Hermès menswear finds poise between heritage and now
There is a strange intimacy in watching a runway show online. You lose the thrum of the crowd—the collective intake of breath when the lights go down—but you gain something else: the privilege of detail. The camera lingers where the eye might wander—not just silhouettes, but the way a hem lifts, a sleeve folds. Freed from the need to capture it on your phone, you can simply watch.
That’s how I encountered Hermès’ Winter 2025 menswear show, streamed from Hong Kong, a city already humming with its own cadence, now momentarily aligned with the measured rhythm of Véronique Nichanian’s vision.
The collection’s title, “Ready-Set-Casaque!” signaled its starting point. The casaque, the racing jersey, is a symbol of equestrian tradition—a motif Hermès has long cherished. But here, refracted through the screen, it felt less like nostalgia and more like reinvention. Stripes and bold blocks of color punctuated the show like racing flags—flashes of urgency against an otherwise subdued canvas of browns, grays, and charcoals. The effect on video was almost cinematic—moments of stillness interrupted by jolts of color, like quick edits spliced into a steady reel.
What struck me most was the silhouette. The coats had presence—not through heft, but through precision. Lines that spoke quietly but firmly. Shoulders softened just enough to breathe, hems crisp, movements sculpted rather than stiff. Long outerwear swept the runway, counterbalanced by shorter jackets and trousers that shifted between slim and wide. Online, where scale can be deceptive, these choices felt intentional. Each look built a rhythm you could read even without the sound of footsteps.
Then came the textures—half-translated through video. Blanket-finished parkas, cashmere flannel, dense wools: You could see their weight, the way fabric resisted or yielded to movement, but you couldn’t feel the hush of touch. Still, there was something tactile about watching. The camera caught a fold at the elbow, a seam arcing around the shoulder—details that hinted at sensation without offering it. These clothes, in their restraint, seemed to ask the viewer to lean in.
Utility surfaced everywhere but never shouted. Balaclavas tucked beneath coats, hoods rising like quiet shields, parkas cut for weather yet refined enough for city streets. Garments of protection, rendered with elegance. On screen, their duality became sharper: They hid and revealed, enclosed and framed, offered anonymity while insisting on form. In an age of loud declarations, Hermès reminded us that subtlety carries its own radical weight.
And always, the city. To stage this show in Hong Kong was no coincidence. The skyline outside, the former Kai Tak airport reborn as cruise terminal, lent context — echoing last June’s womenswear show on the banks of Shanghai’s Huangpu River, where the maison again met place with purpose. Even mediated through a screen, the location added energy — a grit that balanced Hermès’ heritage. The casaque, once bound to European racecourses, now pulsed in dialogue with an Asian metropolis. The result wasn’t East borrowing West, or West repackaging East, but something more fluid: a conversation in cloth across geographies.
Of course, distance muted certain notes. I missed the collective gasp, the applause, the electricity between model and audience. Online, the atmosphere compresses into frames. Timing is edited. Silence is curated. Perhaps some pieces — those defined by volume, sway, or the sound of fabric in air—lost a measure of their power. Yet paradoxically, the screen sharpened the details, reminding me that Hermès’ strength lies not in spectacle but in the quiet mastery of finish.
By the final look, it was clear: The show unfolded not like a sprint, but a canter. The title may have promised a race, but Hermès does not race. It sets its own pace, refining rather than chasing, whispering rather than shouting. In a fashion landscape crowded with noise, that restraint felt daring.
When the stream ended, the images lingered: a flash of red, a charcoal coat, a balaclava framing the jaw. Hermès doesn’t overwhelm you with novelty. It leaves you with fragments, impressions that unfold slowly, like memory.
And perhaps that is the truest mark of luxury.
