The MM6 show took over a waiting room at Milano Centrale, which meant actual commuters were just… there. Watching. Staring. As the fashion crowd climbed the marble steps in Tabis and eye shields, very clearly not headed for the late train back to the suburbs. It was awkward and perfect and slightly hilarious—and honestly, a pretty ideal setting for the most street-facing corner of MM6 Maison Margiela. Especially given that this season the studio collective was deep in archetype mode, studying everyday clothes and the people who actually wear them.

In true Margiela fashion, the exercise was about taking the normal and making it feel… off. Just enough. Coat hems were flipped up and snapped into place, like someone anticipating bike spray or a rainy curb before it even happened. Pencil skirts turned out to be backless aprons layered over long T-shirts—practical, modest, slightly strange. Shirt seams hinted at ghost yokes, like remnants of garments past. Jeans—because obviously—were everywhere. On the guys, they came with double waistbands, the top layer undone in that casually suggestive way. On the girls, they were high-waisted and pegged, very ’80s, very borrowed from someone cooler.

The ’80s kept bubbling up. Full skirts with ruffled hems paired with flannel button-downs and mohair turtlenecks. Oversized sweaters with the MM6 numeric logo intarsia’d across the chest—made to feel current by styling them simply with thick tights. Also very believable: his-and-hers color-blocked track jackets and anoraks that looked like they could genuinely survive a commute. For the office crowd, there were trim V-necks layered over flaring shirts, worn with slim skirts or sturdy leather jeans. Clothes that understand fluorescent lighting and bad coffee.

If there was a misstep, it was the ultra-high pumps. A quick glance at any actual street—even in Milan, even on its dressiest day—will tell you that footwear right now is about speed, comfort, or both. Heels like these usually live in oversized totes or under office desks, waiting patiently for later. But that aside, the rest of it felt right.

You could genuinely imagine these models peeling off the moment the show ended—descending the steps, merging into the crowd, disappearing into the Italian night. No spectacle required. Just clothes slipping back into life, where they belong.