Edward Buchanan’s iPhone stopped working, Garth Spencer’s arms went several shades darker on the tanning Pantone, and I’ve almost never seen Alex Fury fanning so feverishly: nobody seated in Block C of this Thom Browne show will forget it in a hurry. That’s because it was held al fresco in the long courtyard of Palazzo Serbelloni, where Block C ran down the western, sunny side. My own phone said 38 degrees, and that was from the shady idyll of Block A. CEO Sam Lobban had arranged for parasols and spritzing fans, but phew: what a scorcher. Respect to the gent who wore the Liberace x Disclosure Day Thom Browne alien mask from spring 2026 from the first look until the last.
Browne himself came out wearing a netted bouclé frog mask to take his first runway bow in Milan since the wonderful run of shows for Moncler’s Gamme Bleu ended in 2017. This was also his first-ever Thom Browne show in Milan, and his first solo menswear show since spring 2023’s jockstrap jamboree in Paris. It was a fashion event before it was a weather event.
The show melted two stories together, those of A Bug’s Life and the fairytale of the princess and the frog: except “in this case it’s the prince and the frog,” Browne said. The center of the courtyard was set with 500 seersucker potted rose bushes. The buzzing of the insects on the PA echoed against that of the drones hovering above. This contextual noise resonated within the material of the collection itself, but it was also the soundtrack for what Browne characterized as a reassertion of his core menswear proposition.
“I wanted people to almost be reintroduced to the reason why you come to me,” he had said beforehand, “and that is structured tailoring, structured outerwear, and then, of course, the pairings of the bottoms that go along with that.” In a menswear climate in which softness and deconstruction are often treated as inherent tailoring virtues, Browne’s canvassed counter-proposal is increasingly distinct. Structure can also be light, and here Browne’s engineered jackets and topcoats in madras, seersucker, and poplin framed the bodies they were fitted to without apparent constriction.
Shirting was in crisp cotton poplin, not Browne’s once-customary basketweave Oxford cotton, and it was worn almost shockingly untucked over pants or skirt. Ties were knotted, but not within the fold of Browne’s collars. Little cricket crop-top sweater vests were sometimes worn between jacket and shirt. Brogues and loafers with what looked like red Dainite soles were stacked at the heel to create a hint of flexion in the calves exposed by the highish hem of most pants. As ever with Browne, there was a sense of sartorial kink to it all.
A group of the opening looks was cut in Swiss dot, a preppy classic that Browne has used for 20 years, but which he said this season had been developed for him by Ermenegildo Zegna, the group of which Browne’s house is part, for the first time. Said the designer: “Technically they can do so much, so it’s a really good relationship: it is nice to be able to develop things that are brand new for them.”
There was entomological embroidery aplenty: spiders, bees, dragonfly wings, crickets, gold-leaf beehives, and more, all beautifully realized. Color, too, was played upon more than Browne is sometimes credited for. The show’s white, gray, and navy foundations were spackled with garden-party pastels, acid greens, yellows, pinks, and insect-bright flashes of surface decoration. As well as being consistent with the preppy tradition of which Browne is such an individualistic interpreter, they added visual buzz. This was a classic Browne show that combined rigor and vigor. Hot, hot, hot.
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