Lyndon Chase’s exploration of domesticity, privacy, and those intimate “interior moments” really came through in a collection that felt like it borrowed its materials straight from home decor. The clothes seemed to challenge—or at least question—the usual codes of identity that fashion tends to reinforce. Much like furniture, the pieces started out as conventional but were twisted, manipulated, and exaggerated in a way that made them question their own existence.

And honestly? It was a lot of fun. The models rocked rumpled hairstyles and wore rimless librarian glasses (apparently inspired by Chase’s childhood piano teacher) as they paraded in outfits that you could tell they would never quite “grow into.” Everything had this oversized, amplified vibe—think padded mock-croc tailoring and bulky leather overcoats. Knitwear looked like it had been yanked out of the dryer mid-cycle, still tangled and slightly chaotic. Shrunken tops, seemingly made from boiled wool blankets, were frayed along the edges, adding to the sense of disheveled charm.

The standout moment? Some brilliantly meta mom jeans, worn under fitted tops made from what appeared to be floral-patterned waxed tablecloths. These jeans fit snugly at the waist but flared out dramatically at the hips, ending either in a multi-break hem or wide floral-edged cuffs—very much a throwback to the “cool kid” aesthetic. As for the evening looks, there were jersey dresses with sharp, irregular seams and mismatched prints (as if the fabrics had a heated argument in a fabric store). And then there was the delightfully awkward lampshade gown, splattered with bows—it was formal, but in the quirkiest, most offbeat way possible.