Every season, London Fashion Week rolls around and the same ritual unfolds. Established brands march their collections down the runway, press scribbles notes they’ll forget, influencers angle for the perfect street style shot, and the rest of the world scrolls Instagram. Nestled in the chaos is the Master of Arts graduate show from Central Saint Martins.
Naturally, when a fashion school shows up on the schedule, there’s a collective sniff, “cute students.” Seems like we sometimes forget that those students once became Alexander McQueen, John Galliano, Stella McCartney, Phoebe Philo, Grace Wales Bonner, and I can’t help but think of my own professor back in the day, whose sketches still stick in my head. CSM arguably breeds some of the most creative designers around. Unlike brands obsessed with sales forecasts, this is where actual experimentation happens, and each year, we get lucky enough to see it raw.
Days later, I’m still haunted by one emerging designer, Macy Grimshaw. But years before her work haunted me, it had already won over Harry Lambert, and he was backing her again. The stylist jumped in to assist a collection of 9 looks, my favorite being the “Blown-Away” dress. Denim and paper on grid-cut leather that feels like a gate left to rot, which looked like a canvas had floated down and landed on it.
Another leather moulded bodice included her class’s cigarette butts, multi-faceted girl. “The best way to make friends at CSM is via smoke break, whether you smoke or not,” she told Harper’s Bazaar. So what does one do? Patiently wait for the chatter to die down, collect the debris, coat it in resin so it doesn’t get that ‘been in the sun too long’ stench, and fuse it onto the outfit. Rusty gates, old locks, pencil shavings, fences, graffiti, petaled denim, and dresses printed with photos of other dresses, were all part of Grimshaw’s universe, in which honestly, I’m trapped. And I like it here.
