There was a point during Altuzarra when it became obvious: this was *the* show. Not the polite kind of good. Not the “beautiful tailoring, moving on” kind of good. The kind that makes you sit up a little straighter because the clothes are doing too much—soft, sharp, strange, sexy, considered—and somehow none of it feels confused.

The harness belt is where it starts. Wide leather, studded hardware, drawstrings cinched at the hips, pulled tight at the waist like a small act of insistence. It appeared over plaid, eyelet, animal knit… basically everything it touched became more interesting. A black dress split open over broderie-anglaise and a bra? Suddenly tender and a little dangerous. A pale, fluttering skirt with a beaded knit? Same deal. Altuzarra took sweetness and gave it teeth.

And then the plaid. OH MY GOD, the plaid. That glossy madras in green, gold, rose and cream came as an oversized shirt-jacket with a pink slip skirt, all crisp shine and a little picnic-table fantasy; the wider collection pushed it into full volume too. It should not have worked with the tough leather story. It absolutely did. This was the thrill of the show: nothing was left in its expected category.

There was eyelet as an underlayer, peeking out instead of shouting—white, scalloped, intimate. There were abstract animal knits, raw at the hem and close to the body. There was that harness logic again in the tan-and-black skirt, and the oversized leather jacket over a striped shirt, both making the runway feel oddly practical in the best way. Like these women had somewhere to be after this (but, obviously, were still going to look better than everyone there).

The Western belt gave the collection another jolt: a larger, rodeo-ish buckle cutting through colour-blocked denim and knitwear. It was not the same idea as the corset belt, and that is exactly why it landed. The show did not flatten its own world into one neat sentence. It let the references bump into each other—equestrian hardware, cowboy hardware, lingerie, high-shine plaid, animal texture—and kept walking.

What held it together? The discipline. Black patent lace-up oxfords appeared again and again, giving even the most romantic or embellished looks a blunt little stomp. Eveningwear eventually shed the belts altogether—metallic lamé, beading, satin bustiers, soft chiffon—but not the energy. By then, the shaping was in the cut. No accessory needed to explain it.

That is why this felt like the highest-voltage show of NYFW: it had range without losing its nerve. The clothes were polished, yes, but they were never precious. They had romance, humour, friction, a very good bag, and just enough messiness to feel alive. We are still thinking about it. Honestly… we might be for a while.