Nine Trends from Fashion Month That You’ll Soon See Everywhere

Now, should the discerning shopper jump on every -core out there? Absolutely not. But it is worth examining when some of the brightest minds in clothing design seem to divine a similar feeling from the zeitgeist. And as the flurry of fashion weeks conclude, we’re starting to see just what these febrile brains are thinking about the season ahead. It’s a very funny thing we do, to ask these artists to predict the future every six months, and then to plant a flag with very real commercial repercussions. But that’s just the way things are done here. Let’s take a peek at what’s around the corner.

Over the last few years, one phrase has gripped fashion’s throat with a violent intensity: quiet luxury. Reductive, minimal, sleek, and unassuming, this ascetic aesthetic has saturated the market. Two words have held the world hostage to the promise of beauty in simplicity. It is, allegedly, how the very wealthy dress, with staid reverence, in T-shirts of buttery textiles that look like a Hanes but cost one month’s rent.

But in Paris (and Milan, and even New York)—a light at the end of the tunnel. This year’s collections luxuriated in undulating, rococo folds of fabric: demonstrative, sensual, and perhaps most importantly excessive. Marc Jacobs kicked things off with his Comme des Garcons-esque show with dresses covered in glamorous goiters that recalled Rei Kawakubo’s landmark Lumps and Bumps collection from 1997 (Sarah Paulson wore one to the 2025 Oscars afterparties and was immediately the only cool girl in a sea of anodyne gowns). Donatella Versace opened her show with comforter-inspired skirts that enfolded the lovely and lithe models, like rococo clouds. Jun Takahashi closed out his UNDERCOVER show with dresses that looked like puffer jackets wrapped around the waist. Or all those gorgeously oversized, billowing jackets at Balmain.

To my eye, their voluminous excesses contain hints of the indulgent 1980s, where the worship of money nakedly expressed itself in cocaine, champagne, and, most crucially, Christian Lacroix’s decadent pouf dresses. Are these a more cerebral take on those fripperies? Yes, to be sure. But are they, perhaps—as writer and trend forecaster Sean Monahan noted in his speculation of the Boom Boom aesthetic—a tacit acknowledgment that our culture is seemingly finding that greed is, indeed, good? Also, maybe, yes?

I am slightly apprehensive to call leather a trend—it is a mainstay of each fall/winter season, for obvious reasons (warmth). But one cannot ignore the surfeit of downright delicious leather ensembles. Case in point: Haider Ackermann’s opening passage from his debut collection as creative director at TOM FORD.

Classic moto jackets, T-shirts (cropped to reveal just a hint of hip), long, lean coats with a poetically curved lapel, and pants were all rendered in biker black leather. TOM FORD is known for sex, Ackermann for romance, but, here, the latter let us know he’s up for some kink—if you ask nicely.

There were other examples, like the hourglass ensemble at Sarah Burton’s Givenchy debut—a shapely coat with swollen lapels and paired with a slim pencil skirt (Cate Blanchett was seen wearing it mere days after it blessed the runway—a hit!) and the leather daddy to rule them all, Rick Owens, showed us slouchy grommeted pants, leather-lined bombers, and leather chainmail dresses that ended in quivering, laser-cut fringe. And then there’s Junya Watanabe with his geometric reimagining of the Perfecto jacket, exploding with strange rhomboids, spikes, and cubes. And someone should just take me out back and shoot me if I don’t mention Hermès, which showed a relatively somber collection, but, man, that wrapped leather apron skirt in look one was very delicious, especially worn with a skimmy little ribbed-knit top. The leather belt “fringe” at HODAKOVA? Inspired! Also: abso-fucking-lutely obsessed with the Mugler-esque bodysuit that opened Marine Serre.

Fashion loves to say it’s a forward-looking venture, but let’s be real, she’s a real rearview mirror sort of girl. This season was no different—designers hopped into their time machines for inspiration for next season. And, with the future looking doomed . . . well, who could blame them?

Take, for instance, the ruffled collars, breeches, and redingotes at Dior, inspired by Virgina Woolf’s novel Orlando, where a dreamy male poet awakens one day as a woman and lives for many centuries (naturally Tilda Swinton starred in the film adaptation). It was romantic and yet practical (the frills are removable), quixotic and very much an escape from—[gestures broadly]. Or there was Seán McGirr’s menacing Victorian coven, inspired by Charles Dickens’s Night Walk. There’s a Gothic mood in its long, lean jackets, Empire-waist dresses, billowing poet’s sleeves, capes, pinched shoulders and the corseted waists.

To live in the present is to be in a very ugly place. If you’re going to a long-ago time, please take me with you.

I have to admit something. I think that officecore is a coordinated attack, set out by the commercial real estate industry, to get us back in our little cubicles clacking away. Dystopian! She’s giving Severance! Which is fine and all, but to try and make office life glamorous? Not on my watch. Furthermore I believe the fashion industry has been tasked to help further this agenda by Big Office™. Well, I have news for you: Working is NOT and never will be cool. And, I think designers are also . . . well, at the very least they’re waffling on the whole idea of what it means to “go back” to “the office” when the office is omnipresent.

That’s what gave Stella McCartney’s show, held in an office tricked out with computers and desks, its frisson: the tweaked proportions of its classic workplace fare—double-breasted suits with their linebacker shoulders or a funky-futuristic pencil skirt. Or how about Victoria Beckham showing us suits with clunky formal shoes and hoodies so cropped that one’s nipples would be fully exposed, were it not for the blazer. And forgive me if I saw Demna’s cheese-grated suit at Balenciaga and thought to myself, now here’s a man who HATES going to the office. Or Miuccia Prada giving us out-all-night girlies hobbling to work in prim little skirt suits over a lingerie top, or bra straps exposed—she’s seen some things, you know? And is that your chaotic intern in a blazer, button-up (left open) paired with tights and no shoes at The Row? I even saw a bit of impish office spirit in Kawakubo’s opening gambit at Comme des Garcons—an undulating cloud of menswear banker stripes, like a classic Armani power suit, as seen on psychedelics. Let’s TB on this trend in the fall. Tap my calendar and we’ll set up a Zoom.

Pantone’s color of the year was Mocha Mousse, an earthy, evocative shade of dirt brown. Tasteful, refined, reserved. But the shades that stuck out to us this season were the dizzying arrays of rich, juicy, citruses: robust orange, tangy lime, lip-puckering red, and so on.

Mocha Mousse represents reality. Stuck in the muck. A bunch of dirty piggies writhing around in the dirt. Citrus, however, is optimistic and flavorful. It’s an energetic breakfast. A happy-hour margarita. Wishful thinking for dour times.

There were yummy oranges at Julian Klausner’s wonderful first women’s collection at Dries Van Noten, and shades of lime and lemon at Miu Miu. Saint Laurent opened with dramatic coats in vermillion and tangerine while Ackermann’s cherry red coat and citron draped gown had my mouth watering. And that lemon waterfall of tulle that closed Burton’s Givenchy had me smiling, not ’cause it was sour.

Much like leather, minimalism is hard to call a trend; it’s more like an ever-present mode of being. It exists beyond time and aesthetics; it is the oxygen, the lifeblood, of fashion.

AND YET. Some of our more effusive designers reined it in this season, perhaps a reactionary measure to our unnecessarily complex world. Proud freak Rick Owens offered up a collection that was, when you broke it down, quite straightforward (for him): a long, lean line, somber coats with high collars, floor-skimming dresses, draped tops, louche trousers. Back to basics, he said. In Demna’s collection for Balenciaga, some items appeared to be so humdrum that you wonder if they’re worthy of a Parisian runway. Dubbed “Standards,” they were snoozy suits, unexceptional denim, and tracksuits you could find at any high street athleisure shop. Meanwhile Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen continued on their downright monastic inclinations at The Row. Shown in a carpeted Parisian apartment where guests were asked to seat themselves (no front row anxiety here, some simply settled in on the floor) where photos were forbidden, the big news was an elongated silhouette that mixed tailored and draped pieces in nubby textiles—plus lots of obscured faces. The cult of The Row will ensure these are all buzzy come fall. Over at Saint Laurent, Anthony Vaccarello has found formulaic success lately by presenting one or two Big Ideas and jackhammering them over and over again. This season was the same: one, a wide-shouldered, tapering jacket with a slim skirt, turning models into a big old upside triangle; and two, a leather jacket with a ball skirt. It was a simple, concise, understandable message ready-made for the social media age.

Even designer Chitose Abe put away her love of elaborate hybridized garments and pruned her fall/winter collection. Here, she emphasized a sense of being enveloped, including pieces with a built-in scarf draped or wrapped around the body, creating a look that was a simple swathing. Back in January, during the men’s shows, the undeniably Parisian elegance of LEMAIRE was on full display: louche trousers, slim shoes, and a perfect piece of outerwear, from trench to leather jacket.

There’s always a new erogenous zone in fashion—the legs, the breasts, the stomach, the shoulder. This season, there seems to be a real emphasis on the hips, by way of the flirty little peplum. They were flouncing around at Balmain and adding tiers or frilly bounce on maxi skirts at Chloé. They added a little unexpected shape when wrapped around some of the leaner, straightforward gowns at Alessandro Michele’s Valentino collection as well. Or those sexy silk maxis at TOM FORD that looked to be falling off the pelvis, barely held there with a teeny-tiny belt. Provocative!

A few weeks back I noticed that the New York Times and Wall Street Journal both ran stories about how fur is back, despite the (alleged) toxic shame surrounding them. Then, I started to notice women wearing it around town (it was bitterly cold, I’ll give them that). Political correctness is out, and so, too, is the ignominy of wearing an animal on your back.

Well, those writers must be kicking themselves, ’cause there will be plenty of fodder for next winter (should there be one). The many faux-stoles draped over arms at Miu Miu, the shearling linings and bounding tails at a hemline at Rabanne, the dangling fur balls from stoles at Chloé, fur pants (!) at Schiaparelli, the upcycled fur hats transformed into a bulbous jacket at HODAKOVA, the teddy bear zigzags at Gabriela Hearst, the patchwork sleeveless coat and dangling tails at Marine Serre, and on and on. It is hard to say, today, whether these are upcycled, or faux-fur, or the very real deal—but it’s hard to tell if anything is real these days. (Though Anna Sui did remark that hers are faux.)

Another nod to the fauna of our world: animal prints. Zebras, cheetahs, and leopards, all stalking the runway like The Lion King, but chic. Dalmatian spots at Dries, leopard (and lace) at Valentino, exotic skins at Gabriela Hearst, zebra stripes at Balmain, cheetah at Balenciaga . . . all friendly reminders that it’s a jungle out there. Do take care.

Max Berlinger is a freelance writer based in Brooklyn, NY. He writes about the intersection of fashion, technology, and culture. His work has been featured in the New York Times, GQ, Los Angeles Times, and others. You can follow him on Instagram and Twitter.