Community has always been the bloodline of Martine Rose’s universe. But hers isn’t the kind that gets rolled out as marketing speak. It’s lived-in, felt, reciprocal—a network formed through time and trust. A vision so sharp it slices through the noise. With Spring 2026, Rose doesn’t just invite us into her world. She throws open the doors, pulls back the curtains (literally), and says, “Come in. Take your time. Stay awhile.”
This June, with London Fashion Week on pause, Rose showed anyway—returning to her hometown after a season away and a Milan detour the year before. The welcome home was overwhelming. The room brims with presence and purpose—from editors and designers Simone Rocha and Craig Green, to poet-activist Kai-Isaiah Jamal (“Of course we’d all show up for Martine!”) and 17-year-old photographers like Arthur Anstee (ACA). People don’t just attend a Martine Rose event—they arrive with intention because Martine means something. She’s the North Star of London fashion. Whether you’re front row or first-timer, you feel the pull.
Downstairs before the show, Rose set up a market. Not a gimmick, not a backdrop. It’s a living, breathing tribute to the traders, makers, and creatives who give London its cultural backbone. Open to the public all weekend, it brings together longtime collaborators and rising voices: from designers like Jawara Alleyne, Pig Ignorant, and Yaz XL, to independent publications like MARFA Journal, SMUT, and CRAP, to record labels like Atlantis Records and vintage curators like Tina’s Vintage. “These are the names who contribute to the cultural life and dynamism of London,” Rose says. “That needs celebrating.”
Alleyne echoes that spirit of openness and reverence: “It means a lot to see my work alongside Martine’s. There’s such care in how she tells stories through clothes, and I’m honored to be part of that.” He adds, “I love how she removes hierarchy in the way she invites people in. It makes space for kids to see themselves in fashion.”
Upstairs: a transformation. A derelict Job Center in Lisson Grove is reimagined as a plush salon—parquet floors, heavy ruffled curtains, a powdery haze of sensual lighting and smog. The juxtaposition is classic Martine: the everyday made opulent, the functional re-staged as fantasy. “I wanted to surprise everyone,” she says. “The market feels familiar, and then you go up a level and it takes you somewhere else. That’s new for me.”
For the duration of the show—aside from the finale—guests are requested to put away their phones. Not a demand, just a gentle ask. “I just wanted everyone to be with me for ten minutes,” Martine says, smiling. “When we did the friends-and-family show without phones, it completely changed the atmosphere. I didn’t want to tell anyone off. But I love when people break the rules. They should.”
And what a ten minutes it is. Models pose mid-runway, salon-style. Some smirk, others swerve with practiced nonchalance—the casting by Isabel Bush is as considered as the clothes themselves. They’re Martine’s crew: icons-in-the-making, past muses, future stars. Local legends get cheered like rockstars. You can feel the love in the room.
Each look arrives like a thesis—on offbeat elegance, frictional beauty, and cool with a kink. The silhouette twists between restraint and release, engineered for maximum tension. Shirts cling like shapewear; puffers grip the body with corseted precision. Leather outerwear is cropped and shrunken, pulled tight in the wrong—and therefore right—places. Drainpipe pants stretch beneath broad-shouldered jackets, and high socks meet mules, including fresh colorways of her ongoing Nike Shox collaboration. “Everything feels a bit cinched, a bit too tight, slightly awkward, but somehow still sexy,” Rose says. “It’s that beauty where you don’t know why you find it attractive, but you just do.”
She riffs on retro erotica and gorp-core alike: a bralette with zip-up climbing hardware; boxer shorts trimmed in lace; tracksuits spliced with sailing jackets and anoraks. Daisy Dukes paired with tailored blazers. And everywhere are cheeky nods to pleasure and play: personal ads printed on scarves (“Hung stud seeks horny…”), satin-wrapped clutches, and accessories that feel like private jokes made public. “I like a lightness of touch,” she says. “Humor’s one of my favorite things, and accessories are a fun way to bring that in. Some of the bags are actual T-shirts—it’s a reference back to Spring 2013.”
Beneath the humor, there’s elegance too. Ruffled aprons come in seductive satin—and, in one iteration, sheer plastic. Driving shoes are reimagined as square-toed pumps in glossy wine leather. Wig-shop prints and barbershop capes appear across garments that honour London’s high streets—not just in name, but in material, memory, and spirit. “I’m always inspired by the high streets,” Rose says. “The energy. The people who keep them alive.”
The music, by Sasa Crnobrnja, matches the softness of the space. Less club, more boudoir. “It’s like sex, but a different kind of sex,” Rose says. “Sort of a soft-focus, ’70s smeary sex. I wanted people to hear the sound properly this time. Feel the breath in it.” That hazy intimacy runs through the entire experience—from the sounds to the bounce in Gary Gill’s hair design. “We wanted the hair to feel like it was breathing,” she adds. “Something dreamy, but still real.”
That’s exactly what the show delivers. It’s a celebration—not the kind that ends in selfies and champagne, but the kind that means something. There’s no posturing with Rose, no hollow sell of aspiration. What she does is so much harder: She builds a world—brick by brick, look by look, moment by moment. And when it’s ready, she makes space for veterans, rookies, rebels, and romantics alike. If you’ve ever felt like an outsider, Martine’s is a place you can call home. Even if only for ten minutes. By the end, the applause is deafening. Not performative, not polite—but earned.
So yes, Martine Rose is the GOAT. And when I tell her that, she blushes. Don’t let the humility fool you. What she’s created reaches far beyond fashion—and this season, it expanded with generosity, free of ego. To those who’ve shaped its foundations, the kids coming up next, and all of us lucky enough to be invited. Even if we broke the no-phones rule.