HARRIS REED (SS26), TEN SEASONS IN: MAXIMALISM MEETS INTIMACY

Camz
Sep 27
3 min read

A salon instead of a spectacle

For his spring 2026 collection, Harris Reed traded the cavernous halls of Tate Britain for the low-lit Gothic Bar of St. Pancras London. Gone were the Florence Pugh–fronted theatrics; in their place, a salon-style presentation that felt almost intimate, at least by Reed’s standards. But let’s be clear, intimacy in the Harris Reed lexicon still means feathers, duchess satin, and corsetry ambitious enough to hold its own under a disco ball.

The shift in setting reflected a mood of reflection. Ten seasons into his eponymous label (eleven, if you count his student collection), Reed is beginning to consider his house codes. “I was thinking back to uni when I was doing these over-the-top queer art pieces. They would say, ‘No customer would ever buy this.’ Now, looking back, it’s cool to see the front row isn’t just supportive friends and journalists anymore, but people who buy from and believe in the brand,” he noted. A neat way of saying: this is no longer a niche fantasy, it is a business.

A riot of colors and characters

The compact 14-look lineup may not have offered a linear narrative—“other than, literally, the red thread,” as Reed himself quipped—but it was his most colorful outing yet. Periwinkle and cobalt blues rubbed shoulders with burgundy, pastel pink, and flashes of gold. Each look was designed as an individual character, tapping into the Harris Reed pantheon of references: David Bowie swagger, Mick Jagger nonchalance, Victorian drama, and English heritage.

Standouts included a swirling ice blue duchess satin gown, its movement theatrical enough to command any red carpet, and a fishtail “one and done” dress with a bubbled animal-print skirt that actually looked… wearable. Yes, Harris Reed did wearable. Somewhat. The effect was one of flight: fabrics swirling, tulle combusting, and feathers bursting from conical shoulders. The collection refused to sit still.

The return of the cage and corset

Reed’s well-established corset program was very much alive. One look stood to attention like a human paper doll, encircled by a dense halo of black feathers, equal parts Gothic and absurd. Another gilded floral bustier melted into a devoré velvet skirt in a poisonous shade of acid yellow spinal print. It was the kind of garment that demands silence in the room, or at least an appreciative gasp, followed by “how on earth do you sit in that?”

The caged silhouettes, which have become shorthand for Reed’s brand of maximalism, were refined here. They felt less like showpieces for Tate Britain and more like relics meant for private collections or, in one customer’s case, to be displayed above the pastries in her kitchen. Yes, really. That’s the kind of clientele Reed has cultivated: part gala circuit, part eccentric collector.

Wallpaper dreams and wisteria whispers

The designer continued his collaboration with English wallpaper studio Fromental, integrating panels of hand-painted and embroidered vintage wallpaper into bodices and skirts. These weren’t mere fabrics but literal pieces of interior history, walking the runway in new form. Reed even developed his own “whispering wisteria” motif, inspired by a ceiling spotted on a trip to Italy, employing historical painting techniques to turn domestic fantasy into wearable art.

This gesture extended beyond couture. Reed, ever the maximalist entrepreneur, confessed he dreams of “Ralph Lauren-ing” his brand, imagining these prints as soft furnishings and wallpapers in their own right. One can already picture it: Harris Reed curtains, softly glowing in the background while a guest in a gilded corset tries not to spill champagne.

Conclusion

What does ten seasons of Harris Reed look like? It looks like a designer who still wants to take up as much space as possible, whether on the Met Gala carpet or in your dining room wallpaper. It looks like feathers that refuse to settle and corsets that refuse to compromise. Most of all, it looks like Reed himself, still walking the tightrope between art and commerce, spectacle and intimacy, with a smirk that suggests he knows exactly how over-the-top this all is and isn’t planning to tone it down anytime soon.

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