“Why don’t we just go to Mars?’” Oscar Ouyang says, only half joking. “Every day I wake up, I look at the news, and I’m like, fuck. I don’t want to live in this world anymore.” We’re ensconced in his Hoxton studio, rails packed tight, while makers are around piecing together the cutesy little eight-pointed gift bows that will soon be adorning his collection. Outside, grey east London carries on as usual; inside, Ouyang is dreaming of a world beyond this. His Autumn/Winter 2026 collection, titled The Last Party, begins with that itch to escape reality.
The story of the collection unfolds in a countryside barn where the remnants of a grand manor house are stacked and waiting to be auctioned. Gilt frames lean against hay bales, old family portraits are scuffed and marked. A chandelier sits beside them missing a crystal or two. The manor is being dismantled by morning; tonight, however, it belongs to the kids. They break into the barn in their trussed-up pyjamas and throw one final party among the relics. “They’re just trying to have fun,” Ouyang says, coming to his imaginary muse’s defence, as if to ask, wouldn’t you?
There is something post-Saltburn about that inherited grandeur you can smell the black mould in, the decadence of dancing after the lights come on. The starting point this time around was a four-pocket, safari-style jacket: traditionally military, a little uptight. “I love a really uptight jacket sometimes,” Ouyang admits. “When you’re wearing that, it’s like a signal saying you want to be taken seriously.” And there are plenty of jackets this season, which come more assured than ever, but approached with a softened approach to masculinity. He reaches for one – a white, boxy, double-breasted piece with an abbreviated poncho-style overlay. “Quite faggy, isn’t it?”
The result is also very grown-up, at least technically speaking: French wool tweeds, virgin wool and llama blends, silk knitted into evening shirts with subtle ripples that mimic tuxedo pleats, with around 80 per cent of materials coming from LVMH deadstock. “You can see the quality on the rail,” he says. “You can see the material behind it.”
But this is Ouyang, so seriousness frays at the edges. Evening shirts are worn undone, polo tops sprout French cuffs, cummerbunds flip outward and mismatched cufflinks suggest a wearer who doesn’t quite know how to dress himself properly. Pyjama trousers crafted from wool, printed with antique animal toys, peek out beneath tailored coats. “They throw an evening shirt on top of their pyjama trousers because they’re rushing to the party,” he imagines. Knitwear, long Ouyang’s native language, moves quieter and less liberally this season. Tweed reveals itself on closer inspection to be dense knit edged in tinsel and crochet. A brilliant bomber jacket keeps its woven body but swaps in knitted sleeves. “People still think knitwear is just a jumper, a scarf, a glove,” he explains. “It’s about incorporating it better.”
The show space – the concrete Newgen space in the basement of 180 Stand – came scattered with objects from Ouyang’s imagined barn. Music references evoke the moment you step out of a club into daylight. “When you leave at 6am, you’ve had a good night, and then you walk outside and it’s already sunrise,” he says. “It’s about giving a bit of hope.”
Masquerade-style masks, developed with milliner Noel Stewart, were imagined to be grabbed from the walls and slung onto the nose. Nothing is allowed to become fully costume; Ouyang is careful about that. The military silhouettes are twisted through fabric choice, buttons and pocket placements. But it’s not intentionally elitist – he knows the risk. “Maybe it could be perceived as ignorance,” he says, referring to the preppy, sober surface. “But fashion is still fashion. At the end of the day, you need to push out good clothes.”
Ouyang speaks carefully about desire. “I don’t really buy many clothes now,” he says. “It’s about creating something that when you look at it, you’re like, okay, I need this. And then – why do you need this? Why are you consuming this?” He fingers a double-breasted jacket, where the buttons can be worn right over left, left over right, and cut loose enough to be worn by anyone. “We’re not that super masc, traditional menswear brand,” he says. “We do it for the girls and the gays.” For one night – or perhaps one season – Ouyang’s girls and gays will get to dress like the world is still theirs.
