Nicolas Ghesquière isn’t a theme guy. When he shows a collection in a hyper-specific, far-away location (as is the usual formula for a luxury resort show), he doesn’t typically do so with a singular archetype, character, or time period in mind. The clothes belong in the space where they’re shown, but they don’t look as if they were plucked from a history book. With Ghesquière’s Vuitton collections, there’s usually more nuance than novelty, and Cruise 2026 followed suit.
Vuitton and Ghesquière staged the show inside the Palais des Papes, a 14th-century palace and papal residence in Avignon, France, where six conclaves took place between 1334 and 1394. How apro-pope! It’s only been a couple of weeks since Pope Leo XIV was elected to lead the church, and still, the Conclave movie memes are going strong: crimson robes! White smoke! Big hats! Religion aside, the world loves some pomp and circumstance and performance, especially when things are otherwise terrible—an idea that ties back to Ghesquière’s vision for Cruise 2026. The collection, according to the show notes, “explores the performative aspects of clothing, its inherent artistic value, its narrative force, and the emotional power it unleashes.”
It was also appropriate that the Vuitton show was held in the courtyard of the Palais des Papes because it’s a central location for the town’s famous theater festival, which will officially begin again this July. The runway was lit up and lined with rows of what looked like wood and red velvet altar chairs, the space then flanked with empty tiered theater seats. The soundtrack mixed what sounded like a church choir with French horns, galloping horses, and, later, bucolic sounds of birds chirping.
As the models began to walk, Ghesquière’s script came into focus with an expansive wardrobe made for Medieval misfits and the kind of princesses who prefer punks to white knights. It was modern and not, with whiffs of romance in ruffles and chiffon and intarsia’d knits and toughness in the use of leathers and geometric patterns and embroideries. There were classically Ghesquière-ian galactic moments in the white cargo jacket and metallic snakeskin mini skirt, the flat boots with the cutout toes and broken mirror embellishments, and the striped, intricately embroidered long-sleeved dress that was giving Joan-meets-Xena-meets-Jetsons vibes.
As is always the case with Ghesquière’s work, the real beauty was in the finer details of each look—Renaissance jacquards punctuated with shearling and fur cuffs and collars, a Victorian-style shirt made entirely of fringed chains, and a crazy cool fuchsia mini skirt made from what appeared to be a pleated and molded leather so it stuck out straight at the hems like a frozen flower. The clothes could have come from periods in time where the performative nature of religion—the garments, the jewelry, the ceremonial robes–held influence beyond what we see today on our social media feeds and movie screens.
Ghesquière’s “play” came to an end when the models sat in the tiered red theater seats in small groups and looked down at the audience applauding them. The designer appeared and walked through the seats where the models were, then down and along the runway—the final “tah-dah” moment. He’d reminded everyone that clothes can transform, transcend, and give some meaning (or escape) to those who wear them.
Ghesquière didn’t exactly call some silly sartorial conclave to gather, nor did he design a totally linear collection. But he brought people into a space to watch a show, to be part of that show, and to remember that fashion can have a higher power.
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