Could Daniel Lee actually be the one to save Burberry? Like, for real this time? Last season was… let’s call it restrained (some would say underwhelming, but let’s be nice). Blame it on the inevitable executive shuffle—it happens. But this time? Burberry was back, in full capital-F Fashion mode. Tate Britain’s Duveen Galleries turned into a who’s who of celebrity guests, the kind of blockbuster lineup that screams important fashion moment. But hype can only carry a brand so far. At the end of the day, the clothes have to hit.

Lee’s vision? A commercial goldmine wrapped in a fever dream of British aristocratic decadence. His reference? Saltburn. (OF COURSE.) Backstage, he raved about the film’s twisted upper-crust hedonism—the absurd wealth, the decadent let’s dress for dinner eccentricity, the unhinged chaos. “The whole thing was super-twisted,” he said. “That kind of bohemian spirit was the energy we wanted to bring to the show.” So think: Brideshead Revisited but make it messier, Downton Abbey but with better parties, Bridgerton but actually chic. Basically, Burberry in its opulent, British heritage bag.

Lee went full-on English country house, but not in a way that felt dusty or expected. Quilted coats and skirts, but in moody, high-shine florals that looked more gothic than granny. Smock dresses and razor-sharp tailoring, but cut from damask velvets in jewel tones straight out of a stately home’s wallpaper selection. Knit dresses were shaggy, almost absurdly so—half living room carpet, half Old English Sheepdog. Tapestry tops? Not just florals—actual pastoral scenes, complete with fox hunts and knights slaying dragons. The Burberry trench? Reimagined in a floral ikat print and fringed to within an inch of its life, like a gloriously deranged curtain tassel.

Menswear took its cues from Jermyn Street but twisted—those ultra-luxe silk robes and pajamas reworked as louche, devil-may-care daywear. Jacquard pajama suits, grand wool overcoats with knitted shawl collars—decadent, but with an edge. Womenswear went hard on the equestrian energy—jodhpurs, riding boots, but layered with biker jackets or intensely fringed, jewel-toned shearling bombers. Parkas? Massive and cut in leather. Trench jackets? Cropped, tough, and hand-tooled with delicate florals. Even the Burberry check got reworked—appearing on pleated skirts, boots, outerwear—proof that Lee knows how to honor the archives without feeling like he’s doing a museum exhibit. And crucially? Almost everything looked wearable. This wasn’t just runway fantasy—it was real, take-it-to-the-street, this will actually sell fashion.

Lee, ever the optimist, brushed off the pressure. “Things are definitely improving, and I think we’re all in a really positive place,” he said, referring to Burberry’s very scrutinized numbers. The soundtrack blared Sinead O’Connor’s Troy: “You will rise, you’ll return. The phoenix from the flame.”

Fashion’s been ruthless lately—brilliant designers getting churned through the industry machine, creativity treated like a disposable commodity. But Burberry? It’s holding steady, weathering the storm. And with this collection, it feels like Lee might just be steering the ship in the right direction.