It’s been almost ten years since Emma Chopova and Laura Lowena launched their brand straight out of Central Saint Martins, which—if you’re being cynical—feels like the exact point where a label’s signatures should start to feel… tired. Upcycled folkloric textiles. Kooky prints. The carabiner skirts. Surely we’ve seen it all by now? Except—no. Somehow, not even close. Season after season, Chopova Lowena still feels weirdly, thrillingly alive. Like it refuses to settle. Or behave.

You could credit that to how carefully they’ve grown the brand—never rushing, never overexposing, letting even the big moments (celebrity placements everywhere, winning the BFC/Vogue Designer Fashion Fund, all of that) feed the long game rather than derail it. Their sustainability credentials get a lot of airtime, rightly, but honestly? Their business instincts are just as sustainable. The real reason they’re still here, though, is curiosity. Restlessness. That itch. Just when you think, okay, maybe they’ve pushed this idea as far as it can go—they flip it, twist it, mash it up with something completely unexpected, and suddenly it’s exciting all over again.

Enter this season’s collection, titled Too Ripe and Ready by Half—which already tells you a lot. It took Regency-era silhouettes and tossed them straight into a blender with 20th-century golfwear. Knickerbockers. Argyle knits. Kilts. All vibrating at once. The title itself is a cheeky nod to Regency slang, usually used to describe a woman who’s a bit too bold, possibly up to no good. Honestly? Perfect.

Sticking to their once-a-year runway rule (discipline!), the duo took over the 19th-century Crafts Council building in Islington and filled it with mannequins dressed head to toe, museum-style. The looks were styled by a Victoria and Albert Museum expert for maximum archival authenticity—which sounds serious, until you realize that’s where any actual historical accuracy promptly ends. (Anyone still mad about Wuthering Heights costumes would absolutely lose their mind here.)

For the lookbook—shot against these gorgeous, painterly old theater backdrops they dug up and hung in their studio—the girls wore Peter Pan–collared, puff-sleeve dresses layered with deadstock fabrics from past collections, tangled up with plaids and Victorian florals. There were collage knits everywhere—Fair Isles and stripes in every color imaginable—pieced together into the shapes of 19th-century bodices. For the boys, striped rugby tops clashed happily with checks and silver brooches pinned at the collar, paired with breeches and bomber jackets featuring curved zip pockets inspired by classic golf bags. Practical! But make it strange.

And then there were the dresses. Really good ones. One standout had a basque-waist corset cut from upholstery fabric, studded with beaded bows marching down the front, before exploding into a dramatic puff skirt layered with fabric and finished in icy blue tulle. It was decadent. Over-the-top. And somehow still sweet—like the floral cupcakes being passed around the room at the same time. (Yes, cupcakes. Of course.)

Accessories went hard too. Carpet bags dripping with silver charms. Pearl-strung belts with cameos at the center—cherubic faces lifted from vintage Bulgarian postcards. And boots—serious stompers—riffing on Victorian carriage styles, complete with tufts of faux fur held in place by black ribbon bows snaking up the leg. Impossible to ignore.

And then—because why not—they used the lookbook to launch a new intimates line: Chopova Lowena Feelings. Tees, bras, knickers in eye-popping colors, splashed with cheeky poems and cartoonish faces and animals. The reason? Disarmingly simple. “We both don’t like any underwear,” Chopova said, laughing. “So this felt like a necessity.” With its more accessible price point, it also feels smart—an open door into their world without sanding down any of the weirdness.

Within minutes of the Crafts Council doors opening, the room was already buzzing. Carabiner skirts rustling everywhere (the faithful showed up in full uniform), editors cooing over the details, people wandering onto the miniature golf course winding through the center of the space. No runway. No models marching. And yet—it felt like a moment. A very London Fashion Week moment.

In golf terms? That’s a hole in one.