LFW SS26: Pauline Dujancourt presents a journey of grief and acceptance with romantic mastery

Womenswear designer Pauline Dujancourt presented her journey of grief, acceptance and resilience in her collection at the Strand last night.

Drawing inspiration from Chekhov’s The Seagull, Dujancourt used the tale of a young woman stripped of her idealism by circumstance - who must stand before the audience and announce that she is not the woman she was or might have been - to come to terms with the loss of a close friend.

The collection began with a sheer white lace dress with a rose appliqué at the hip holding the hint of a train. It was followed by the same dress in black - a stark juxtaposition that jolted the reality of death to the forefront of our minds. The model's exposed chest spoke volumes about the vulnerability on show- we had a front-row seat to Dujancourt’s pained remembrance of these moments.

As the show progressed, Dujancourt riffed on argyle knits and crochet ‘granny squares’ in a diaphanous hybrid version that was at once nostalgic, reminding one of a picnic blanket, and then sombre in the fluid movements it created. The fabrics did, as Dujancourt admitted, repel her at first. Thus, by creating her collection from them, the technical aspect of the show aligned with its inspiration: acceptance.

The colour palette moved from blacks to blues to whites, with these shades doubling back on themselves - grief may never be linear, of course. A highlight was an intricate rose, thread-like choker that crept around a model’s neck and arms - it’s stunning sensitivity and precision an obvious metaphor the exquisite pain of losing a loved one.

In the second half, things did indeed become lighter: white and cream argyle knits were draped over taffeta skirts, striking a balance between distress and composure. The finale, the ‘Mother’s Dress’, perhaps symbolised Nina herself, who sums up her narrative with a simple yet violently accurate truth on grief: ‘Life doesn’t hurt so much anymore’. The white dress, which incorporated all the technical elements of the previous garments, moved fluidly and yet remained structured, with roses forming a geometric cross hatching over skirt.

Dujancourt’s triumph, however, was this look’s makeup. It seemed to grow out of the ornate, antique lace of the dress and fanned out suffocatingly like arterioles over the model’s face. It demonstrated an acceptance that grief was not still worn by Dujancourt - and therefore able to be removed - but had become a part of her, and thus, eternal.

Nina’s statement on life was never positive nor negative; it is born of a woman who by heartbreak and loss has had to abandon her dreams. In Chekhov’s final act, she stands before the audience metaphorically naked, yet resilient. I could think of no better Russian author for Dujancourt to have picked than the master of brevity. Like Chekhov four acts, Dujancourt achieved a radically clear vision of her grief and acceptance in a mere 26 looks.