Even Before the Journey Began, CHANEL Was Already There.
My Paris Fashion Week began long before I arrived in the city—
it started on the flight.
The man seated next to me was French, dressed in a tailored suit.
When I glanced at the fabric of his secondary bag, I noticed a subtle woven CHANEL logo.
Since the flight coincided with Paris Fashion Week,
I assumed he must be someone connected to the industry—though at that moment, I didn’t give it much thought.
Upon landing in Paris and stepping off the aircraft,
I found myself behind a woman dressed in a tweed jacket, matching skirt, and a CHANEL bag.
She soon joined the same man from the plane, and another woman joined them—
her knitwear, shoes, and bag were all unmistakably CHANEL.
It was then I thought,
“They must be here for tomorrow’s show.”
And before I had even passed through immigration,
I already felt myself wrapped in the atmosphere of Parisian fashion.
A New Designer, and an Unusual Schedule.
Traditionally, CHANEL presents its show during the final day of Paris Fashion Week—always in the daytime.
This season, however, was different.
The show was held at night, on the eighth day of the schedule.
More importantly, it marked a pivotal moment:
the first CHANEL collection under its new creative director, Matthieu Blazy.
There were almost no previews or leaks.
Everyone—industry insiders, the press, and devoted followers—seemed collectively poised, waiting to see what CHANEL would become.
Matthieu Blazy earned international recognition during his tenure at Bottega Veneta,
where his work was celebrated for its craft-driven approach, refined material manipulation, and a harmony between structure and movement.
Now, following Karl Lagerfeld and Virginie Viard,
he steps forward as the next storyteller of the CHANEL universe—
and all eyes are on him.
The Energy Outside the Grand Palais
On the day of the show,
the front of the Grand Palais was packed with people who had come from all over the world.
Each time a well-known guest or brand ambassador arrived by car, the crowd reacted—
phones lifted into the air, camera shutters firing, fans calling names,
and others simply watching quietly, taking in the scene.
Even from outside the venue, it felt as if the entire city was moving to the rhythm of fashion.
I stood across the Champs-Élysées, in front of the Petit Palais, watching everything unfold.
Around me, others were doing the same—
not invited, but present, witnessing.
From that distance, I watched the black cars stop, guests stepping out, the bursts of flash, the laughter, the collective anticipation.
Even though I was separated by a street,
I could feel the energy reach me—
as if fashion itself had expanded beyond the walls of the venue and into the city.
In that moment, it felt as if the entire city of Paris had become the center of fashion.
I wasn’t inside the circle of invited guests,
but I could feel the energy from where I stood.
Sometimes, there are things you can only see from a distance.
From afar, I could observe not only the guests entering the venue,
but also the gaze of the onlookers,
the anticipation in their posture,
and the way the crowd collectively tilted toward the brand with a sense of expectation.
It made me think:
fashion isn’t created by clothes alone.
It is completed by the people who wait for it, react to it, and believe in it.
After lingering there for a while, absorbing the atmosphere around the Grand Palais,
I walked through the evening streets of Paris, past the Eiffel Tower, and stopped at a small café.
I took a seat on the terrace, ordered a glass of wine and a croque-monsieur,
and let the excitement settle quietly in my chest.
For October, the weather was unusually mild—
just a light jacket was enough to feel perfectly comfortable outside.
At the table next to me, a group of French friends were engaged in an animated discussion,
gesturing passionately as they spoke.
Their voices blended into the rhythm of the Parisian night,
becoming part of the scene rather than interrupting it.
The First Look — and a Held Breath
I returned to my hotel around 9:30 p.m.
Under the soft glow of the room’s lighting, I opened my laptop and pressed play on the live stream of the CHANEL show.
On the screen, a new chapter crafted by Matthieu Blazy was about to unfold.
And then—
the first look appeared.
My breath stopped.
A sharply considered jacket, trousers sitting slightly lower on the hips,
lines reduced to their essence, yet retaining a subtle trace of femininity.
It wasn’t showy or theatrical.
Instead, it carried a quiet strength—refined, intentional, assured.
It didn’t resemble the CHANEL we had known before.
Yet, beneath the newness, there was an unmistakable continuity—
as if the brand’s origin had been rewritten rather than replaced.
It wasn’t Karl Lagerfeld’s era of runway spectacle,
nor Virginie Viard’s gentle dialogue with everyday femininity.
The garments seemed to be reconstructed around the movement of the body—
as if shape, material, and motion were in conversation rather than in hierarchy.
It felt as though Coco Chanel’s original belief in freedom of the body had been revisited,
and reshaped through Blazy’s modern hand.
I found myself pausing the video again and again—
studying the rhythm of the silhouettes,
the breath of the materials,
the way the garments evolved with each step.
Fatigue and adrenaline alternated.
I’d rest my head on the desk, then lift it quickly, unwilling to miss a moment.
Eventually, I reached the final look.
The aftertaste of the show lingered well into the next morning.
What I felt wasn’t merely excitement—
it was the quiet certainty of having witnessed a turning point.
Even through a screen, I could sense that something had begun to shift.
Morning on Rue Cambon — A New Page of CHANEL
The next morning,
the excitement from the night before was still present—quiet, but undeniable.
I felt compelled to walk to Rue Cambon.
I wanted to understand something I couldn’t grasp from the screen alone:
the atmosphere of CHANEL now.
Rue Cambon in the morning was calm.
There were few tourists; the street belonged mostly to employees on their way to work.
I watched them pass—
black denim, a beige coat, sunglasses with a discreet logo.
One waited at a crosswalk, coffee in hand—
nothing flashy, yet unmistakably polished.
There was a kind of ease in the way they carried the brand,
as if CHANEL wasn’t something they put on,
but something woven into the rhythm of their everyday life.
Inside the Rue Cambon boutique,
I had the chance to speak with a staff member about the previous night’s show.
“A new page has begun. This collection is about a good feeling, suits, and new inspiration.”
“New page”—those were the words he chose.
And when he said “suits,”
I understood he wasn’t simply referring to a garment category.
To him, it wasn’t just tailoring.
It was the legacy of Coco Chanel’s tweed suit—
a symbol of freedom, function, and a new way of dressing that allowed women to move.
It felt as though Matthieu Blazy had taken that suit—not as a template,
but as a point of departure—
reviving the brand’s origins and reinterpreting them through a contemporary lens.
As I looked around the store, clients walked in one after another—
many of them appearing as though they had been at the show the night before.
Their expressions carried a mixture of anticipation and excitement.
Even the rhythm of the staff, the atmosphere of the boutique,
felt touched by the lingering afterglow of the show.
It was subtle, but unmistakable:
CHANEL was in the process of becoming something new—
without ever abandoning what had always defined it.
How should we read this new CHANEL?
Some reactions online said,
“This isn’t the CHANEL we know,”
or “It feels too simple.”
But those impressions are mostly shaped by a screen.
The essence of CHANEL—past and present—has never existed only on the runway.
It lives in the hands that make the clothes.
On PhiloMode, I’ve written many times about the artisans and the métiers d’art who sustain the brand’s identity:
Lesage for embroidery,
Lemarié for feathers and camellias,
Maison Michel for millinery,
Massaro for shoes,
Desrues for jewelry and buttons.
Each atelier contributes not as a supplier,
but as a part of a collective rhythm—
a constellation of craftsmanship forming a single narrative.
They can begin beauty from something as small as a button,
a ribbon, or a single stitch.
That “memory of the hand” is what endures,
no matter how the silhouette or styling evolves.
In this collection, there were looks that appeared minimal and almost understated—
yet up close, the jacket was fully embroidered with beads,
an obsessive level of craftsmanship hidden beneath restraint.
It wasn’t simplicity.
It was intention.
A quiet confidence that didn’t need to announce itself—
because the work was already speaking.
Craftsmanship living quietly beneath the surface.
And to me, that is where CHANEL’s enduring strength lies.
Until I meet that piece again
This collection is Spring–Summer 2026.
And already, I’m counting the days until it arrives in boutiques
(estimated release: March 2026).
When it finally does,
I know I’ll reach for that one look—the one that stopped my breath—
and I’ll remember watching the show in a Paris hotel room,
wide awake with excitement.
Paris, during Fashion Week
People from all over the world who love fashion filled the city—
in cafés, on the metro, and wandering the small side streets.
Even without announcements, Paris carried the unmistakable energy of Fashion Week.
I asked a friend who lives in the city:
“Does Paris really feel different during this time?”
She laughed and replied,
“Oui, bien sûr — of course.”
Some were in Paris for work.
Some simply came to dress up, to observe, or to feel part of something.
Many arrived from other European cities just for the weekend.
Everyone walked with intention—as if expressing their own definition of fashion.
And in those moments, Paris felt less like a city and more like a continuous runway,
alive with anticipation and possibility.
And then—
Paris became the backdrop for a turning point at Chanel.
I watched the collection in real time — not from the show venue, but from within the same city, through a screen.
Still, the feeling of sharing the moment was undeniable.
That night, Paris felt slightly tense, almost aware that something new was beginning.
What Matthieu Blazy introduced wasn’t simply a shift in design —
it felt closer to a redefinition of how the house sees itself.
The restrained silhouettes and gender-fluid proportions were one sign of it.
But the choice of staging — a runway arranged like a universe with planets — carried meaning beyond aesthetics.
According to the official narrative, it symbolized continuity:
Coco Chanel, Karl Lagerfeld, Virginie Viard — we have always been connected.
Nothing more was explained, yet it reminded me of the 2002 couture collection, Constellation.
In that show, Karl imagined Chanel as a galaxy, where each atelier and each craft existed like a star contributing to a larger identity.
Blazy’s universe felt like a contemporary interpretation of that idea — not repeated, but reframed.
To me, the message was clear:
Chanel is not driven by a single viewpoint.
It operates through a network of mastery — embroidery, millinery, shoemaking, feather work, jewelry —
each independent, yet forming one shared narrative.
No atelier exists alone.
Together, they build a language that belongs to the house, not just the designer.
Blazy didn’t shout that message.
He simply placed it there — steady, confident, and intentional.
Chanel will continue to change.
But the reason it creates beauty — the foundation behind the work — remains unchanged.
Realizing that here, in Paris, made this trip feel meaningful in a way that went beyond simply watching a show.
If you’re interested in the 2002 “Constellation” Haute Couture collection,
I’ve written about it in a previous article — you can find it here.
