Michael Rider knows that Paris can suffocate. Especially when it is saturated with nostalgia and lacking fresh air. So he escaped literally and figuratively. Instead of another staged spectacle in the marble halls of Avenue Montaigne, he brought fashion to Parc de Saint-Cloud, to an alley scented with moss, where birdsong mixed with the rustle of silk. It was a gesture that seemed romantic but was, in fact, ruthlessly strategic. Rider was not merely seeking nature; he was seeking freedom from Parisian snobbery the kind of perfection in fashion that begins to feel like stale air.
In the shade of trees, in a theatre built for the occasion, Celine briefly forgot it was a house of fashion. The show resembled more a stroll, a Sunday morning when Paris still sleeps, and the only duty is to look good. “I thought it would be nice to go out of the city and go to a park where, in my opinion, people have a good time,” Rider said after the show, almost casually. Yet this sentence contains his entire philosophy: fashion should no longer be only a presentation of luxury, but a conversation about life, about movement, about looking good without trying too hard.
The fact that Rider remained faithful to the “foundation,” as he called it, does not mean stagnation. On the contrary it is the smartest way to maintain control over his own design language. Under his direction, Celine has no room for a confetti-style revolution. This is evolution with surgical precision. Rider takes Phoebe Philo’s legacy, the ironic coolness of Hedi Slimane, and filters them through his own American sensibility honed during eight years at Polo Ralph Lauren, where the perfect sweater could be as poetic as a poem. The result? Clothes that look like luxury with a human face. Soft shouldered blazers, scarf collars, jewelry that seems found in an antique shop, and bags worn as if they might slip off at any moment. This is Céline that does not try and precisely for that reason, it looks stunning.
“When I returned to Paris, I was so happy to see that cycling had become fashionable here,” Rider laughs. This detail is no accident. A Celine cycling helmet becomes a metaphor for his philosophy: mobility, modernity, lightness. In a world still trying to fit fashion into the frames of “Parisian style,” Rider shows that such a style can be dismantled with a single stroke. Or rather a perfectly designed coat.
What is most remarkable is that Rider maintained the level of the menswear line, which is almost a phenomenon in mixed shows. Men’s silhouettes are dynamic, precisely tailored, yet carry the spirit of the street. Blazers shaped like “apple cores,” slim jeans, tuxedos treated with self-irony, and preppy inspirations: silk polo and rugby shirts oversized in cut born from an afternoon in the Hamptons but designed for a Parisian café. You may have seen it before, yes but never in such a proportion of elegance and ease. It feels as though every model has just dismounted a bicycle and stepped onto the runway.
As for the women, they are not muses in Rider’s Céline. They are co-creators. Baby doll dresses in soigne boucle, psychedelic floral motifs, oversized polo shirts these are not proposals for princesses of the 7th arrondissement, but for women who like to question authority. There is a nonchalance of Jane Birkin in their movement, but also the boldness of modern women who do not wait to be called stylish. Rider designs for women who dictate the tone themselves.
The show lacked the electric charge of Rider’s debut and rightly so. A debut is lightning; the second show is weather. Rider knows fashion should not be a one time flash of brilliance, but a state of being. Celine 2026 is a house that has learned to breathe: deeply, modernly, with a touch of irony. And that is why Rider is no longer simply “the new creative director of Celine.” He is Celine.
Photos courtesy of Celine
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