“You’re in the Egyptian Room,” I was told upon entering The Row’s Fall 2025 show. Up a flight of stairs on Rue des Capucines I found said room, which wasn’t very Egyptian—aside from the figures in the Napoleonic moldings that marched in a circle under the ceiling. There were a couple dozen guests chit-chatting, a handful of chairs, and two ample couches, one of which I nabbed a seat on so as to not get caught wanting. When the show was about to start, the chairless among us—VICs, EICs, and all—were encouraged to sit on the floor.
I realized at this moment that it’s actually quite chic to sit on the floor, especially when done at a nice apartment during an after-party or at the behest of The Row. It encourages one to take exotic postures, perhaps leaning on a knee or half-lying back perched on elbows. It’s rare at fashion shows that you gain this type of wisdom.
When the models came out, we were treated to the next surprise: none of them were wearing shoes. And like every other simp who worships the Olsens, I thought, “Wow, not wearing shoes is quite chic too.” But it’s all about the details. We didn’t see bare feet or pajamas, but rather fully dressed women in a spectrum of tights. And that matters, because bed-rotting at home is slovenly, whereas being in a perpetual state of about-to-go-out-ness is apt for a woman who wears The Row.
In recent years, The Row has achieved a type of cultural dominance that allows it to decide these things and break certain rules. But it’s done with a purpose. See, people think that luxury is about an I Don’t Give a Fuck attitude, but in fact it’s about an I Don’t Need to Give a Fuck attitude. Needing to give a fuck is the true state of mediocrity, whereas giving a fuck when you don’t have to is sophisticated. And it’s with this approach that The Row stands head and shoulders above its followers—the copycat brands that Rachel Tashjian cleverly nicknamed “The Rowdents.” At a time when so many fashion shows seem algorithmically generated by merchandisers—something I equate to the AI “slop” that now is flooding social media—The Row is able to do things that pass a CAPTCHA test. Even small idiosyncrasies, like a sweater with one sleeve tucked into the strap of a top or a blazer half-tucked into a pant, are proofs of life—or at least that people can afford to be frivolous and, quintessentially, human.
As for the clothes, have a look for yourself, but essentially, they played the hits. Let’s instead focus on the infamous post-show food offering, which has become a cult fascination in some circles. Here’s a review of each option:
Chicken Broth: Thicker and pleasantly more fatty than a classic consummé. Big tang to the flavor, definitely from ginger and likely from some type of hot pepper.
Ham and Cheese Baguette: Bread is perfect size and texture—not too wide and not too hard as to injure the soft palette. Could use a cornichon and maybe some mustard.
Chicken Sandwich: Quite frankly divine. Imagine the Platonic ideal of a Chicken Club at somewhere like The Ritz. Worth eating in an alleyway so as to not get papped by streetstyle photographers.
Have a look yourself whenever the images come out.