4 min readIf you saw Duran Lantink’s polarizing collection last season—his first for the house of Jean Paul Gaultier—you might have thought you knew what to expect the second time around. More full-frontal nude bodysuits and backless pants, perhaps with asses exposed? Perhaps not. Instead, Lantink paid homage to Mr. Gaultier and the house’s tailoring expertise by way of Marlene Dietrich.
Lantink himself owns a cherished vintage mesh T-shirt printed with Dietrich’s face, and he has long admired her ability to shapeshift between characters and constantly reinvent herself. He described her aura as “sweet and dominant, sexy and graceful—the ultimate hybrid.” In this collection, he built a world around such characters: the cowboy, the raver, the steampunk. Personas one might adopt in everyday life, movie star or not. A form of costuming, albeit exquisitely executed.
Lantink, who regularly lunches with Mr. Gaultier and explores his archive, was particularly drawn to the gathered waist of a pinstripe suit from the Haute Couture Spring/Summer 2016 collection Le Palace, developing it into a series of looks shown on the runway. A Gaultier cropped bomber—first seen in 1985, 1988, and 2002—returned once again, feeling just as fresh. Elsewhere, rubber car tires were transformed into accessories, and a wooden puppet referenced Les Marionnettes from Autumn/Winter 2004. As Lantink jubilantly ran out for his bow, he headed straight into Mr. Gaultier’s arms—one master of the play anointing another. Lantink is the right designer, at the right house, at the right time. Fashion needs a little fun now more than ever, and this time he delivered it with finesse.
“We’re always on; always curating, consuming, performing, and being watched,” said Seán McGirr, McQueen’s creative director. “More and more, we crave something intimate, visceral, and real.” It makes sense. Generation Z craves connection but spends increasing amounts of time curating and experiencing life on screens, all while feeling the underlying tension of surveillance and hyper-paranoia.
McGirr turned to the work of director Todd Haynes, citing his film Safe, a psychological thriller starring Julianne Moore as a deteriorating, mentally unstable housewife. That sense of instability filtered into the model walks. The cast—including Alex Consani and Sora Choi—moved down the runway as if possessed by something greater than themselves.
The bumsters—the iconic trouser cut first introduced by Lee Alexander McQueen in his 1993 Taxi Driver collection and reintroduced by McGirr last season—returned, though in a more modest form, cut just at the tailbone and paired with the brand’s iconic skull scarf. This time, the scarf appeared not in silk but in a more robust wool fringe. Tailoring—McQueen was, of course, a Savile Row tailor before founding his label—anchored the collection and produced some of its most alluring looks. Blazers came in many varieties: cross-shoulder lapels, single hook-and-eye closures, and ruffled collars. Often worn without shirts, they offered a sensual approach to dressing.
Nicolas Ghesquière, meanwhile, considered nature’s place in the modern world and how it might influence what we wear despite our increasing reliance on technology. Thick moss—the brainchild of Severance set designer Jeremy Hindle—carpeted the show space at the Louvre, bringing the outdoors in. “Nature is the greatest fashion designer,” read the show notes.
The clothes themselves felt as though they had stepped out of a fairytale. Animalier patterns were woven into canvas and denim, while flowers crafted in leather adorned the head like ornaments. Large, imposing shoulders appeared in thick camel-colored wool and animal hair, enveloping the wearer as if for protection against the elements. And it wouldn’t be Vuitton without leather: pockets appeared on shaggy-shouldered jackets, while folded mini Malle bags were adorned with cowbells that rang as they moved down the runway. Some bags dangled from the end of walking sticks.
Miu Miu arrived with a message about stripping back to one’s truest essence. The brand—still experiencing blockbuster growth (the Prada Group was up 9 percent year-on-year in 2025, thanks largely to Miu Miu)—invited audiences on a journey of introspection. How can you, as a single individual, show up in a vast and ever-changing world?
Simpler materials underscored the point, set against a moss-covered backdrop—a seasonal motif also seen at Hermès and the aforementioned Vuitton. Cotton poplin dresses with long sleeves and mid-thigh hems appeared alongside embellished trapper hats, faux-fur-trimmed jackets, and the signature peach shift dresses accented with crystals. Even these familiar Miu Miu signatures felt subdued.
Double cashmere was washed for a worn-in effect, and linen separates reinforced the collection’s quiet ease. Perhaps it was a collection about yearning for a simpler time. Look 19—a simple cotton shirt paired with a matching pencil skirt—felt lifted straight from the brand’s 1996 show, which Chloë Sevigny, who walked this season, modeled nearly 30 years ago. Or perhaps it was simply about simplicity itself, sartorially and otherwise. It was a reminder from Mrs. Prada that if “you have your body and your mind, it should be enough.”