Pinned to Stuart Vevers’s fall moodboard were all the usual suspects and then some: a baby-faced Jodie Foster, a sun-bleached California skateboarder, ’70s flares, and—because of course—a still from The Wizard of Oz, a movie he’s watched every year since he was a kid (which feels important, actually). Meanwhile, Coach’s Q2 numbers are doing their own little victory lap, skipping merrily down a very real gold brick road. Call it design wizardry. Call it timing. Either way, the brand is very much not lost in the woods.

Which is why it was a little surprising when the show kicked off feeling… moody. Fast-paced, yes, but dimly lit and almost solemn, helped along by LCD Soundsystem’s American Dream humming in the background like an existential sigh. The gloom was intentional. Vevers explained it as a cinematic choice—starting in black-and-white (and gray and near-gray) before gradually slipping into Technicolor. A slow reveal. A build. A sense of be patient with me.

After seasons of being very New York, very downtown, very here, Vevers zoomed out—conceptually at least—to take in “America.” Not the map, not the politics, but the idea of it. All 50 states as a feeling. At the same time, he tightened the silhouette, which is a funny tension but kind of works. “Exploring America felt like a move forward,” he said, circling back (again) to his long-standing fascination with youth culture, counterculture, American kids being American kids. That influence showed up immediately. The first look set the tone: a deconstructed jacket splicing plaid with lining fabrics, thrown over a faded denim skirt, layered with accessories like someone dressed in the dark and somehow nailed it.

There were varsity flashes, star motifs, prim lace-trimmed dresses made out of lining fabric (Pilgrim collars and all), skater boys in hand-knit eagle sweaters, quilt-pattern pullovers that felt half heirloom, half thrift store miracle. Nearly everything looked worn, rubbed down, distressed—Dust Bowl meets grunge meets something you pulled out of a trunk in the attic. And despite the exposed skin—jackets worn open, nothing underneath—the collection carried a dry, restrained quietness. Almost conservative. Which felt especially odd given the setting: Cipriani, right next to the Charging Bull, capitalism literally snorting nearby.

This is still Coach, so the bags did their thing. Silver metal East-West frame clutches were clutched tightly. Big flapped messenger bags swung from shoulders, complete with Bonnie Cashin’s iconic turn-lock hardware. Vevers had fun here, too—a frame bag made from a vintage football, another from an old baseball mitt. The baseball glove reference, he explained, loops back to Coach’s origins, since the brand’s signature tan leather was inspired by exactly that. Full circle. Again.

What really grounded the collection, though, was the throughline of responsibility. Not as a slogan, not as a footnote, but as something actually happening. “Upcycling is something we’re starting to do in a really meaningful way,” Vevers said. All the denim here was post-consumer. There’s a capsule in stores made from post-consumer garments—trenches cut from old chinos, given a second life. The story wasn’t grit or glamour so much as resilience. Continuity. A shared past, stitched back together through fabric and memory.

And honestly? If sustainability is ever going to move beyond talk, it’s brands like Coach—big, profitable, culturally embedded—that have to lead the charge. Ruby slippers optional.