No. 21 Fall 2026
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.
MM6 Margiela Fall 2026
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.
Etro Fall 2026
Marco De Vincenzo loves a metaphor. Like, really loves one. This season he described the collection as a wave—between rigor and explosion, control and abandon, sharp lines and total release. Which feels right, because watching Etro right now feels a bit like watching something inhale… and then completely lose its mind. “Its bohemian side resurfaces,” he said, “hyper-colored, maximalist, a little mad.” And yes. Mad, but in that intentional, self-aware way. In De Vincenzo’s telling, Etro is basically an ouroboros—a decorative universe endlessly feeding on itself, regenerating, looping back, never getting bored. Somehow neither do we.
Missoni Fall 2026
Alberto Caliri’s time at Missoni feels less like a series of hard resets and more like one long, ongoing sentence. Each show picks up exactly where the last one left off—no plot twists, no dramatic pivots, just a few carefully chosen additions that quietly make the whole thing richer. “This show starts where the previous one left off,” he said, plainly. “I’m partial to consistency.” Which, in a fashion landscape addicted to whiplash, feels almost radical.
Caliri knows the Missoni archives like muscle memory. After years inside the house, he doesn’t treat its history like something fragile or sacred—more like something lived-in. He opens drawers confidently. Pulls references without dusting them off too much. Less archivist, more trusted insider who knows exactly what still works and what doesn’t need explaining.
Fendi Fall 2026
“Less I, More Us.” The phrase was stenciled right there on the runway, and echoed again on the webbing of bags—like a mantra you were meant to absorb whether you wanted to or not. And sure, on the surface, Maria Grazia Chiuri’s debut as chief creative officer at Fendi was very much about togetherness. Collaboration. Pluralism. Shared language. But let’s be real for a second: this was also unmistakably a Chiuri show. Calm, controlled, intentional. Less ego on display, maybe—but a very clear hand on the wheel.
Before the show, she kept talking about silhouette. Shape. Structure. And by the time she took her bow, it was obvious she wasn’t just redrawing the outline of the clothes—she was quietly redrawing the outline of Fendi itself.
Jil Sander Fall 2026
For his first outing at Jil Sander last season, Simone Bellotti was in full reduction mode. Strip it back. Pare it down. Get obsessed with line. “Very straight, very clean, removing fabric,” he said at the time. This season? He did the opposite. And not in a chaotic way—in a deliberate, almost teasing way. Ruffles snaked down the sides of trousers. Coats were slashed high up the back. Skirts were split open at the seams just enough to flash a white-stockinged thigh. He put it plainly: “Can something superfluous be considered essential?” And in his hands, the answer is… absolutely yes.
Bellotti comes from menswear, which means tailoring is his native language—and nuance is his obsession. This season, he’d been deep in the black-and-white photographs of Anders Petersen, specifically his images of Café Lehmitz, a bar in Hamburg’s red-light district in the late 1960s. The thing that stuck with him wasn’t grime or decadence so much as intimacy. Bodies close. Clothes slipping. That slightly off-kilter feeling when nothing is quite sitting where it’s supposed to. “Some suits come up wrong,” he said. “The collar looks like it’s falling in the back. The shoulders on a dress are detached from the body.” Clothes, basically, that want to escape.