If you haven’t seen Masha Popova on the London Fashion Week schedule for a minute (18 months, but who’s counting), you’d be forgiven for thinking things went… quiet. They did not. At all. Turns out, stepping off the seasonal show hamster wheel didn’t slow her down—it just freed her up. Since then she’s been dressing pop stars (Charli XCX, Blackpink’s Lisa—casual), teaming up with Desigual on her first proper commercial collaboration, and basically not coming up for air.

She’s also been quietly nesting at the Paul Smith Foundation—the invitation-only kind of setup that gives independent designers free studio space and actual mentorship (imagine that)—alongside fellow CSM grads Petra Fagerstrom and Eden Tan. During a walkthrough of her fall 2026 collection in her bright, airy new studio, Popova looked… relaxed? Energized? Both? “Everything’s falling into place and I’m excited,” she said. “It feels like a comeback.” Which is a big thing to say, but also… it tracks.

Now officially free from the NewGen structure (and the plug-and-play show space at 180 The Strand), Popova staged her return somewhere with history baked into the walls: the 17th-century Charterhouse. Elizabeth I pre-coronation. James I handing out knighthoods. Heavy vibes. Silk walls. Coffered ceilings. And immediately, the reference clicked. Only Lovers Left Alive. Jim Jarmusch. Vampires who’ve seen too much, lived too long, and dress accordingly.

The clothes followed that nocturnal, louche logic. Piped pajama sets in warped floral silk, complete with built-in wraparound scarves—an idea carried over from her last lookbook collection because, as she put it, “it deserved a moment” beyond the Vogue Runway grid. (Relatable.) Fuzzy dressing gowns slit clean up the backs of the legs. Wool coats with full Nosferatu collars. And notably—finally—coats. This was the first time Popova really went there. An overdyed khaki bomber made from 100% plant-based fiber stood out immediately. So did a wax jacket cut like a bathrobe (why does that make so much sense?) and a cotton trench with elaborate spiral stitching curling over the shoulders.

“It’s not just denim and a few other things,” she said, smiling—though yes, there was denim, and it was doing things. Bow-front halter tops met low-slung skirts with an extra acid-wash leg jutting forward, like someone grabbed their partner’s jeans off the bedroom floor and improvised. A denim jacket fused to fluffy pile became her version of a shearling aviator. Military jackets—very early-2000s Balmain, very Christophe Decarnin-coded—came with big brass buttons and even bigger shoulders.

Popova’s world-building went deeper, too. Fang bites were reverse-embossed into the backs of micro-shorts and Fair Isle knits (because why not?), part of her push toward a fully imagined wardrobe. Leather got the same treatment. Her signature bootcuts finally got a belt that actually fits those hip-baring waistbands—cut from deadstock leather donated by LVMH back when she was still a student. Corseted minis and lounge-lizard slippers were screen-printed, overprinted, and rubbed down until they looked lived-in, worn, loved.

It felt good seeing Popova back. Not chasing anything. Not proving anything. Just doing the work—on her own timeline, on her own terms. And honestly? That might be the most compelling comeback of all.