LAVIN KARAKOC AW26: NEW WAVE, NEW NAME

Recent Royal College of Art graduate Lavin Karakoc made her first mark on London Fashion Week this February with her debut AW26 show at the Hellenic Centre. Shepherded into what could easily have doubled as a local meat raffle or a Sadie Hawkins dance circa 1958, I joined the long queue of patrons and found myself transported into a realm of cinematic elegance teetering knowingly on the edge of Parisienne cliché. The Hellenic Centre becomes the unlikely home of a young designer’s debutante moment.

Images courtesy of Stefan Knauer

Karakoc’s bevy of women soon somber their way into the hall, clad in a low-effort Parisienne uniform: chic, slim silhouettes rendered all the more alluring by an undercurrent of sexual confidence. The new wave sensibility gets cemented in real time, as a black-and-white projection of the room cinematises the show as it unfolds. Any semblance of colour on the runway is stripped away in the background, reinforcing Karakoc’s allegiance to a disciplined palette — save for a singular purple blouse that served as a gentle reminder that even the most self-possessed heroine can indulge in experiment.

Living up to the somber elegance of the show notes ("This collection lives in the spaces between. Between loneliness and desire. Between control and softness. Between what’s felt and what’s said.”), tinged with feminine trickery, paraded before us. Structured tailoring thrives in tension with shadow, the models appearing to ellipse in and out of cinematic time.

Images courtesy of Stefan Knauer

The friction intensifies in Karakoc’s unexpected pieces, including a bright red leather “jumper” etched with faux-knit ribbing at the cuffs. Here again, she lingers in the in-between — suspending the audience between the cold rigidity of her silhouettes and the softness that still permeates them.

Accessories operate as Easter eggs: a feathered nest perched precariously atop one model’s head; disheveled hair inviting speculation about her previous whereabouts; a hat that, at first glance, seemed less sartorial choice than hairbrush mishap. These gestures offered glimpses of the hedonistic femininity simmering beneath the surface of Karakoc’s composed elegance.

Images courtesy of Stefan Knauer

What is undeniable about Karakoc’s amble into French New Wave territory is that the likes of Brigitte Bardot or Catherine Deneuve could have slipped seamlessly into the rotation. There is even something of Marianne about her women — not the literal red Phrygian cap of revolutionary iconography, but a modern reimagining of France’s enduring allegory of liberty: poised, self-possessed, and quietly defiant.