Mfpen is no longer one of Copenhagen’s hidden gems. Yes, the office remains in a space above an Irish pub, but the “at home” shopping experience (you could buy things at the studio) is no longer available. That’s because last year the brand opened a shiny new flagship store, which better serves their ever-expanding fan base. (LVMH’s stake in Our Legacy, whose playbook Mfpen has hewed close to, bodes well for the Danish brand.)
When I asked Sigurd Bank, who once likened Mfpen to an indie band, if he’s now playing bigger “venues,” he said, “I feel the venue is the same size. It’s just harder to get a ticket, and the repertoire of songs is slightly bigger. But at the same time, there are still no hit songs.” Translation: Bank is trying to maintain a low profile despite Mfpen’s expansion. At the same time the brand’s success has spurred the designer to take some extra teeth out, which is a translation of a Danish expression relating to putting in extra effort. “It’s just going deeper; it’s becoming more and more like a ‘real’ brand,” Bank said on a call. He noted that many of the upgrades are intended more to be felt than seen, as they relate to fit, fabric, and production. Yet even at a glance, it’s plain to see that the collection is tighter and Bank and team have doubled down on their formula, centered on the clash between the classic and the countercultural.
As always the collection was made using recycled and deadstock fabrics. For fall these included a dense and luscious wool herringbone, used for a double-breasted coat with the closures moved up just a bit. One pair of jeans had a retro stitched seam center-front on the legs. A generously cut car coat had a kind of modish flair; suiting materials were used for jackets that might have more traditionally been made using nylon or leather. In terms of surfaces, materials were brushed and treated to have an almost supple and soft suedelike touch, and there were unexpected transparencies, including on patterned sweaters worn over shirts and ties, and a wrap skirt and top set for women. The T-shirts printed with a face and the word “fear” referenced the “No Fear” T-shirts popular in the ’90s, which one Reddit user described as “peak Xennial.”
In the context of this collection, the T-shirt was more than nostalgic; it carried the name of the collection. Clothes, Bank observed, have the power to evoke anxiety. And he knows whereof he speaks: “Growing up I was listening to hardcore and skateboarding and doing graffiti—this was my scene,” he explained. So-called Brians (i.e., tough-guy bullies) who rode mopeds and wore Schott bomber jackets, No Fear T-shirts, and boots “wanted to beat up guys like me,” he said. This collection turned the table on that dynamic. The many plaids that appeared, including on scarves, (which in some cases were repurposed as skirts) were an oh-so-subtle nod to punks’ tartans.
This collection read just as well without the backstory; at the same time it’s interesting that Bank landed on this theme now, as the industry is gingerly entering into the new season, with many people wondering if a challenging environment—in retail and otherwise—will result in “safe” collections. That’s a developing story, but perhaps the times call for tempered, day-to-day drama rather than spectacle. Bank, for one, proves that there’s nothing to be afraid of when it comes to embracing “bad” taste. “We talk a lot about ugly fabrics,” said the designer, who used one such material—black with metallic silver stripes—for a pair of trousers shown with a creamy blazer. “A white blazer is always fearful for me; you cannot wear that!” he exclaimed. And yet there it is. In this case, tacky is as tacky does.
