There’s actually nothing weird about Ellen Hodakova Larsson’s designs. Instead, there’s something profoundly sagacious—poetic yet raw, controlled yet free. Her Fall 2025 Hodakova collection, shown in the 5th arrondissement of Paris, was no exception.
This season, an undercurrent of darkness ran through the collection. “I’ve been out walking on a field near my studio, this huge open space where I always walk my dog,” Larsson shared backstage. “I wanted that feeling—that freedom you get when the wind rushes through you, when you’re just in the mood of energy.” But this wasn’t the pastoral nostalgia of last season. The softness had given way to something tougher, moodier. “I guess this year was a little bit more… rocky,” she admitted with a knowing smile.
That tension—between protection and exposure, fragility and force—played out in the garments. Tailored pants were layered, twisted, and reshaped, a brooding riff on power dressing. Meanwhile, vintage fur hats were reimagined as sculptural accents, reinforcing her commitment to repurposing old materials. “Of course,” she said when asked if sustainability remained central to her work. “I would never stop.”
Beyond her signature Hodakova-isms—pants transformed into dresses, belts unexpectedly peppered onto cuffs and hems—there were more overt instrumental references. A violin perched on a model’s head, a drum repurposed into a mini skirt, strings chaotically threaded through separates.
And then, the moment no one could stop talking about—a model closed the show encased in a cello. Yes, a real cello. Her hands were enclosed, rendering her movement almost spectral, the instrument serving as both armor and constraint. The symbolism was impossible to ignore: a meditation on the weight of artistry, the binding nature of creation. Or maybe it’s just a lol? Either way it solicited a chuckle from the audience. “As a child, I played the violin,” Larsson revealed. “Music is energy. It holds moods, emotions—it carries you.” The collection itself seemed to hum with that same dynamism, oscillating between sharp tailoring and ethereal draping, between power and vulnerability.
That push-and-pull defined even the construction of the garments. “Every season, we’ve done this kind of inside-out layering,” she explained. “It’s about fragility—the contrast between boldness and the naked body, between the tightness of skin and the shell you wear when you meet the world.”
That’s the essence of Hodakova. It’s not just about clothes; it’s about states of being, about the contradictions we carry, about the beauty in restraint and release. What might first appear strange—outlandish, even—quickly reveals itself as something deeper, something you don’t just want to wear. You want to feel it. You want to live in it. Hodakova isn’t following the rhythm—she’s composing her own.
