Let’s be real—if London Fashion Week ever lost its spark, Central Saint Martins MA graduates would be the ones to reignite the flame. They basically are London fashion. No exaggeration. Fourteen alumni—across multiple generations—are showing this week. Roksanda, Simone Rocha, Mark Fast, Ashish, Richard Quinn… the list goes on. Then there’s the new guard: Paolo Carzana, Kazna Asker, Pauline Dujancourt, Jawara Alleyne, Charlie Constantinou, Yaku. And don’t forget the ones making waves off-runway with lookbooks—Steve O Smith, Stefan Cooke, Derrick. Alexander McQueen walked so they could run. And for decades now, CSM grads have been everywhere, tucked inside the design studios of the world’s biggest fashion houses—Kim Jones is just one name in an endless sea.

So yeah, major props to course leader Fabio Piras, who’s been shaping London’s talent machine for a decade, and before him, the legendary (and terrifying, in the best way) Louise Wilson. But here’s the real question: What’s the actual value of a top-tier fashion education in 2025? Because, let’s be honest, the world is kind of a mess. It’s brutal out there for independent designers. The industry is risk-averse to the point of stagnation. AI is lurking in the background, feminism is somehow controversial again, and the economy isn’t exactly rolling out a welcome mat for fresh grads. So where does that leave this year’s class?

Apparently, it leaves them doubling down. Going all in on personal, defiant, sometimes painfully honest creativity. Their work is responding to the weight of now—grappling with chaos, mourning what’s been lost, and pushing for something different. Minimalist draping as emotional vulnerability. Stark black as a mood, not just a color. Clothes literally falling apart at the seams because, well, same.

“I don’t know,” Piras said, when asked to sum it all up. “It’s a patchwork of moments that are part of our shared history. A response to the life we live in the moment.” And if that moment is a disaster? Well, you lean into it. “There’s a lot of romance about a completely disastrous, shambolic situation.” But—and here’s where it gets good—creating something in that mess is inherently hopeful. “It’s very difficult to be positive and create, but creativity makes you positive by default.” That said, it’s not all doom and gloom. “There are also moments of stupidity, lightheartedness, and beauty.”

Tuuli Turunen, a Finnish student, built her collection around an image: women walking alone at night, unafraid. “I wanted these characters being not afraid to just walk around. To create this new idea of a kind of femininity, where you can feel comfortable, still strong and powerful, but not necessarily so loudly.”

Then you’ve got Alison Keogh and Kate Dewar, who basically gave AI a bunch of boring men’s polo shirts and dad trousers and let it spit out its uncanny, plastic-y versions of normal. Then they tried to actually make those AI glitches wearable. “It doesn’t know what fabrics are,” they said. “It was very difficult to do, but definitely more interesting than we could have come up with.” Hyper-colored hyper-normativity. Love that for them.

The night’s biggest honors—the L’Oreal Professionnel award—went to Petra Fagerstrom and William Palmer. Fun fact: both of them worked in the industry before heading back to school for an MA, which, honestly? Might be the smartest way to do it. This is not a course for babies expecting to be spoon-fed.

Fagerstrom, a Swedish designer with Acne and Balenciaga on her resumé, opened the show with something so original it felt almost couture-level in its precision. She started with 1950s couture as a reference point, then glitched it through AI and animation software, twisting it into something uncanny. The result? Micro-pleated trompe l’oeil fabric that showed superimposed legs on a skirt. A classic Bar jacket that, from the back, revealed—surprise—lingerie. “I’ve been looking at this traditional wife trend that’s going on,” she said, eyes rolling. “I wanted to comment on that very conservative way of dressing.” And then, with the help of some AI chaos, she ripped it apart.

Then, right before the finale, came William Palmer—who did what Brits do best: completely taking the piss. His collection was one big joke, in the best way. A teapot-shaped bag. A teacup as a hat. A loaf of bread turned into a sports bag, complete with a bite taken out of it. A red-checked tea towel shirt. A plastic gingham tablecloth raincoat. And yes, matching deerstalker rain hats, because at this point why not? In a season where so many designers are understandably consumed by existential dread, Palmer took the opposite route: humor as survival mechanism. And judging by the audience’s reaction, it worked. Everyone left grinning.

Because here’s the thing: Fashion is serious, but it’s also ridiculous. And this year’s CSM grads? They get that.