The weekend marked a pivotal moment in fashion history as Jonathan Anderson debuted his first Dior Homme collection at Paris Fashion Week. The anticipation has been high-voltage, fuelled not just by his unprecedented appointment – taking creative charge of Dior’s men’s, women’s, and couture lines – but also by the brand’s cryptic lead-up: invitations reportedly sent via Instagram Close Friends, ceramic tokens in lieu of formal cards, and a soft launch strategy that felt more cult than corporate.
Anderson arrives with the rare credibility of a designer who has managed to make both critics and commerce swoon. His tenure at Loewe transformed the house into a powerhouse of cerebral luxury, catapulting sales through the alchemy of eccentric elegance and craft-forward storytelling. Now, at Dior, he inherits not just Kim Jones’s audience but also the legacy of one of fashion’s most mythic maisons. All eyes are on whether his particular blend of British wit, historical oddity, and subversive romanticism can redefine Dior Homme and Dior as a whole.
A tie, a denim jacket, and a half-eaten tray of room service – the prelude is pure Anderson: offbeat, composed, a little dishevelled on purpose. A man glides through the streets of Paris on a bike while guests arrive, dressed somewhere between anticipation and citation. Is that Robert Pattinson stepping into a lift? The atmosphere feels staged but not stiff. Paris itself becomes part of the casting.
The spotlighted celebrities on film lean heavily British, a subtle signal of Anderson’s expanding orbit. Finally, Pharrell enters the house and the show can begin. Or not: Pierpaolo and Donatella follow, Jacquemus, Chemena Kamali, Daniel Roseberry… what a thrill it must be to walk amongst giants!
And just when the crowd begins to settle, Rihanna arrives – baby bump in tow – a full forty minutes after the scheduled start. And so we begin…
When the lights dim, it becomes immediately clear: Kim Jones has exited, and Anderson has entered, fully, unapologetically. The iconic Dior Bar Jacket is seen, but it’s had a 21st century glow up. The silhouettes are sculptural and strange, grounded in tailoring but unmoored from tradition. There are deconstructed skirt-trouser-shorts, tartan vests, exaggerated bows with a Victorian tilt, and pleats upon pleats cascading with theatrical insistence. Scarves hang like punctuation marks paired with graphic shirts and oversized blazers in rich, heavy fabrics. The label reads Summer, but Anderson seems to have forgotten Paris is not London. This is not a collection designed for the heat: it’s designed for a mood.
The new look in new form: the blazer at the top and those cargo pleated fishing shorts which defy description – no further words other than brilliant. Despite the weight and volume, there’s functionality threaded throughout. Low trainers ground the looks, while outwear – structured trenches, British army jackets say wear over polish. There’s a green polo embroidered with Dior across the chest that’s destined to fly off shelves, the kind of item that bridges collectors and casuals. The trench, of course, makes its entrance, but through Anderson’s lens, it’s less classic and more character study of the contemporary Dior embodiment.
Truly a collection for today – authentically Dior, distinctly Anderson. Have we just watched history unfold? The New Look never imagined cargo shorts, and no one would dare say they should work. But somehow, they do. Somewhere, Christian Dior just raised an eyebrow… and nodded. Dior Homme was magnificent.
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