Fashion girlies live for a good conspiracy. Has the determined French creative director cosied up to a storied Italian house, or is the gravitational pull of a namesake label too irresistible? How on earth has that controversial stylist-slash-magazine founder managed to evade cancel culture? And, seriously, who the fuck is Boring Not Com? (Not that I’m losing any sleep over it.) Even Burberry’s Daniel Lee isn’t immune to the gossip grapevine—whispers suggest he might be plotting a grand exit after Fall 2025, perhaps eyeing a new role at Jil Sander. All of this, of course, remains unsubstantiated.
And so the show must go on. Arriving at Tate Britain, I felt as though I’d crashed an A-list house party. This was my second Burberry show (yes, I snagged a seat), and I was elated. The gathering was an eclectic mélange of celebrities, influential dressers, and influenced industry insiders. Yet the undeniable star of the evening was the literal knight in shining armour named Jack, whose charm (or whatever we could catch from him) had everyone clamouring for a pic—Anna Wintour included. (Same.) The venue was swelteringly hot, and after the 12th celebrity stopped him for a snap, I couldn’t help but feel for the poor guy.
The seating was a mishmash of what looked like flea market relics (complimentary), all swathed in a uniform tapestry landscape print that also majestically adorned the entrances. During an impromptu interview, we prodded Nicholas Hoult to repeat a joke he’d teased in our upcoming print re-launch. With wit, he retorted, “It’s much too long to repeat—you’ll have to pick up a copy yourself.” Touché.
I overheard a frazzled PR exec fretting over Lauryn Hill—allegedly demanding a second town car and still holed up in her hotel. Iconic. Meanwhile, Orlando Bloom found himself besieged by a harem of rowdy journalists, each desperate for content, only for him to swiftly send them off with his trusty security guard. “I worry I’ll say something I’ll regret!” he quipped politely. Selah Marley arrived sporting the biggest suede Birkin I’ve ever seen. And then Kim Cattrall graced us with a fleeting 15 seconds of Itgirl wisdom: “Don’t be polite. Do have fun.”
Just as the show was about to start, Hill arrived draped in more tartans than one could possibly handle—I loved it. Next to her were her daughter Selah Marley and, on the opposite side, Law Roach with his glistening hair—“What wig?” I even caught a glimpse of Natalie Dyer and Jonathan Byers from Stranger Things across the room, though my attention was quickly commandeered by Geri Halliwell’s all-white moment at the row’s end. Justice for Ginger Spice.
As for the clothes? The collection featured sumptuous knitted twin sets crafted from earthy, ribbed cashmere, pleated skirts and languid pants boasting rich house checks, and lightweight silk dresses paired with fabulously tailored suits in jewel tones enhanced by velvet brocade. In the realm of outerwear—where Burberry is king—there were wool grey coats with textured collars, gargantuan anoraks in glossy brown leather, and black biker jackets with golden shearling linings so pronounced they seemed almost bestial. Each piece offered subtle nods to Lee’s tenure at the brand. “The collection began with an exploration of British society and period dramas—inspired by films like Saltburn,” said Lee post-show. “I spent a lot of time walking in nature during autumn in Yorkshire, and that experience greatly influenced our colour choices.”
There were also tributes to Lee’s era at Bottega Veneta: sleek, figure-hugging maxi dresses and trenches festooned with intricate embroidery and fringing, alongside knitted separates and extravagant scarves with over-blown, twisted tassels—deep-cut references that true aficionados would register in an instance. The casting was, as expected, of elite caliber: from supermodels like Naomi Campbell, Karen Elson, and Erin O’Connor, to actors such as The Crown’s Lesley Manville, Saltburn’s Richard E. Grant, and White Lotus’ Jason Isaacs (best known to some as Harry Potter’s Lucius Malfoy). “Casting for Burberry is incredibly exciting,” Lee stated, adding, “We collaborate with outstanding British models from the past, present, and future, as well as celebrated actors who epitomise British society on the global stage.”
As I stood up to leave, I overheard a fellow editor send a voice note to her director, saying, “It’s the cuntiest Burberry collection I’ve ever seen.” And I must agree. Jack, the knight, shared the same sentiment. When asked for his opinion, he hesitated, saying, “I’m not sure I’m allowed to say, I’m afraid,” but his enthusiastic thumbs-up said it all.
Backstage, in the hectic scrum of journalists—in the Harry and Carol Djanogly Gallery surrounded by artworks like Psyche Before the Throne of Venus by Henrietta Rae, 1894, and The Lament for Icarus by Herbert James Draper, 1898—a critic questioned Lee’s future with the brand. “I love the brand; it’s an honour to work for Burberry—Josh [Schulman, Burberry’s CEO] has been with us for just over six months, and things are steadily improving,” said Lee. “The overall environment is very positive, and we’re all in a great place right now.” How diplomatic. While I remain speculative about whether this collection might serve as his swansong, it’s Lee’s business and not mine. In the words of Onijah Andrew Robinson—the American woman who took Pakistan (and the internet) by storm—“It’s private.”