At Loewe, Serious Intrigue and Great Clothes

One of the most delightful shows in Paris wasn’t a show at all. It was a — what? Exhibition? Career retrospective? Opportunity to snack on gossip along with some croissants?

Officially it was the Loewe Fall 2025 men’s and women’s wear presentation, held in the ornate halls of the 18th century Pozzo di Borgo, the hôtel particulier residence of Karl Lagerfeld that, since his death, has become one of fashion’s favorite venues. (In the hopes, perhaps, that some of that Lagerfeldian mystique remains in the halls.)

Unofficially, it was — maybe, possibly — the last chance to see the version of Loewe that emerged from the mind of the designer Jonathan Anderson, who is widely expected to be leaving the brand to move to Dior.

LVMH, which owns both houses, has resolutely refused to comment. Loewe employees at the presentation smiled coyly and offered to talk about the collection. Mr. Anderson, who had recently posted on Instagram what seemed like a two-and-a-half-minute greatest hits compilation of his 10 years at the house (Look, there’s Daniel Craig in a weird woolly jumper! Look, here’s a puzzle bag! Look, Rihanna at the Super Bowl!) was nowhere to be seen. He had reportedly checked the setup, and left the building.

No matter. You could see him in the clothes. In the giant pumpkin by the British artist Anthea Hamilton, which had appeared at a 2022 show, that greeted everyone at the entrance. And in the fact that even Jamie Dornan, one of the house’s ambassadors, was strolling through the rooms, perhaps contemplating how he would look in some giant leather boots that resembled a pair of waders from the closet of a Three Musketeer.

If this was, indeed, a last collection, it was a telling one.

The house called it a “scrapbook” of ideas, but it served as a reminder of all the elements that made Mr. Anderson’s Loewe one of the most exciting brands in the post-Covid fashion world: the sophisticated craftiness and counterintuitive choices; the impossibility of predicting where things would go next; the sense that if you wore any of this stuff, you would immediately feel like the most unexpected, interesting person in any room. Also, there were always great coats.

In one still life, for example, mannequins wearing dresses made of loops and loops of beaded organza in coral, evergreen and azure, clustered like a group of sea anemones schmoozing at a cocktail party. A strapless frock with a top composed entirely of what seemed like iridescent soap bubbles was suspended in a window frame. Another frame contained more of those gargantuan boots paired with a leather pea coat, as if an invisible woman had been caught in midentrance. Some nymph-like draped jersey gowns were positioned in front of a giant green apple. Tempting!

There was a cabinet of curiosities — sorry, shoes, including a Mary Jane covered in little crystals and a ballet flat, knit like a cable sweater. More jackets and trench coats made of wide strips of leather, hung from epaulet to blouson waist, in case anyone forgot Loewe was born as a Spanish leather house (Mr. Anderson never did).

And a collaboration with the Josef & Anni Albers Foundation, so the work of the Bauhaus artists inspired nubby coats in the pixelated patterns of Ms. Albers’ textiles and skirts derived from Mr. Albers’ painting series “Homage to the Square.” Only because this was Mr. Anderson, he made his homage to the homage in — circles. Anyway, there were also handbags with the squares reproduced in caviar beading to make the connection clear.

Upstairs, past some supersize reproductions of Mr. Anderson’s flower figure jewelry charms apparently in the midst of sliding down a banister, there was a men’s wear room set up like a consciousness-raising session, filled with mannequins perched in chairs in various iterations of knitwear (the jacket and tee turned into a twin set, a lavishly Fair Isle quarter-zip) and more leather.

The clothes were so intriguing it seemed sad not to have been able to see them come to life on a runway. At the same time, even without the magic of a show — no hair, no makeup, no strut — they still looked magnetically original. If they could do that for a mannequin, just imagine what they could do for you.