I arrive on the Eurostar, sprint to a taxi, and reach my hotel. My room is ready, so I rush in, change quickly, and call an Uber to the Lesage exhibition at 19M, about thirty minutes outside central Paris. I meet Flora and am whisked through security into the exhibition. Fortunately, I am allowed to view it alone, as time is precious. It’s a beautifully curated insight into the house, its history, and its craftsmanship, with wonderful examples of how embroideries are developed.
Afterward, I take an Uber back to see the Dior High Jewellery collection. It is displayed in rooms encrusted with dried flowers—one pink, one green, and one blue. The setting is breathtaking. We then view the watches and finally sit down for tea. Before leaving, I select a box of Dior chocolates from an array of offerings, choosing an oblong box of a dozen Dior chocolate thimbles.
Next, I call another Uber and rush to Kerry Taylor’s preview of the incredible Martin Margiela auction, Martin Margiela: The Early Years 1988–1994. I arrive ten minutes before the viewing closes but still manage to chat with Kerry and see most of the pieces. It’s an amazing display for an auction preview, and since I was present at the beginning of Margiela’s career, I recognize many of the designs.
From there, I walk to the Fondation Alaïa for a small exhibition of pieces by Koji Tatsuno. I have just enough time for a quick glass of wine before the evening unfolds, leading to dinner with friends.
On Monday, I’m up early for breakfast—the only one of the week—at Café Nemours, where I recall the late Claude Montana often sat. He was exactly my age, and while his tragic final years cannot undo his brilliance, his legacy as a designer remains extraordinary.
Then, I head to Schiaparelli, where I have a brilliant seat—thank you, Lucien Pages. The show is breathtaking: a palette of beige, mother-of-pearl, cream, and ivory, almost moonlit in its effect. The collection is fluid in both thought and execution, with lines of striking clarity. Daniel Roseberry presents couture as a laboratory of ideas, weaving together sketches, fittings, and the dedicated work of the atelier teams—true haute couture.
I rush to the press bus, thoughtfully provided by La Fédération de la Haute Couture et de la Mode, which organizes all Paris Fashion Weeks. Our next stop is Imane Ayissi. Once again, the show is staged in a series of rooms and galleries, embodying classic couture, where voluminous skirts and flowing trains brush past the knees of the front row. I spot friends and start chatting, but soon, the show begins. This season features less raffia and fringe but introduces raffia rosettes. The silhouettes are incredibly diverse, ranging from Grecian draping and djellaba-inspired fluidity to slender columns and grand couture trains. The vibrant color palette—deep olive, violet, and tangerine—lifts the spirit. The collection seamlessly blends Ayissi’s cultural heritage with contemporary fashion, creating an uplifting, dynamic presentation.
After enthusiastic applause, I dash to the press bus and speed across Paris to Georges Hobeika. This season’s collection feels slightly less focused than the last, with an array of ideas competing for attention. However, several standout pieces shine. My favorite is a ball gown with a simple, strapless structured bodice in heavy white crepe, embroidered with trailing sprigs of golden leaves and birds—a glorious, strong, and mesmerizing design. The embroidery gracefully entwines around the dress, obscuring its seams and structure. Another highlight is an iced pistachio draped mousseline gown, so light it seems to drift past me, while a grand brocade coat in silver-grey and blush pink roses, weighted at the hem with what appear to be small golden balls, exudes opulence.
The collection opens in black, paying tribute to Georges Hobeika’s mother, who passed away last year. Her work as a seamstress and dressmaker laid the foundation of the house, where her grandson, Jad, now collaborates with his father. It’s a touching homage, crafted with exquisite couture fabrics such as Chantilly lace, silk taffeta, and crêpe de chine.
Back on the bus and off to the Musée Rodin, as always, for Dior. After showing my passport with my ticket, I’m granted entry. The show is exquisite, showcasing incredible techniques, many of which are explained through mini videos posted by the house. Stephen Jones’ punk-inspired Mohicans, the crinoline cages, and the twisted, garlanded flowers and leaves all contribute to an Alice in Wonderland atmosphere. The ruffles and frills are weightless, fluttering as the models walk past. It’s delicate yet edgy—couture at its finest, with three-dimensional embellishments that would be impossible at the prêt-à-porter level.
However, there’s no time to linger, as the bus is waiting to take me to Rahul Mishra. His collections always stem from an intelligent narrative, grounded in themes of planetary well-being. This season, he explores the balance between urban landscapes and nature—buildings and birds in both harmony and opposition. The show begins in deep city black before bursting into gold and mirrored embroidery, an expression of optimism. The craftsmanship, as always, is superb. His three-dimensional designs are breathtaking, especially when Jordan Roth strides the runway, encircled by black beaded birds glowering from his ensemble. Later, in stark contrast, Miss Fame shimmers in gold, embodying a living awards statue. The collection is a masterful balance of couture grandeur and intellectual storytelling, leaving a lasting impression.
It’s been an incredible day so far, with five shows completed. Now, I head to Christie’s to interview Elie Top, marking his ten-year milestone and unveiling his new collection. I take an Uber and, within minutes, I’m ushered into a mirrored, chandelier-lit space. After an in-depth tour of the exhibition—guided by Elie himself—I’m captivated. It’s Versailles meets Les Liaisons Dangereuses—pure Elie Top brilliance. In an adjoining room, clients have lent pieces that Elie has reinvented using outdated, damaged, or unwanted jewels. His alchemy transforms these forgotten stones into dazzling new creations rather than leaving them to languish in a vault or jewel box—an exercise in ethical jewelry renewal. As clients eagerly gather to try on and purchase the pieces, I take my leave.
I return to my hotel to change before heading back to Christie’s for Elie’s anniversary party. The evening is filled with chatter, friends, and champagne—a perfect couture moment. And then, finally, dinner.
I leap out of bed to meet my great friend Avril Groom at Chaumet in Place Vendôme. I adore this house—its unparalleled history, the salons overlooking the square, and its extraordinary archive. Today, we preview a small collection of new jewels inspired by bamboo, a prelude to a full collection launching in July. Then, we explore a breathtaking display of archival pieces spanning from the late 18th century to today. From belts to hatpins, earrings to brooches, the collection is an absolute joy—truly fascinating.
I skip across Place Vendôme to the Schiaparelli salons to examine the couture up close. Seeing the craftsmanship firsthand is revelatory. One particular dress—a column of Nile-green velvet ribbons intertwined with fine silver beads—forms an entire floor-length silhouette. The way fabrics are molded, beads manipulated, and shapes constructed is not always evident when seen on the runway; the meticulous work of the ateliers demands close inspection. While there, I bump into many friends doing the same, all of us privileged to witness this artistry in such an intimate setting.
Next, I walk to Galerie Vivienne to meet Alexis Mabille. He understands his clients and their couture needs impeccably. As he walks me through the collection, he explains the art of sheer layering—not meant to fully conceal, but to add lightness and movement. He discusses fuller, softer silhouettes designed with kindness and grace. Each piece is exquisitely made, standing up to the closest scrutiny. Beyond fashion, Alexis is also excelling as an interior designer, overseeing the complete transformation of the legendary Lido.
After saying my goodbyes, I grab a quick sandwich and return to my hotel to write before calling yet another Uber—this time to Stéphane Rolland at Salle Pleyel.
The show opens with a tribute to The Hospitals of Paris-Hospitals of France Foundation, featuring a short film and remarks from Brigitte Macron and the team involved. In true Stéphane Rolland fashion, he presents the initiative with dignity—never overstating the moment, nor making himself the focus. Then, the collection begins.
Set against a vast stage with sweeping steps and expertly crafted lighting, the show feels more like a grand performance than a typical runway. Inspired by Josephine Baker and Constantin Brancusi, Rolland’s designs are both fluid and structured—never literal, but always enhancing his signature aesthetic. His silhouettes remain long and linear, yet they billow, rustle, and vibrate with contrasting textures: liquid fabrics meet gazar clouds, endless fringe, and undulating plumes. One silver gown appears as though a statue has gracefully stepped off its pedestal. A capelet effect and cascading ruffles add grandeur to his slender lines.
Then, for the grand finale, Coco Rocha ascends in a Josephine Baker-inspired explosion of feathers—the single most direct homage to the legendary icon. The audience erupts in applause.
Of course, I have to run yet again to catch the press bus to Julien Fournié. I’ve followed this couturier closely for many seasons, met and spoken with him, and even been backstage. He may not be a global household name, but his dedication to couture has earned him devoted clients, fans, and followers. The Théâtre de Mogador is packed with them, and as the show begins, it’s clear this is more than just a runway presentation—it’s a full performance. Each passage assembles on stage before dispersing through the stalls, creating an immersive experience.
All of Fournié’s signatures are here, and later I learn he’s focused on what he truly loves—designing for his clients, not chasing celebrity placements or red carpets. The collection includes beautifully tailored pieces, often with velvet accents, iridescent drapery, and the long, siren-like gowns he excels at—evoking the glamour of classic cinema. There are coats, jackets, and practical couture pieces that cater to every moment of the day, from shopping and lunch to cocktails and dancing. There are playful touches, too, but the final sequence—charged with a space-age, lightning-bolt energy—has an unmistakable hint of Mugler. It’s sensational: fresh, sexy, and electrifying. Dancers weave in and out of the show, and for the finale, Julien Fournié joins them before being hoisted above the stage on wires. It’s a spectacle. Bravo.
No time to linger—back on the bus and off to Ronald van der Kemp. I’ve been a fan of his work since my friend Lily Templeton introduced me to him, long before he staged big shows. His approach—upcycling, recycling, and repurposing deadstock fabrics—is matched by his deep couture expertise. Cut, line, and construction are integral to his designs, and the collection showcases a truly diverse wardrobe rather than a singular aesthetic. Highlights include a witty sun top paired with Côte d’Azur stripes, a slippery green silk satin draped toga dress, a voluminous plaid tartan taffeta ballgown, and a sharp tuxedo-inspired look.
But the real magic of Ronald van der Kemp lies in the stories behind the fabrics. His process often involves taking seemingly unsuitable or discarded textiles and transforming them into couture marvels. One stunning example: Yellow Minnow knitwear had amassed countless tiny fabric samples over the years. They sent them to their friend Ronald, and he conjured up a divine mini dress—perfect for cocktails, clubs, and conversation. From forgotten fabric swatches in storage to a one-of-a-kind couture piece. Leather remnants, scraps of printed silk mousseline—whether wildly patterned or intensely colored—his visionary eye sees their potential. With his team and a touch of couture alchemy, these materials reappear, sauntering down the runway in spectacular fashion. It’s marvelous.
After a quick stop at my hotel to write, I take an Uber across town to On Aura Tout Vu. The show is at the legendary nightclub Paradis Latin, and as I arrive, I realize—despite wearing sequins—I’m completely underdressed. The crowd, decked head-to-toe in the designers’ creations, are clearly die-hard fans. A towering bouncer pulls me through the crush, and I find a seat in a prime spot.
As we wait, I hold coats, manage trains, lend a hand when needed, and chat with those draped in full On Aura Tout Vu regalia. One stranger air-kisses me, though their extravagant sleeves require an entire seat on either side—I never did figure out how they managed in the packed venue.
Then, the show begins. From go-go dancers to singers, muscle-bound hunks to glamour queens, it’s an all-out spectacle. It starts with plumes and sequins before transitioning through multiple themes—tropical prints, opulent brocades, and sheer, siren-like mousseline gowns. The audience lives for it. They cheer, they boo, they shout at models they presumably know. The energy is electric.
This collection isn’t for the masses—it’s for performers, divas, centre-stage icons, dancers, gender-fluid stars, and anyone whose life is spent in the spotlight. There isn’t a single boring basic in sight. By the time I leave, I’m buzzing with energy. As I step out into the rain, I worry about finding a cab—it’s late. But miraculously, I spot one with a green light just across the road. I jump in, name my destination, and within minutes, I’m at the restaurant. I eat, write, and later, friends join me for drinks and gossip late into the night.
Up bright and early, I meet friends, hop on the Metro, and head to Gaurav Gupta at Pont Alexandre III, beneath The Bridge Club. The show has a deeply emotional narrative—exploring recovery from a horrific burns accident. It’s a stark contrast to the traditional themes of couture—ballgowns, embroidery, and excess—but the pieces themselves remain undeniably beautiful.
Several looks stand out: a deep violet draped dress, the hot flame-orange gowns worn by twins, and a striking bodice that appears to emerge like fire from a dense black skirt. Gaurav Gupta’s mastery of drapery is magical, drawing from Indian textile traditions where personal style is often defined by how fabric is wrapped and worn. The craftsmanship in his workrooms is evident throughout, though I can’t help but feel that a slight edit would have made the show even stronger. When clothes are this glorious, they don’t need to be presented in overwhelming quantities—the best of this collection was truly magnificent.
I run out with Avril Groom and head straight to the press bus to Franck Sorbier. At the Salle Wagram, a venue often used for shows in the past, we are upstairs in a room with a double staircase descending from a gallery. This space is used for the performance show we are about to see. The first part of the story is dramatic and dark, while the second is spring-like and light. Of course, it’s more complex than that, but in terms of the clothes, that’s how it works. The layering of fabrics, the use of lace, and all of Sorbier’s signature elements are strongly evident. The models look beautiful in both the structured pieces and the soft, fluid, slightly Empire-style pieces. The models assemble as a tableau, allowing time to appreciate each piece, and as they perform, the true couture quality of the clothes—beautiful from every angle—is revealed. The casting is perfect, too.
I barely have time to applaud before I’m back in another Uber heading to the Roger Vivier boutique. I climb the stairs, leave my coat and bag, and enter a space with seven extraordinary, amazing, and indeed unreal bags. Each season, Gherardo Felloni introduces new pieces, and this season is inspired by Parisian architecture and monuments, from the column in Place Vendôme to Le Grand Palais. Some of these bags take 200 hours of work to complete, and what’s so amazing is seeing the details up close. The layered craftsmanship and exquisite, jewel-like quality of the pieces are truly haute couture—these are objects d’art, and I’m sure they would look just as amazing on a table to be admired as when being used. I also think it’s incredibly creative to offer so much variety in only seven pieces, ranging from encrusted heavy gold and red to pale, shimmering petals, soft green, and brilliant burnt orange. The display itself is a work of art, and the visual merchandising team deserves an award for embedding each bag in an abstraction of its respective location, with the bag suspended within it perfectly. I then walk to the next show, which is in a corner gallery space opposite the department store Au Printemps.
Yuima Nakazato is an extraordinary couturier, and I am privileged to have seen many of his shows and presentations across numerous seasons. His intellectual approach and exploration of what couture means to him creatively, as well as in a modern context, are always paired with a beautiful aesthetic and narratives that bind the collection together without overwhelming it or descending into gimmicks. This season, “Fade” featured a huge sand dune in the center of the space, obviously made out of real sand. The models strolled and wandered around the dune, with the pieces swaying gently. The macramé, knitted fabrics, mesh, and other complex materials were suspended over pieces, adding an ornamental element, but as though from some vast ancient society or culture we’ve not heard of—perhaps Atlantis or a city buried deep in the desert. Indeed, the final robe is buried in the sand dune and unearthed by Yuima himself. The entire show and collection are breathtakingly beautiful, with moments of Bedouin elegance and a creative mind at work, prompting us to consider what we’re seeing. It’s more than just great clothes; it’s an unfolding of the very definition of fashion and what makes a piece truly remarkable.
After I leave Yuima Nakazato, I wander to the hotel for a sandwich and some writing when I realize I’m right by the Opéra Garnier, and an exhibition of operatic jewels from their archive is on my to-do list. I cross the road, quickly purchase my ticket, and wander through the opera house. I initially suspect the exhibition will be small since it’s included in the tour ticket for visitors (I’m fortunate enough to have visited the Opéra Garnier many times for both opera and ballet performances, as well as fashion shows by Galliano, Roland, and others). In fact, the exhibition is large and includes a magical film featuring the people who manage many of the ateliers. They talk about the skills and the mechanics behind creating theatrical jewels and armor, and I’m fascinated. I grab a sandwich and write, then head off to Viktor & Rolf, which is within walking distance of my hotel.
The Dutch couturiers Viktor and Rolf are renowned for their quirky sense of style and presentation. In the gilded salons where Yves Saint Laurent once showed, it seems they are returning to classic couture methods, with a posh French woman reading out the number and description of each outfit. It’s only after a few minutes that we realize this is, in fact, on a loop since every outfit is based on Le Trench, a white shirt, and navy pants. The brilliance lies in what Viktor and Rolf do with these seemingly conventional pieces. The silhouette once again varies from Balenciaga bubble shapes to New Look fit ‘n flare to the Empire line. It’s a brilliant masterclass in reexamining the classic, subverting the dull into something interesting, and setting their own restrictions—only to show that those very restrictions can produce wonderfully inventive fashion. Another reason I love V & R is that you cannot sit on the fence with your response to a collection; it’s either love or loathe. I love it, but I quickly discover not everyone does. In my opinion, that’s their loss.
I run once more to the press bus to go to Zuhair Murad. This season, he presented a really fresh take on couture dressing for summer. Sensational colors, from sugar pink to azure sky blue to warm lipstick coral. Colors that light up any room and any occasion. The embroidery and glitter were, this season, often used to anchor drapes, outline a section, or almost act as fabric rather than decoration. Panels and stoles, along with soft trains, gave the collection an airiness and a sense of lightness and movement—even in beautiful couture fabrics. Bows popped up both in the models’ hair and on the looks. The lines of the collection were often simple, and this freshness made the entire collection really lovely. It had a slight retro feel, but more from the 1960s and 1970s rather than old Hollywood or Mitzi Gaynor and Doris Day—think Roman and Martin’s Laugh-In. I rushed back to my hotel, changed, and went for dinner and some writing before my late dinner guest arrived and gossip commenced.
Friday morning, having packed the night before, I checked out of my hotel and walked to Aelis. I have loved Sofia Crociani and Aelis ever since my first sighting. There’s a melancholy beauty and a special emotion to her creations. This season, in the empty white space, as each model entered the room, it was obvious I would love the collection. Sofia Crociani holds my respect and admiration for the beauty of her creative vision and her commitment to a recycling/upcycling way of producing her pieces. I asked about one fragile piece, which was layered over soft white fabric; its jet embroidery and tulle formed a cage of nineteenth-century craft over a new foundation to hold it. Sofia explained that she had embraced its frailty and faults and incorporated them into the final dress. Curating the past to be worn today, adding found pieces of fabric or trimming to contemporary fabrics, offers the client a unique opportunity to purchase a true couture original—one that’s the only one in existence. I love the quietness of the shows, the slow pace of the presentation, the melancholy loveliness of Giselle Act Two, Chopin, or a love letter tied in ivory satin ribbon found in a black velvet box. It’s truly romantic. Like the leading characters in a narrative, shapes drift from Empire to Art Deco, from long and trailing to short and simple, from layered to rigorously plain. Fragile tendrils of lace or ribbon trail and drape as the models parade. Pale and moonstruck follows midnight black. Never costume, but also never following fashion, the collection sells across the world to discerning clients who know one thing: these clothes are beautiful.
I go across Paris in an Uber to Palais de Tokyo for the next show with my photographer friend Elli Ioannou, and we have time for a coffee before the show.
Juana Martin has a very specific approach to creating a collection, and part of that is her Spanish attitude, inspiration, ethos, and creative fountain. The show had a live singer, whose performance was simply outstanding; the applause was tremendous as she yearned and poured out her voice in a way only Latin performers can, placing passion on the surface. The clothes had some amazingly Spanish elements, too—volumes in the heritage of Balenciaga, filigree metalwork which reminded me of the embroidery on shawls, the ironwork on balconies, and the cutwork on a tortoiseshell mantilla. The collection also offered colors that expressed a Latin richness, such as copper beach for a silk suit with an explosion of crushed fabric around the shoulders. The same color was used for a mousseline dress with a huge band of ruffles weighting down the top layer. Exquisite pale gold 18th-century embroidery on a rich beige background, or an ivory column dress embellished with plumes formed of deep bead fringes, which bounce and sway with every movement. It’s Spanish couture in Paris, and very special in its need, attitude, and emotions.
Peet Dullaert is a favorite couturier of mine. I find his aesthetic so pleasing, and his approach to couture mixes the past and heritage with new ideas, ways of construction, and a kind of fairytale melancholy that I find both intellectually and emotionally appealing. The atelier where we are seeing the collection is small, and the rows of seats are close together. The models literally brush our knees as they pass, but it means the brilliant construction and details can be clearly seen. The designer twists and turns fabric around the body; he slices and stitches it across the body, outlining and defining the wearer’s form with fabric. Stitch lines or embroidery all add to the feeling that every piece must be seen from 360 degrees. As I watch, often from one angle, I think one thing, and from another, as the model turns, I change my mind. The clothes contain tiny hints of heritage styles: a Madame X linear robe de Soir, a 1950s couture blouse, a slightly 1930s drape. But Peet Dullaert may have none of this in his mind as he creates the collection; for me, I see modernity and the future with the timelessness that couture should have in its essence.
I leave very happy and run once more to the press bus. We’re off to the Institut du Monde Arabe, whose architectural strength has remained. Maison Sara Chraibi skipped a full show last season, and I’m excited to see the beautiful ideas of this Moroccan designer. Her North African and cultural roots are entwined in her work, without dominating or overworking it. Her individuality has a foundation in her background and beliefs. The show is stunning, and the slow parade of models has a tranquil beauty, great strength, and an almost ritual quality to it. Like princesses or a legendary tribe, the looks have power in their quietness. Languid tendrils of leaves, soft djellaba lines, silvery tints—the collection tells of sand and sunlight, of oasis and interiors, of a life lived in harmony. Trousers, jackets, capes, and dresses, with layers and drapery, are all part of the collection. The clients will discover all this after viewing the seamless, cohesive story presented in the show. Embroidered skeletal trees in white on white, mother of pearl, deep indigo, long swaying fringe, simple neat rouleaux ties, and the silvery grey of dawn are seen. Above all, nature is implicit—from land to sky—while the wonderful plaited and rolled hair of the models completes the narrative perfectly. Everyone looks beautiful from top to toe. Time for the press bus.
Miss Sohee is debuting at Paris couture. From my seat at 51 Rue de l’Université, I can not only see the salon I’m in, but also the flight of marble stairs the models are climbing down to make their entrance. The parade has a rhythm to it as each model stalks the space in her elaborate finery. This is a fantasy of couture, and the splendor of each piece is amazing. Every look is a showstopper, an entrance maker. Walking carefully in rapier-like heels or balancing extraordinary pearl-encrusted headpieces, or trailing meters of duchess satin stole covered in embroidery—it’s a statement show in every way, and for many, it’s just magic. I’m still unsure. I loved watching it and admired the pieces, the work, the craft, and the focus on creating this bubble of romance and escapism. One final press bus trip to a familiar location.
Germanier is a designer I’ve followed since I first spoke to him early in 2019. I admire his approach, and I love the energy, resourcefulness, and focus he brings to his designs. The work he did at the close of the Paris Olympics in 2024 was totally brilliant. So, I was anxious that his show to close haute couture in January 2024 would be good. I was surprised that the location was a huge industrial space at Palais de Tokyo, but in the end, he was absolutely correct to make the focus on the pieces and eschew trickery. The show demonstrated his extraordinary eye for color; he can pour an avalanche of shades onto a garment and make it harmonious. His “mad” pieces always stay on the models and never fail to surprise. This time, huge pom-poms the size of the models formed on gyrating stems, which vibrated as the models paraded past. What I particularly admired was how the key pieces could be worn by anyone in a number of different ways other than how he showed them. The brilliant beading and decoration—layered and overlaid in ways that are hard to work out—was often on simple pieces. It could be mixed with solid colors, basics in classic colors, or dressed down with denim, and it would still be amazing. The ruffled looks never appeared retro or tacky. They had strength and an edge. In fact, I think power is something these clothes have and bring, thanks to the creative mind of Kevin Germanier. What an amazing finale to the season.
I ran out into the night, grabbed a taxi, shot back to the hotel, and was soon on the Eurostar, doing my job, which is writing all the way back to London. Happy reading.
