MAISON MARGIELA FW26

MAISON MARGIELA FW26 SHOWNOTES:

Maison Margiela has officially broken out of Paris, debuting a FW26 collection in Shanghai that many are calling a return to form. To me, this collection was very much a continuation of Glenn Marten’s first artisanal collection at the house, one that some saw as overly theatrical. This time, however, Marten’s scaled down the theatrics to great success. This collection was sleek, comprehensive, and underscored the indisputable value in giving designers time to settle at a house. (I’m looking at you Versace).

The show was staged amidst a labyrinthine circuit of shipping containers with the first round of masked-models appearing eerily inhuman. Wearing masks that have become enshrined in Margiela’s famous house codes, models' wore second faces that seemed airbrushed and squarely entrenched in the uncanny valley. This was followed by a number of fleshy, pantyhose-esque masks, that immediately called to mind a common disguise of many bank robbers. 

The gilded masks of Marten’s artisanal collection didn’t entirely disappear either. They were instead, given a sharper, clearer focus—a central epicenter for dazzling design.

The same can be said for masks throughout the collection which played on various materials while never once losing sight of their wider purpose. There were porcelain masks that acted as overt nods to the show’s venue in Shanghai. There were mummified bandages that highlighted Margiela's “obsessively repurposed” spirit. There was even a mask that appeared to be made from gold star stickers, a fairly campy move, reminiscent of Marten’s time at Jean Paul Gautier.  

Beyond the masks, Martens has also successfully managed to blend couture with ready-to-wear. This isn’t an easy thing to do, certainly not at a house as infamous for avant expression as Maison Margiela. Yet, for every auric statuette, Martens offered up a dozen other garments that you could honestly see yourself actually wearing. Take the woolen, chevron long coat, or the all-velvet numbers. Who says Margiela is unwearable?

There was a notable patchwork vibe in nearly every piece of this collection. Margiela is, of course, known for stylistic deconstruction, but Martens appears to be hinting at the greater act of rebuilding. Sometimes transitions are flawless, as was the case for a half-sequin, half wallpaper gown. And sometimes, rebuilding means getting scrappy—chopping up what looks like five different leather jackets, to create a veritable clothing collage.

A number of dresses featured bonded fabric, cut and molded to look perpetually in motion. Yet, these only added to the static, damn-near sculptural look that has come to define Margiela’s couture lines. Compounded by the masks, each and every look worked as a standalone art piece— a faceless form, petrified in a state of carnal beauty.    

Now let’s talk about the highlights, because there were almost too many to name. First, Martens debuted a craquelure gown and mask that were both made with real porcelain. This seemed to play on the chipped paint look that has become synonymous with Margiela. The technique is known as bianchetto, for its resemblance to white-out correction paint, although it has also been used to describe white truffles. How fitting that another stellar piece was the fungal ball gown that appeared to be in an ongoing state of decomposition. 

Finally, the penultimate look of the night saw a lace gown transformed into an overlapped, peeling, vessel for Marten’s vision of Margiela. In both shows, Martens has conjured up a subterranean guild of walking artwork, of chipping wallpaper, of repainted, repurposed, regal styling. It’s almost too perfect that it took Glenn Martens leaving Margiela’s birthplace to truly call the Parisian house his home.