By Salomé Perroton
Held at the Palais Brongniart, Napoleon’s former stock exchange, the Matières Fécales show struck me as being very directly linked to the idea of financial power, as if everything you see on the runway operates within a system where value and identity circulate together. My guess is that the venue is no accident; it’s as if everything makes you think of bodies as assets, displayed and almost traded.
The first part gave me the feeling of a sort of gallery of characters you recognize instantly: “blood-stained” gloves, the masks made of money, the post-op bandages, the evening gowns taken to the extreme. And the prosthetics… the faces seem to be in constant adjustment, as if identity is something you’re constantly editing.
And I think that’s the part I find interesting; you don’t feel like they’re completely fictional characters. On the contrary, they seem very familiar, just like archetypes you already see everywhere. Wealth appears as a system that produces the same images over and over again.
Courtesy of Matières Fécales
I also liked how they worked with the references; you can clearly see influences from John Galliano at Dior, Alexander McQueen, and Demna at Balenciaga, but everything seems slightly peeled back and remade. Just like fashion takes its own past and constantly reprocesses it. Even the references to Chanel or Max Mara fit into the same framework. The designers managed to make everything seem to share a single visual language.
Those “chic illuminati” characters struck me as very well observed. There is exaggeration, but I might just add that it is highly controlled and it highlights recognizable themes, such as control, uniformity, and an obsession with perfection. The model in the gray quarter-zip, for example, is almost too real.
By Mark Hunter
And I think that here, the caricature functions as a kind of analysis, as it simplifies, but without losing the essence. It shows how wealth is built through repetition and through the same visual codes.
Then comes the part with the hooded figures (the cult), which completely changes the dynamic. Robes, bomber jackets, biker jackets, the sewn-on crucifix, and the circle in which they gather… it looks like a ritual. Whatsoever, it’s not clear if they’re against the system or part of it.
And honestly, I think that very ambiguity is the point. Because right now, participation and opposition look very similar. The same dress code can mean integration or resistance; maybe they’re both at the same time.
Prosthetic shoes take things even further because the body changes, and of course, movement becomes difficult. The moment with Daphne Guinness really stuck with me because you can clearly see how the clothes dictate her walk, leading me to conclude that the body adapts to the structure.
Courtesy of Matières Fécales
And here, I think, is an important point: fashion no longer follows the body; it shapes it.
The finale is much more controlled. We see very precise wool dresses, defined shoulders, and less visual chaos. Michèle Lamy and Bryan Johnson appear, each bringing their own take on time.
Then the Elizabethan silhouettes followed, pure “old money” energy, clearly nodding to the viral trend. But rather than simply copying the look, the designers went further, pulling back the curtain to show us the true, underlying shapes beneath all the fantasy. In adapting to the moment’s obsession with “old money,” they revealed something genuine about the form itself.
Courtesy of Matières Fécales
As everything comes together, symbols, references, and characters, you get the sense that you’re reaching a point where everything becomes very clear. Wealth no longer appears as something to be desired, but as a system of pressure.
And I think that’s the shift that strikes me as important: fashion is no longer constructing a fantasy for many people, but shows you the conditions in which we live. It makes you see things more clearly, and once you see them that way, it’s hard to go back to how they were before.
By Salomé Perroton