There is nothing heroic about a man leaving the house at dawn. He does not conquer, he does not seduce, he does not pose. He dresses. And in that smallest of gestures—a shirt buttoned again, a jacket pulled on in a hurry, a foot touching the cold floor—Anthony Vaccarello finds the most powerful substance of Saint Laurent’s Fall/Winter 2026 men’s show. Not the man of the night, but the one who comes after. Not desire itself, but what remains when desire comes due. The collection moves in this suspended space. Vaccarello constructs a precise emotional moment: one in which vulnerability can no longer be denied, only managed—a feeling that is bitter, yet intense. The Saint Laurent wardrobe becomes essential, stripped to its bones, as if each piece were chosen out of necessity rather than ornamentation. Silhouettes are sharp, linear, drawn with a few decisive strokes, impeccably cut yet charged with inner tension. Here, masculinity is never asserted, only continually questioned; Vaccarello continues his exploration and redefinition of what masculinity can mean. It is in this inquiry that the political gesture of the collection resides. Vaccarello does not dramatize ambiguity, he normalizes it. In doing so, he restores to the male body an emotional complexity that fashion often simplifies or sensationalizes. It is a constant play of revelations and concealments, read clearly in the runway looks: pieces that seem to belong to the world of underwear emerge, only to immediately hide beneath long coats, leather blazers, fur collars, and draped scarves.
“I was kind of obsessed by the story, the mood, and imagining a character caught between desire and disgust. I like the idea of being in contraction between something very conventional and something very sensual.”
Vaccarello’s tailoring does not lose its millimetric precision, yet it no longer holds its breath. It is austere, controlled, almost ritualistic, and yet a new sense of elasticity emerges. Double-breasted jackets define the figure with strong shoulders and deep lapels, only to release rigidity by cinching and shaping the waist. There is no concession to the codified sensuality of the feminine, nor to the language of traditional male tailoring: the collection follows its own code. The movement is long and vertical. Trousers rise high at the waist, falling straight yet softly. Around this architecture, layers build to further elongate the silhouette: floor-skimming coats, belted trenches, glossy surfaces of leather and vinyl, and printed silk ascots that add a private, almost intimate accent. Close to the body, everything contracts. Knitwear is slim, fitted, made up of essential turtlenecks and vests with deep necklines. Then, suddenly, the figure tilts: fur collars amplify the upper volume and presence, while beneath the overcoats, knee-length shorts and unexpected boots appear, lending a subtle queer touch to the collection. It is here that the construction deliberately fractures, interrupting solemnity with a gesture of contradiction.
Black dominates the scene as the definitive choice. It is essential and dense. Alongside it, complementary color variations emerge—saturated, precise, reinforcing the idea of a coherent, compact wardrobe. Accessories do not break the silence; they accompany it. Glossy, pointed Oxford shoes, equally sharp, and tall, fitted boots anchor the looks firmly to the ground, a reminder that this man, however introspective, must still walk in the world.
The reference to James Baldwin’s mid-20th-century novel Giovanni’s Room (1956) flows like an undercurrent. It is not illustrated, but absorbed. It is a story of restrained desire, of closed rooms, of departures at dawn that make more noise than the passions spent at night. Saint Laurent translates all of this into the ritual of dressing: from disorder to apparent order, from intimacy to social presentation. Shirts button up, shoulders structure themselves, tuxedos become emotional armor. Materials tell stories of wear and memory. Crumpled surfaces, treated fabrics, contrasts between technicality and delicacy create garments that seem already lived in. There is no polished perfection: only the mark of time, of what has been worn, loved, abandoned. Eroticism never comes through exhibitionism, but through control: a body hinted at, never fully revealed. The show takes place in the oval space of the Bourse de Commerce, entirely covered by a beige carpet that reflects and absorbs. It is a room of memory, a place where each garment becomes a confession. Vaccarello captures the delicate passage between night and day, and in doing so, Saint Laurent finds a truth rarely so clear.
