Two Birds, One Pattern
Viktor & Rolf‘s Fall 2025 couture fashion show review
By Mackenzie Richard Zuckerman
Transformation is a well-worn theme in fashion, but Viktor & Rolf rarely approach it the expected way. This season, they staged a kind of sartorial showdown: two models at a time—one inflated, the other deflated—entering from opposite sides of the runway, meeting mid-stage as if confronting their own reflection. The concept was clear from the outset: each look would be shown twice, built from the same pattern but radically altered through volume and stuffing. One version was theatrical and buoyant, the other fluid and stripped back. In theory, it was a study in contrast and craftsmanship; in practice, it posed a more unsettling question—what, exactly, are we supposed to take away from this transformation?
THE COLLECTION
THE VIBE
The designers spoke of feathers—ethically made, colorful, and wholly fabricated by hand—used to stuff the first look of each pair, rendering it full and grandiose. Remove the feathers, and the second look droops into a quieter silhouette: draped, unstructured, softened. The choreography supported the idea beautifully; the mirrored movements and theatrical pacing made the transformation visually legible, even poetic at times. But clarity of performance didn’t translate into clarity of purpose.
There were gestures toward deeper meanings: “angry birds” was mentioned pre-show, and there’s the long-standing Viktor & Rolf theme of duality and doubling. Yet these references felt more gestural than grounded. Were we meant to consider the inflated silhouette a fantasy, and the deflated one a come-down? Was this a commentary on artifice, exhaustion, or the after-effects of indulgence? If so, the message got muddled. The flamboyant looks, weighed down by volume and multicolor feathers, veered theatrical without quite reaching fabulous. And their paired-down counterparts, though often more graceful and closer to couture in their wearability, felt emotionally diminished—more faded echo than thoughtful alternative.
The decision to forgo makeup and millinery in the second looks further exaggerated the contrast but also contributed to a strange emotional deflation. Without the feathered headpieces (designed by Stephen Jones), those second looks didn’t just feel lighter; they felt lonelier.
THE DIRECTION
THE QUOTE
As creative people, our tool is to make something that can, hopefully, transcend—to offer a dream people can feel. That’s always the desire. Even the feathers were handmade from transparent fabric, crafted to suggest weightlessness, fantasy, and care—because every detail is part of the dream.
THE WRAP UP
This wasn’t an empty concept. There’s genuine technical merit here, particularly in how the designers rendered transformation not through metaphor but through repetition and reversal. It’s a clever conceit, and the execution showed discipline. But where Viktor & Rolf typically marry intellect with irreverent beauty, this outing felt caught in a conceptual halfway point. The clothes themselves struggled to shine beneath the weight of the idea.
The inflated garments weren’t quite fantastical enough to dazzle, and the deflated ones—while quietly elegant—often came across as the afterthoughts of their louder twins. The colorful feathers, rather than elevating the aesthetic, skewed slightly tacky. Had they been black, or even tonal, the result might have leaned darker, moodier, more deliberate.
In the end, the transformation was visible—but not particularly moving. For all its thoughtfulness, the show left us wondering not what changed, but what was lost along the way.
