As the size of the venue and the guest list suggested, all eyes have been on Ellen Hodakova Larsson since she won the 2024 LVMH Prize. This nature- and horse-loving Swedish designer isn’t in the game to be in the spotlight particularly, and I couldn’t help but wonder if all the attention on her person as well as her work somehow got her thinking about what she termed “body fragility.”
While nobody would describe Hodakova as a prudish brand—the archive includes a dress made of clear Saran wrap—the body, even when visible, has played a supporting role to the main protagonists, the clothes. An online teaser video of a couple breathing, touching, and blowing on each other’s skin suggested that was about to change—and how! The opening number was Larsson’s take on the rock chick’s uniform—Kohl-rimmed eyes, tousled hair, and black leather head to toe—including second-skin bumsters laced on the sides. It also introduced a new covetable and capacious bag. Post-show, the designer spoke about how she wanted to create very narrow, linear shapes—punk Giacometti figures. It was unclear if the way the models were grasping the waists of their pants was movement direction or simply a way to keep them up, as there was some awkwardness regarding fit and mobility throughout the show.
Tailoring, usually made using upcycled men’s suiting, is a Hodakova pillar, and these kinds of looks were interspersed with the sexier ones. This is one of the ways that Larsson played with balancing, as she put it, “the vulnerable you and the strong you.” The designer made great use of soft-piled corduroy, cutting it into a brown hourglass dress and a black double-breasted pantsuit destined for a latter-day Mick Jagger, and which, she confirmed, was a teaser of Hodakova menswear.
Restriction and release was another theme; the former expressed by shroud-shaped dresses that cocooned the models and their arms. They were gentler, less armor-like takes on spring’s shield-inspired pieces. The glitter of a flapper-like skirt (paired with a belt-hemmed trench cut to the hips) suggested nights of abandon. Then, a change of pace.
Hodakova walks her dog in an open field near her office, which she described as her “breathy” place. This seems to have put her onto the idea of wind, cutting circles into very large men’s trousers and using them to create coif-like pieces for “fashion nuns,” as well as more transgressive designs, such as a naked dress that was like a scarf made of flat folded pants with a hole for the head, its panels floating freely, and revealingly. A long, off-the-shoulder pant dress with a squared back had a touch of medieval romance. Shirts that had an upside-down short front on the reverse looked great—and scalable.
Larsson’s multiples—immortalized by Cate Blanchett in a Hodakova spoons look—took a few forms. The designer used vintage fur hats to create garments once again, and she introduced music strings for the first time. It’s not just bodies with which we can have intimate relationships; music is also close to us and can help us make sense of the world. We live in a time of dissonance and confusion, yet the freeform compositions Larsson made of filaments which fronted white dresses or caged naked torsos had a certain jazz-like order. The penultimate look featured the base of a snare drum, which could have been an accessory or a skirt, and the finale was a model somewhat suffocatingly confined in a double bass, with her head and legs free. The symbolism was challenging to parse: Music, unlike a garment, though often produced with an instrument, is—like wind—ephemeral. This collection was teeming with ideas, maybe too many, and felt more theme-reliant than in the past; not everything hit a high note. A perfect pitch takes time to develop. Fashion would do well to listen well as Larsson continues to develop hers.
