Before we even get to the clothes, Burç Akyol’s show notes are the most heartfelt meditation not only on fashion, but on France right now, that anyone has penned in recent memory. That he wrote them himself, in English, is all the more remarkable, given that the designer taught himself how to write and speak in a language not his own by listening to mix tapes like “Best of Love,” featuring the Fugees, Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, and Simon and Garfunkel, and transposing it phonetically on paper. It should be essential reading for anyone who wants to get a handle on French social politics, especially if they want to do it in three minutes or less.
Akyol’s fall collection is called Made in Dreux because he grew up in that town west of Paris, the French son of a Turkish tailor coming of age in a place with a royal past and a rough present (in his formative years, the designer noted, it was the third-largest drug hub in the country). Eventually, his path led him to the ateliers of Christian Dior, Balenciaga, and most recently Esteban Cortazar. He won the Fashion Trust Arabia Prize in 2022; last year, he was shortlisted for the LVMH Prize.
The designer’s collection is a reflection on how the brutality of an environment and the holding-in of things can decant into emotion expressed through art, performance, music, culture, and, of course, fashion. His second on-calendar show saw him move from the courtyard of his Paris atelier to the top floor of the Institut du Monde Arabe, with a sweeping view of Paris, an apt metaphor if ever there was one.
On the runway, the designer offered up “riffraff meets beauty where you find it.” Style as a matter of resourcefulness came in very smart shirting with a twist, a winning gray shift dress cut on the bias, and some fun albeit impractical ideas about embellishments. A fuchsia panel floating from the shoulder of a transparent tee was “a comma in a silhouette”; lace peeking out of a slit-to-there harem pant will likely appeal to the naked dressers out there.
“For me, it’s about being as honest as possible with the piece,” the designer said. Regarding his take on minimalism, he added, “you don’t want it to be the lawyer-dress. If it’s self-evident, it means that someone will be able to project themselves on it.” For those who might need help with that, one puffer reprised a Rumi quote: “I know you are tired, but come, this is the way.”
Given that he is tall and willowy, Akyol has always picked things up from the women’s racks, and here he played with genderless ideas like jeans framed in black lines, or jackets with asymmetrical panels. “It’s the wearing that gives it the gender,” he offered. “It’s a new language, and that’s what I love about it. It’s austere, but it’s sexy.” His tailoring chops are evident, and some pieces, like a long silvery white dress in panné velvet, held promise. Backstage, the designer remarked that with this collection he was looking to reclaim a bit of himself. Regarding that lost cedilla that makes his name difficult to pronounce for those unfamiliar with his other native language, Burç is pronounced “Bourtch.” It’s worth remembering.