. Milan had taken everything out of me. Espresso stopped working. Pasta stopped working. Even the sacred Italian combination of espresso followed immediately by more espresso had stopped working. Yikes.
And yet Paris waits for no one. The city simply opens its gates and says: “You thought that was fashion week? Wake up, bitch—this is fashion week.”
Paris this season was a full family affair for i-D. At the table we had our father, EIC Thom; fashion director Clare, my seatmate; fashion editor Ch’lita, my chaotic sidekick (see also: the two of us causing a scene at the Chanel store); my daughter, associate editor Marley; and our fabulous market editor Sam. Missing was mother, Steff, currently in India.
Thanks to Mercedes we also had a secret weapon. Claudio, our driver, who somehow delivered us across Paris with the calm patience of someone watching a group chat come to life in real time. Fashion week schedules look manageable on paper. In practice they resemble a Mario Kart track designed by someone who hates editors. Claudio simply smiled and drove, and slayed the playlist (Thom and Ch’lita approved).
Which brings us to the matter at hand: what exactly did Paris feel like this season? In a climate where designers are increasingly cautious, a select few houses seemed newly interested in surprising us. Or, as my colleague Ch’lita likes to put it when the room needs energy: wake that up.
Across the week, the houses that landed best weren’t necessarily the loudest, they were the ones that remembered something simple—luxury works when it believes in itself.
Chanel might be the best example. Matthieu Blazy’s show explored a classic Chanel paradox, something Gabrielle Chanel once described as the tension between the caterpillar and the butterfly. Clothes for crawling through the day and clothes for flying through the night.
The collection moved through that idea elegantly, beginning with the familiar language of Chanel tailoring. Tweed suits reworked in knits and textured fabrics that looked almost weightless. The Chanel suit remains one of fashion’s great design platforms: endlessly stable, endlessly mutable. Then the show shifted. Metallics began to appear. The light changed. Hair and makeup turned iridescent, almost mermaid-like, as if the collection had suddenly dipped underwater and emerged glittering.
By the second half the energy in the room had lifted completely. Michel Gaubert’s soundtrack dropped Lady Gaga’s “Just Dance” and the audience started quietly bopping along. Last season, he scored the show with the Dawson’s Creek theme. Clare put it perfectly afterwards at the Grand Palais. She loved “the layers of sparkle and shine, the shimmering bouclé, the technicolor glitter hair. It could be too much, but combined with the wonderful casting, which represented a modern woman of varying ages, it felt fresh and easy.”
Teyana Taylor told me afterwards she wanted to buy everything, although she refused to say what in case it sold out. Sensible.
Dior approached luxury from another angle entirely. Jonathan Anderson’s collection explored the idea of the promenade. Historically, spaces like the Tuileries were places where people went specifically to be seen. A public stage, essentially. “There was a period where you go to your garden to be seen, to walk,” Anderson told me at a preview ahead of the show. “Nearly like a Seurat painting, you would go to be seen in different sort of class systems.”
The collection played with that tension between structure and freedom. Strong tailoring and sculpted silhouettes anchored the looks, while softer pieces introduced movement and looseness. It felt thoughtful rather than nostalgic.
One of the week’s most joyful moments happened at 10:30 a.m. on a Saturday when Junya Watanabe staged what Thom later described as “a postmodern cabaret for the ages.”
He wasn’t exaggerating. The show had the loose theatricality of performance art but the technical control of couture. Models marched out in complex constructions that twisted tailoring, leather and engineering into something rebellious yet precise. “During a season when so many designers were playing scared and trying too hard to sell clothes,” Thom said, “Junya Watanabe put on a life-affirming runway show.”
I almost hit the snooze button and missed it. Thankfully I did not!
Over at McQueen, Seán McGirr leaned into theatrical tension. Ch’lita summarised the vibe with: “Delicious.” Which, translated from fashion editor dialect, means the show delivered drama in exactly the right amount. The set carried a slightly eerie domestic energy, with hair and makeup that made the models resemble porcelain dolls.
The clothes mixed Savile Row precision with strange romantic flourishes. There were low-rise trousers nodded to McQueen’s infamous bumsters. Quilted bombers and textured lace layered intimacy with structure.
Across the rest of Paris, the biggest houses all seemed to be solving the same equation. Louis Vuitton delivered another expansive Nicolas Ghesquière collection that blended futurism with travel fantasy—and fab, huge hats!
Saint Laurent continued Anthony Vaccarello’s mission of making sharp, sensual tailoring feel inevitable. I wanted everything at Celine, which is usually a good sign. Jack McCollough and Lazaro Hernandez proved they have the chops to give Loewe the rebrand it deserves. Isabel Marant did what it does best, nailing its Parisian cool-girl vibe with a rocker edge. Very boots the house down.
Balenciaga, now navigating a new chapter under Pierpaolo Piccioli, felt it’s still merging Demna’s cool-kid energy with Piccioli’s elegance. A Sam Levinson film and Euphoria-coded soundtrack added drama, but new eras take time. Luxury houses are enormous machines. They do not turn overnight.
Few moments this season felt more emotional than Pieter Mulier’s final show for Alaïa. The collection was beautiful in the quiet, sculptural way Alaïa does best. Bodies wrapped in fluid knits and architectural forms that seemed to float rather than sit on the body.
And yes, Alicia Silverstone was there. The Clueless star who once delivered the most famous Alaïa line in cinematic history had come to watch the designer’s swansong. “It’s like a totally important designer.” Not no.
Meanwhile at Miu Miu, Miuccia Prada returned to the idea of clothing as something deeply personal. The collection pulled garments closer to the body. Soft fabrics, washed textures, and shapes that felt protective rather than performative. The set inside the Palais d’Iéna resembled a strange indoor forest (touching grass lol).
“Somehow Miu Miu turned everything I love about Miu Miu into one collection. No notes,” Marley texted me post-show. Her first fashion purchase, she reminded me, was a pair of Miu Miu Fall 1999 bubble shoes. Seeing Chloë Sevigny back on the runway alongside Gemma Ward felt like a full-circle moment. “If ghosts haunt the world in the clothes they died in,” Marley added, “I hope I go in Gemma Ward’s embellished Miu Miu dress.”
Marley is chopping up an indie brand recap as we speak. For now? Mercedes king, Claudio, has kindly shared his fave Paris food spots—cause you know I love to EAT.
Nouilles Ceintures (Poissonnière) – A great spot for Chinese noodles where you can choose the thickness and spice level.
Jim’s Corner – A relaxed neighborhood café that’s perfect for brunch, with good coffee and an easy Parisian morning vibe.
La Taverne de Zhao – A lively Chinese restaurant with lantern-filled interiors that feel straight out of Beijing and big, bold flavors to match.
Le Petit Bal Perdu – A charming Paris bistro with a warm atmosphere and thoughtful seasonal dishes that feel both classic and a little unexpected.
Furia – A fun, slightly chaotic Paris wine bar energy with red wine flowing and small plates made for sharing with besties.
Petit Veau (Clichy) – A well-known neighborhood spot loved for its excellent kebabs, perfect when you want something simple and seriously good.
