There are many stories in one’s life. Some of them are sad, some funny, some are ordinary, yet they all have a sense of mystery.

Entering into the industrial show space in Place Vendôme a suspended atmosphere was immediately perceived. Everybody were standing in the darkness, with no hierarchy nor distinctions, under lightnings of colored lights. An intensely piercing melody quieted the noisy murmuring of the public and Raf Simons’ sentimental magic began. Unexpectedly the models passed through the crowd, wrapped into hazed red and green flashes revealing the garments’ sharp designs. Loosing any ideas of time and direction, everyone was absorbed into the spectacular Lynchian loop of movements and lights, waiting to see the outfits passing once again like when you seek for a familiar face in the caos of a club. Wet hair and slight extensions on the forehead increased the shared feeling of being part of a secret rave. A patchwork of nostalgic pictures, roll coaster, Hokusai prints, astronauts and random images covered the gaments, as if Raf Simons’ tried to pin the stream of his youth memories into a moodboard to not lose it while growing up. Sleek architectural constructions cracking into an electric field, the clothes were clean and sophisticated, with the classic Simons’s military rigor. Digging deep into his own conscious, the designer reworked personal suggestions and underground inspirations from his past involving the audience into an emotional experience.

Stories can not be planned or predicted, they never really end or begins, they simply happen.