At Paris Couture Week FW25, Robert Wun staged more than a show — he orchestrated a living thriller. Inside the shadowy grandeur of the Théâtre de Châtelet, guests found themselves encircled by a dreamscape of identity in flux. With in-the-round staging and chiaroscuro lighting, Wun’s Fall Winter 2025–2026 Haute Couture collection unfolded like a noir opera — part mystery, part metamorphosis, and wholly unforgettable.

This season, Wun stepped away from his trademark cinematic homages and instead mined something even more intimate: real life. Specifically, the backstage chaos and emotional extremes of the Met Gala, where transformation isn’t a suggestion — it’s a necessity. From this pressure-cooked origin, Wun spun a collection that examined how we craft personas, costume ourselves for the world, and protect or reveal through dress.

Opening with an eerie sartorial memory, a model emerged swathed in what looked like the aftermath of a dream — a white satin quilt-dress embroidered with red crystal handprints, like bruises of memory or evidence from a crime scene. A blood-like veil dripped from the model’s mouth. The message was clear: the night before never really ends.

Wun’s deft use of trompe l’oeil bent reality. Familiar garments — jackets, ties, collars — were disassembled, repositioned, reimagined. Ties curled around bodices like nervous thoughts; jacket silhouettes turned into handbag illusions hanging like absent lovers. Every look asked the same quiet question: Who are you today, and who do you want them to see?

In one of the show’s most unsettling touches, extra limbs emerged from garments — not grotesque, but sculptural. These bolero-like extensions hinted at other selves, alternate gestures, or silent desires left unspoken. Paired with gloves sporting mirrored false nails, the duality of self was ever-present, echoing the strange disassociation of dressing up and leaving one’s truer self behind.

Sharp pleats and jagged cuts evoked the tension of sudden decisions — like a hairstyle snipped in rebellion or fear. Identity wasn’t fixed here; it was actively unraveling and recomposing. Models became canvases of psychological silhouette — walking, emoting, transforming.

Then came the finale — a haunting bride draped in blush tulle, her bustier molded with defensive hand imprints, as if she had to armor herself just to say “I do.” Balanced above her, a tiny mannequin cradled her veil — part altar, part guardian, part ghost of girlhood dreams.

This wasn’t just fashion — it was surreal autobiography. A tale of preparation, performance, and the masks we affix before stepping into the world’s glare. Robert Wun delivered a collection as unsettling as it was exquisite — a couture diary written in tulle, trauma, and wit.