Hermès: A Quiet Line, a Final Bow
Véronique Nichanian’s 37-year journey at Hermès is exactly that kind of farewell. Less a closing than a line that knows how to walk on without looking back, drawing quietly into itself. Neither dramatic nor nostalgic. On the contrary: calm, assured and still in motion.
In Paris, the moment I stepped onto the marble floors of the Palais Brongniart, it was clear this would be no ordinary Hermès show. The entrance was extraordinarily crowded; before the guests had even been let in, cries and applause rising outside the venue filled the air. These sounds were not greeting a parade of stars, but a farewell. The fashion world, gathered in Paris to witness Véronique Nichanian stepping down after 37 years at the helm of Hermès menswear, had long since abandoned its usual reserve. The fervour as guests made their way inside said far more than pre-show excitement: this was a living salute to quiet mastery, to continuity and to a rare discipline of design.
When I entered the hall, the space itself felt like part of the show. Giant screens suspended from the Palais Brongniart’s high ceiling hung amid the historic architecture like contemporary panels of memory; a staging that compelled you to look up and lifted the weight of the space upwards. The excitement felt from the very first step came not only from anticipation of a collection, but from an awareness of witnessing a moment as it happened. The crowd was extraordinarily dense; as guests moved towards their seats, the sounds rising from the room — applause, calls, brief cries — had completely dispelled the usual pre-runway hush. This was less a disciplined Paris show than the collective outpouring of a rare moment of farewell. Everyone knew this was the last walk, yet everyone also sensed, intuitively, that in true Hermès fashion this farewell would be not showy but measured: a deliberate narrative written into time.
This final collection refuses to be a “finale”. For Nichanian, a garment was never an object of memory. It was something worked on, handled again and again, something that lives with time. This is why the Hermès man was always in motion: walking, travelling, ready even when standing still. The clothes accompanied him; they did not define him, nor weigh him down.
The men walking across the marble floor of the Palais Brongniart did not speak loudly. Their confidence was quiet, with an almost haughty simplicity. Cashmeres, wool felts, softened leathers and silks… Each seemed to belong not to a season, but to a lifetime. For Nichanian’s real concern was never trend. Her concern was permanence.
In this collection, the line between past and present was deliberately erased. A leather jumpsuit from 1991, a pinstriped leather suit from 2003, the aviator spirit of 2001… All stood side by side with new pieces. It was impossible to tell where the old ended and the new began. That was precisely the point. A good garment does not grow old with time; it is simply read in another way.
It is no accident that Nichanian keeps her distance from the word “luxury”. In her world, luxury is not a loud claim but a state of attention built by hand. Her almost obsessive devotion to fabric research, her desire to make leather as fluid as a woven cloth, the discipline of uniting the technical with the intuitive… None of this is for show. All of it is for the work itself.
Even the colour palette read like a manifesto: ink blue, burnt grey, coffee, prunoir (plum black)… And then, suddenly, an orange lining, the Plume Fourre-Tout On Radio bag — like a burst of laughter in the night. A humour that does not take itself too seriously, yet never compromises its bearing.
And perhaps most importantly: even if this is a farewell, there is no sorrow in it.
“I’m not sad, I’m happy,” says Nichanian. For this decision is not an escape but a completion. To travel, to live somewhere else, to try another rhythm… Not severing her bond with life, simply changing direction.
At the finale, all the screens hanging from the ceiling opened onto the past at once. Runway bows taken over the years layered one upon another; the same walk, the same bearing, the same calm… Véronique Nichanian’s time was compressed into a single moment. When the applause rose, everyone was on their feet. It was not a reflex but a conscious thank-you. What was being applauded was not an ending, but a consistency. It was respect for a line never told out loud, yet patiently built over the years.
In that moment I thought: some designers leave a mark, others open a path. Nichanian left behind both a mark and a path that can be walked. Perhaps that is why her clothes are still in motion — because they belong not to an era, but to a lifetime. When the applause stopped, the show was over, but the story had not closed. For something well made never truly says goodbye; it simply, quietly, changes place. And the Hermès man, as always, goes on his way.
The Hermès man will go on his way. But now, behind him, there is a legacy that teaches without raising its voice.
Quietly. Lastingly. Just like a well-made garment.