I think Prada is at its most interesting when it refuses to give you the answer straight away.

You see something. You think you understand it. Then you look again and — oh. No. There’s something else happening underneath.

And that feeling runs through this collection almost obsessively.

At the centre of the whole thing is the wrap skirt. Or the kilt. Or something somewhere between the two. It keeps appearing with this opening that reveals just a little bit underneath — a flash of colour, a floral lining, something embellished. Nothing too dramatic at first.

Just enough to make you look twice.

And then Prada starts pushing it.

The hidden panel becomes sequins. Then lace. Then three-dimensional flowers. The decoration gets louder, the reveal gets bigger, and suddenly what started as this tiny interruption in an otherwise controlled silhouette becomes the entire conversation.

I love that Prada has actually built a collection around a mechanism rather than simply building a mood around one.

That sounds very Prada, doesn’t it?

The idea is almost mathematical. Conceal. Reveal. Conceal again. Reveal a little more.

But underneath all that control there is something much messier going on — desire, sexuality, ornament, the slightly uncomfortable feeling of showing more than you intended to.

And this is where the collection starts to get really interesting.

Because early on, the bras are barely there. Lace and satin bralettes sit underneath open shirts, functioning almost like another layer of tailoring. They don’t scream for attention.

Then, right at the end, Prada does something wonderfully literal.

The bra strap comes out.

A crystal-embellished strap sits deliberately over a buttoned shirt collar, turning underwear into jewellery.

And I kept thinking: WHY IS THIS ONLY HAPPENING NOW?

Because honestly, that might be the most interesting idea in the entire collection.

The whole show has been talking about what happens underneath — and suddenly, right at the end, the thing underneath refuses to stay underneath.

There are other things happening, of course. The belted trench coats. The painted, almost bleeding edges of the leather. The painterly prints, florals and lattice graphics. The tiny saturated bags in green, red, purple and all those little flashes of colour that puncture the otherwise restrained palette.

There are crystal-spiked pumps, slingbacks, platform slides, those graphic cat-eye sunglasses…

But somehow I kept coming back to the same question.

What happens when Prada stops hiding?

Because this is where the collection becomes slightly complicated.

The restraint is what makes the beginning so good. That tiny glimpse. That almost-reveal. The suggestion that something is there but hasn’t quite decided whether it wants to be seen.

Then comes the middle.

And suddenly there are sequins. Florals. Embellishment. Surface. More surface. More colour.

It’s beautiful, obviously. But beauty isn’t really the point here.

In fact, the more decorative the collection becomes, the less uncomfortable it feels — and I’m not sure Prada should be entirely comfortable.

The tension starts to disappear.

It’s almost as if the collection spends its first half asking us to lean in, then gets nervous and starts explaining itself.

And I think that’s why the final crystal bra strap is so effective.

It puts the tension back.

Not because it’s particularly shocking, but because it’s awkward in exactly the right way. It’s something that shouldn’t quite be there, sitting somewhere it technically doesn’t belong.

Which, when you think about it, is basically Prada’s favourite place to live.

The collection is at its best when beautiful and slightly wrong things are forced to coexist.

Utilitarian coats with delicate underlayers. Restrained tailoring with exposed underwear. Muted colours interrupted by saturated little objects. Slicked-back hair against dramatically teased, almost undone hair.

Everything is controlled.

Everything is slightly falling apart.

And maybe that’s the real Prada trick.

Not perfection.

Not chaos.

The moment just before one becomes the other.

What I’ll remember isn’t necessarily the florals — although there are plenty of them — or even the more obviously glamorous looks.

I’ll remember that little opening in the skirt.

That seam.

That tiny bit of information Prada kept feeding us until, eventually, it became the whole story.

Because maybe that’s where the collection is smartest: the idea of hiding and revealing isn’t just expressed through styling.

It’s actually built into the clothes.

And now I’m wondering what happens next.

Does Prada keep pulling at that seam?

Or does it stitch it back up?

I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.