The Margaret Preston Retrospective at the National Gallery of Victoria is a Revelation

Self-portrait of Margaret Preston from 1930. Art Gallery of NSW, Sydney. © Margaret Preston/Licensed by Copyright Agency Australia. Image © Art Gallery of New South Wales. Cover picture of Issey Miyake SS27 in Paris. 

By Sasha Grishin

The National Gallery of Victoria’s Margaret Preston is a breathtaking exhibition. It is Preston as we have never seen her before, and challenges many earlier preconceptions.We see her work in the context of her students/lovers, Bessie Gibson and Gladys Reynell, and her obsession with First Nations art – her adaptations, her collections, and, now, commentaries on her adaptations by Trevor Nickolls and Gordon Bennett, among others.

A much more complex and nuanced image of Preston emerges than in previous exhibitions.

The show is a mixture of a chronological survey with her early still life paintings from the opening decade of the 20th century, then her decorative flower pieces moving to the magnificence of her hand-coloured woodcuts.

There is a desire to bring her art to life: we see her iconic Wheelflower print of 1929, next to the actual woodblock from which it was printed. Her First Nations pieces are shown together with their actual sources of inspiration.

The exhibition is full of these little detective pieces that save the exhibition from being just another Margaret Preston show to make it into the Margaret Preston show for our generation.

The vivid 'Coastal Gums' 

by Matgaret Preston, 1929. 

Private Collection

© Margaret Preston

Licensed by Copyright 

Agency, Australia

A spectacular makeover

Born Margaret Rose McPherson in Adelaide in 1875, she initially trained in Sydney, then at the National Gallery School in Melbourne. She spent many years travelling in Europe, mainly in Germany, France and England.

She first travelled with Betty Davidson and then Gladys Reynell, with both of whom, the NGV catalogue asserts, she had a romantic bond.

She exhibited to limited acclaim, first under the name of Rose McPherson and by 1912 as Margaret McPherson.

Her personal and artistic makeover was as spectacular as it was sudden.

On the last day of 1919, the 44-year-old McPherson falsified her age by eight years and married Lieutenant William George Preston, subsequently a successful businessman. This made her, at least on the marriage certificate, a socially respectable two years younger than her husband, rather than the embarrassing six years older.

She changed her exhibiting name to Margaret Preston and, armed with her husband’s wealth, launched her new career with a massive publicity blitz that was to last until her death in 1963.

Following her marriage, she settled with her husband in the bayside Sydney suburb of Mosman and moved rapidly up the social ladder to become a friend of the publisher Sydney Ure Smith.

Preston was the most articulate and outspoken female artist of her generation, writing frequent articles and giving lectures and interviews.

While always a committed traveller, after her marriage Preston embarked on numerous journeys throughout Asia and the Pacific, the Middle East and Europe.

At the height of the Depression, the Prestons moved from Mosman to a 14-acre block in rural Berowra, before returning to the Mosman neighbourhood in 1939, where they remained until her death.

Thea Proctor's Tea Party, 1924 by Margaret

Preston. Art Gallery of NSW, Sydney

Purchased in 1942.© Margaret Preston 

A revelation

For me, a revelation of this exhibition is her late stencil pieces, including Christ turning the water into wine (1951) and White gum (1953) where Preston in her mature years is grappling with a host of conceptual problems and exhibits a brilliant technical inventiveness.

While many of the pieces have been seen before, here they gain a new poignancy through their new context.

With over 200 works on display, there is enough to present a comprehensive overview to gain a good understanding of her work and her contribution to Australian art and not an overkill requiring a packed lunch for viewing every print she ever made.

On ‘primative’ art

Although a strong advocate for First Nations art, I feel that Preston’s attitude still sat within the framework of cultural imperialism.

That is, it came from one who had not the slightest doubt in the superiority of her own culture that could absorb “primitive” elements from Indigenous cultures.

She illustrated how a sacred Kimberley dancing board could give you a suggestion for a curtain. In 1924 she boasted,

I have barely altered the design […] The Australian aboriginal has followed the usual abstract designs that are characteristic of the savage […] I have suggested a cushion cover that could be adapted from the design.

Aboriginal Still Life 1940, by Margaret Preston.

Queensland Art Gallery, Brisbane. Gift of the

Godfrey Rivers Trust through Miss Daphne 

Mayo, 1940. © Margaret Preston

In 1925 Preston wrote,

In wishing to rid myself of the mannerisms of a country other than my own, I have gone to the art of a people who have never seen or known anything different from themselves, and were accustomed to always use the same symbols to express themselves.

[…]

It is on the primitive natural forms that we must depend. In returning to primitive art it should be remembered that it is to be used as a starting point only for a renewal of growth, and a gradual selection must take place to arrive at the culmination.

Over the decades, Preston’s attitude to First Nations art matured as she travelled thousands of kilometres to view rock art and art in various communities. But the art remained a quarry from which a “civilized” artist could plunder elements from which to create an “authentic” Australian national art.

Preston’s ideas on a national art were naïve, but, as shown by this exhibition, she did create a powerful and memorable oeuvre.

Margaret Preston is at The Ian Potter Centre: NGV Australia until January 31 2027.

Sasha Grishin, Adjunct Professor of Art History, Australian National University

The Mediterranean Diet is all the Rage Because it Represents a Way of Life We’ve Lost

The Mediterranean diet has been included on UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage list since 2010. Cover picture of Issey Miyake SS27 in Paris.

By Marco Romagnoli, Université du Québec à Montréal (UQAM) 

The promise of a long, healthy, happy existence living an active, community-based lifestyle under warm, sunny skies may be within reach. In fact, it could be on your table.

The Mediterranean diet has been included on UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage list since 2010. Not only does the diet have guaranteed cultural value, it is also a powerful strategic tool for promoting food products such as olive oil.

Often cited for its health benefits, the Mediterranean diet was first described in a 1953 book about Crete. At the time, people were amazed at the low incidence of cardiovascular disease among the inhabitants of this Greek island, compared with northern Europeans.

Among other things, this olive oil-based diet encourages the consumption of fresh foods, seasonal fruit and vegetables and whole grains. It embodies the essence of the Mediterranean lifestyle, according to the UNESCO definition:

The Mediterranean diet involves a set of skills, knowledge, rituals, symbols and traditions concerning crops, harvesting, fishing, animal husbandry, conservation, processing, cooking, and particularly the sharing and consumption of food. Eating together is the foundation of the cultural identity and continuity of communities throughout the Mediterranean Basin. It is a moment of social exchange and communication, an affirmation and renewal of family, group or community identity. 

Olive oil is at the heart of the Mediterranean diet. (Shutterstock)

But beyond its impact on our health, what does the Mediterranean diet say about us as a society? Could it be the symptom of something?

As a postdoctoral researcher at UQAM’s École des sciences de la gestion, my research lies at the intersection of heritage and tourism studies, food and mental health.

In 2021, I carried out field research in Cilento (Italy), Soria (Spain) and Marseille (France), where I looked at the inhabitants’ attachment to the Mediterranean diet. I listened to their stories and tried to understand the local and social dynamics at play in the Mediterranean diet concept.

Mirroring a deep societal crisis

The concept of the Mediterranean diet refers to a lifestyle that strengthens social relationships and is good for your health. It sounds simple and coherent.

However, the society in which we live turns the work of meeting these basic needs into something more complex. The health and social dimensions of the Mediterranean diet are seen as extremely desirable because they represent a balance that is lacking in globalized societies.

Claude Fischler, a sociologist of human nutrition, describes the multidimensional crisis of the food system in modern societies.

In his view, there is a psychopathology of daily eating underway. This is characterized by “appetite disturbances, bulimic attacks, anxious or compulsive snacking, etc.” Just think of the consumption of ultra-processed foods or ready-made and frozen meals, eaten on their own in front of the TV in the evening or in front of the computer during lunch break.

A meal at the O Vicolo ‘E L'Alleria, in Battipaglia, Italy. Eating together is the foundation of the cultural identity and continuity of communities in the Mediterranean basin. (Author provided)

In this psychopathological perspective on food, which also mirrors a societal crisis, mechanisms for cultural (and in this case, food) reactivation are appearing. The rush to the Mediterranean diet is a reflection of this societal crisis, because it is the opposite of our way of life.

With its inclusion on the UNESCO list, the Mediterranean diet has thus become a prestigious “monument” of Mediterranean culinary art.

This food culture has been mythologized and made a part of our heritage after undergoing an irreversible process of erosion of food production and consumption systems in the Mediterranean area.

‘Gastronativism’: Politics on the plate

The food arena is one of the best places to express the anxieties and fears of contemporary life.

Fabio Parasecoli, a researcher in food studies, describes the anxieties caused by globalization as gastronativism, “the ideological use of food in politics to advance ideas about who belongs to a community (however defined) and who doesn’t.”

So gastronativism represents a political tool that provides “a sense of rootedness, comfort and security” in the face of perceived collapse (climate change, wars, pandemics, globalization).

The Mediterranean diet is part of this gastronativist approach, standing for a lifestyle that can be adopted.

Different meanings of the Mediterranean diet

We often hear about the Mediterranean diet from institutions and academics. What we don’t hear much about are the views of the communities that practise this way of life.

My field research in 2021 aimed to understand the different ways in which the Mediterranean diet is defined, described, understood and lived, depending on the community.

The Mediterranean diet involves a set of skills, knowledge and rituals that relate in particular to cultivation, harvesting and picking. (Shutterstock)

In Cilento, the Mediterranean diet is synonymous with “lifestyle.” It’s part of local identity and a reference to the wider socio-cultural sphere (“our lifestyle,” the locals say).

In Soria, it embodies a “nutritional model” and in the domain of health: the adjectives most commonly used to describe it are “healthy,” “beneficial,” and “health-conscious.”

In Marseille, the term “diet” conjures up images of fasting, deprivation and abstinence, while the term “Mediterranean” refers to organic, seasonal and healthy food. The reference here is more to the food industry.

A sociocultural seismograph

Whether understood as a nutritional model, a way of life or an example of intangible heritage, the Mediterranean diet represents a way out of a system (societal, food, economic, environmental) in crisis and in constant search of reference points.

Seismographs are instruments that record and measure earthquakes. Like a “sociocultural seismograph,” the Mediterranean diet enables us to capture the vibrations, i.e. the changes taking place in contemporary society with which cultural (and dietary) practices must contend.

Marco Romagnoli, Postdoctoral research fellow, Université du Québec à Montréal (UQAM)

Calabria: The revamped Hiking Trail Regenerating an Italian Region Blighted by Mafia Stereotypes

The mountain village called Pentedattilo at the start of the trail. Photograph: Polonio Shutterstock.

By Aurora Moxon 

Il Sentiero dell’Inglese – the Trail of the Englishman – is bringing new hope to Calabria’s Aspromonte mountains in southern Italy, one of the EU’s most marginal and economically depressed areas.The six-day trail is named after the English poet Edward Lear who walked these mountains in the 19th century. The route encourages hikers to challenge preconceptions of the Aspromonte and experience local hospitality, while boosting the economy of an area at risk of abandonment.

The Aspromonte has long been associated with the ’Ndrangheta – Italy’s most powerful mafia. In the 1970-1980s, organised criminals held high-profile kidnapping victims in these mountains, consolidating this association. The most famous of these was Jean Paul Getty III, grandson of the oil tycoon Jean Paul Getty Sr, whose kidnapping inspired the 2017 film All the Money in the World.

As well as researching food, farming and ecotourism in the Aspromonte mountains, my work investigates the negative effects of stereotypes of this area.

Although the ’Ndrangheta is still active in Calabria today, much of its primary activity now takes place in Italy’s north and overseas. Despite this shift, a negative image of the Aspromonte and its inhabitants still prevails among Italians.

It was not the ’Ndrangheta, but mountain brigands (robbers) that Lear feared when he set off on foot through the Aspromonte in 1847.

Best known for his poem The Owl and the Pussycat (1871), among Lear’s other works is Journals of a Landscape Painter in Southern Calabria. Published in 1852, he wrote about the people of the Aspromonte who shared their houses and food with him, from members of the landowning class to the poorest peasants.

Although he often interpreted his surroundings through a northern European lens, exaggerating the presumed backwardness of the area and its inhabitants, Lear was evidently impressed by this hospitality and Aspromonte’s physical  

Boosting the trail

In 2019, a hiking organisation called La Cooperativa San Leo, based in the village of Bova, opened Il Sentiero dell’Inglese. The trail follows the first 80km of Lear’s journey on old mule tracks with views of the Ionian Sea, Mount Etna and the dramatic valleys and peaks of the Aspromonte.

The cooperative runs a network of local B&B hosts across the seven villages along the route. They offer hikers local cuisine in private homes and no-frills eateries, with accommodation for around €60 a night. Now numbers of tourists from Italy’s north and other parts of Europe are on the rise.

Andrea Laurenzano, president of the cooperative and coordinator of the trail, told me that 2024 saw around 600 hikers walk the sentiero while approximately 1000 hikers completed it in 2025. This year has seen approximately 700 people walk it so far. However, despite Lear’s fundamental role in the trail’s story, hikers from the UK are rare.

The trail is becoming a vital economic artery. Locals with B&Bs can join the hosting network and earn a small income during the low-season (hiking is best avoided in the summer heat). It also provides employment for local guides and brings business to bars, restaurants, shops, museums, artisans and farmers.

Antonio Frangipani, local guide and vice-president of the association that runs the trail, explained that the cooperative’s restaurant in Bova uses organic ingredients such as cheeses from local herders and fruit and vegetables from local farmers.

Finding ways to protect and promote the unique agropastoral culture of this part of the Aspromonte, called the Area Grecanica, is important. Ancient rural know-how and the Greco-Calabro language, which includes words and phrases from ancient Greek, are at risk of dying out as inhabitants move away from the local villages. This movement is part of a wider pattern in Italy of human abandonment of inland regions.

The repercussions of the trail go well beyond the purely economic. Human geographers like Tim Edensor argue that walking has historically forged stereotypes, contributing to the marginalisation of cultures considered “other” from a western viewpoint. The bourgeois Lear and his travels across southern Europe arguably fall into this category.

Local guides, however, believe that hiking is helping to challenge negative associations of the Aspromonte. They say that hikers often arrive with varying degrees of prejudice regarding locals and their way of life, and leave with a new appreciation of the region.

Ugo Sergi, trail host, organic bergamot producer and well-known figure on the local ecotourism scene, described his experience to me: “Many people have come here … believing they would find a dangerous and backward underclass. I have taken great pleasure in helping them understand how they were mistaken.”

Similarly, local guide Stefania Praticò explained: “The Sentiero dell’Inglese has started to remove the stigma as people walk these paths [which] help to show these places in a new way. [The trail] creates this connection, they can understand with their own eyes that the [stories] are different from reality.”

Il Sentiero dell’Inglese is demonstrating that a form of slow tourism adapted to the particular culture and problems faced by locals in the Aspromonte is working to regenerate and rehabilitate a once notorious region of southern Italy. 

The Shards Transforms Bret Easton Ellis’s 1980s LA Nightmare into a Warning for the Present

Igby Rigby as Bret and Kaia Gerber as Susan in a scene from the series thriller The Shards, set in 1981 Los Angeles following an elite group of prep school students. 

By Bran Nicol

Ryan Murphy, director of the controversial Netflix true-crime Monster Anthology (2022-), and Bret Easton Ellis, literary provocateur and author of American Psycho (1991), seem the perfect match. Sure enough, Murphy’s new TV adaptation of Ellis’s 2023 novel, The Shards, for Disney+ is an exhilarating mix of teen drama, serial killer nail-biter and homoerotic cat-and-mouse thriller.

The Shards features a fictionalised version of Ellis himself (a standout performance by Igby Rigney). The show details the unravelling of a close-knit group of friends during their senior year at a private LA high school in 1981. It’s triggered by the simultaneous arrival of a charismatic and mysterious newcomer, Robert Mallory (Homer Gere, son of Richard Gere), and the terror and destruction wrought by a serial killer at large in the community dubbed “the Trawler”. Are these events coincidental? Or connected in some way?

Ellis has said that the appeal of his precocious first novel, Less Than Zero (1985) (which he was indeed working on in his senior year, as the series shows) was that it allowed viewers to imagine what it would be like to be a privileged youngster in cool, affluent Beverley Hills.

The trailer for The Shards.

This TV incarnation of The Shards presents a particularly vivid version of this fantasy. The affluent teenagers pad around beautiful, empty houses, throw endless pool parties, drive through LA in their shiny cars and indulge in as much drugs and sex as they want.

Yet the flip-side of such extraordinary freedom is excessive vulnerability. The story of the Trawler recalls the dark history of late 1970s and 1980s LA. It was a time when over 20 serial killers – each given similarly foreboding monikers like the Night Stalker or the Hillside Strangler – were also traversing the city.

Watching the lives of such a privileged group become shattered might be considered just deserts: a secret satisfaction for viewers enamoured by that Beverley Hills fantasy life. This is, after all, the kind of dark morality which propels the slasher movie (a genre which has influenced both Ellis and Murphy) where characters, usually girls, die in seemingly direct proportion to how sexually active they are.

But The Shards wants to do more than glamorise and invite critique of the lives of affluent youth in the US. Outwardly its sumptuous rendering of Westside interiors and exteriors tempt viewers to regard it as another example of TV’s current fascination with displaying the indulgent existences of the super-wealthy, such as Big Little Lies (2017) or White Lotus (2021-).

The Shards aims at something more profound. At its heart is a comparison between 21st-century existence and the world of the early 1980s. The series reminds us that then there were no helicopter parents, no social media nor smartphones. Factors which explain how these teenagers can do what they wish without adult scrutiny.

Despite the permissive atmosphere – as Bret’s comparison of Mallory’s arrival to “a virus” signals subtly – all this sexual decadence was, in only a few years, about to be extinguished by the advent of Aids.

Lessons for today

Yet The Shards also insists this era is the gateway to understanding the world we exist in now. This is a core message of the novel, conveyed powerfully through references to songs from the period.

Ellis’s fiction has always used music as a way of summing up character or anchoring its narrative in a particular cultural moment. In The Shards, his observations about emblematic music tracks of the time – such as Ultravox’s Vienna or Kim Wilde’s video for Kids in America – focus on what he calls a pervasive social “numbness”.

The novel’s virtual soundtrack is one reason it feels so deeply personal. In literary terms, The Shards is what is known as an autofiction. It’s a mode of writing which differs from straight autobiography. Autofiction conveys personal truth in a way which keeps it unverifiable or obscure, perhaps even to the authors themselves.

Like Ellis’s Lunar Park (2006), another magnificent autofiction, The Shards seems an effort to understand which dark parts of his psyche could have summoned up a creation like Patrick Bateman, the psychopathic anti-hero of American Psycho.

Kids in America by Kim Wilde.

Murphy’s adaptation of The Shards – as expected given Ellis’s close involvement as executive producer and co-writer – preserves much of this personal significance. This helps to elevate it above racy, entertaining but essentially empty, bonkbuster thrillers such as Hunting Wives (2025). It is hard, for example, not to see the casting of newcomer Gere, who plays Robert Mallory with a perfect combination of beauty and menace, in the light of Ellis’s notes about the elemental impression the work of his father, Richard Gere, left on his own formative years.

Ellis’s novel is remarkable for how it creates such a deeply immersive blend of image, narrative and soundtrack in prose. The tools available to screen directors ensure they can do this much more easily, as Murphy’s version of The Shards demonstrates. But the pairing of director and writer ensures the series also, just about, avoids the superficial trap TV can fall into – the lingering on surfaces, the indulgence in sex scenes or gruesome murders. It preserves the powerful elements of autofiction and cultural analysis that drive the original work.

Bran Nicol, Professor of English, University of Surrey

Paris Fashion Week: Victoria Beckham Gives Fashion Something to Dance About as Sheer Dresses and Sculptural Tailoring Find Their Rhythm

The fluidity of one of Victoria Beckham's dance-inspired designs for the new SS27 collection shown in Paris at the gothic La Conciergerie. Cover picture of Issey Miyake by Filippo Fior.

For Spring/Summer 2027 at Paris Fashion Week, Victoria Beckham looks to the artistic revolution of the 1920s, when dance, painting and fashion began to challenge established ideas of form. At La Conciergerie, that influence emerged through sheer dresses, painterly prints, sculptural tailoring and a sophisticated play between weight and movement. The collection arrives at a pivotal moment for the house, following its first operating profit and the introduction of a new red lipstick. Story by Isabella Lancellotti 

Beckham's new red lipstick called Rouge

Victoria, was launched on the Paris runway.

THERE was something almost deliberately contradictory about Victoria Beckham choosing La Conciergerie for Spring/Summer 2027. Beneath the Gothic stone vaults of the former prison where Marie Antoinette spent her final days, Beckham presented a collection rooted not in historical costume, but in one of the great artistic ruptures of the twentieth century: the moment when dance began to break away from ballet’s prescribed vocabulary and seek a new language for the body.

The 1920s provide Beckham with more than a period reference. They were a moment when choreography, painting, music and fashion began to overlap in increasingly experimental ways. Dancers questioned the architecture of the classical body; artists questioned the boundaries of the canvas. Beckham translated that same curiosity into clothes, asking how much structure a garment can contain before the body begins to dictate its final form.

There is also a new maturity in the commercial acuity of the collection. Victoria Beckham’s business recorded its first operating profit in 2025, reaching £7.3 million, while revenue across fashion, leather goods, make-up and fragrance increased 15 per cent to £129.8 million. The achievement gives the collection a different context. Beckham is no longer establishing whether the fashion house can survive beyond its founder’s celebrity; the numbers indicate a business with increasing traction across several categories.

Beauty has become an integral part of that equation. The runway introduced Rouge Victoria in House Red, a new lipstick developed over two years. Applied to the majority of the 44 models, the matte-velvet red was deliberately striking against otherwise polished, natural complexions. Because the gesture was so simple, the saturated red mouth cut through the collection’s more nuanced palette.

Victoria Beckham’s business recorded its first operating profit, reaching £7.3 million, while revenue across fashion, leather goods, make-up and fragrance increased 15 per cent to £129.8 million

Hand-painted flowers and translucent

georgette created a delicate aesthetic.

The most evocative dresses were cut from translucent viscose georgette, their asymmetric, wavering lines creating an almost drawn quality around the figure. Tiny ball beads replaced conventional hems, giving the delicate fabric a counterweight. 

As the models walked, the beads pulled the dresses downwards while the sheer material responded upwards and outwards. The effect was less about decoration than physics: weight becoming part of the design.

Painting entered more directly through hand-painted flowers and kissing birds, motifs that recalled the extraordinary collaborations between choreographers and visual artists during the period. 

The Ballets Russes had already demonstrated how costume, set, painting and movement could become one visual language; Beckham approached the idea from a contemporary perspective, transferring painterly gestures onto dresses, knitwear and crêpe viscose rather than treating the 1920s as a source of retro imagery. Her own history with ballet makes the reference particularly pertinent. Yet there is no attempt to reproduce the stage. Instead, its influence is absorbed into a collection where line, weight, suspension and rhythm become design principles.

Elsewhere, coloured fragments taken from the backgrounds of 1920s portraiture appeared almost like pieces of canvas translated into cloth. Bows were threaded through dresses and knitwear as constructional devices, while pleats and tucks created garments whose forms seemed to be determined by the relationship between fabric and body.

Beauty has become an integral part of the label and the Paris runway introduced Rouge Victoria, a new lipstick developed over two years, applied to the majority of the 44 models

A starched cotton shirts and soft Nappa

suede bag made for a stylish look. 

The contradiction became more appararent in the more streamlined pieces. Starched-cotton shirts and mini dresses opened like paper fans around the figure, recalling the curious relationship between paper dolls and their clothes. Pleated geometric forms maintained their shape while leaving space for the body beneath. 

Trench coats folded into sculptural silhouettes suggestive of couture, yet were made from exceptionally light technical fabrics. Tailoring followed the same principle: elongated jackets, floating high waists and oversized trousers maintained Beckham’s precision without turning it into rigidity.

The accessories continued the modernist vocabulary. The new Fontana buckle divides Beckham’s familiar B into a lighter graphic form, while the oversized Sloane bag abandons stiffness for soft Nappa leather and suede that can be gathered beneath the arm. Flat bags take their cues from 1920s shapes, while sculptural wedges introduce another conversation between industrial construction and organic form.

What makes this collection interesting is therefore not simply its reference to dance, nor its polished commerciality. It is Beckham’s understanding that modernism was never merely an aesthetic. It was a way of reconsidering how things function. At La Conciergerie, she applied that principle to the wardrobe: how a hem can become a moving line, how a bow can alter construction, how weight can animate fabric, and how tailoring can retain authority without dominating the woman wearing it.

In that sense, Spring/Summer 2027 feels less like an exercise in looking backwards than a conversation with the artists who first questioned where one discipline ended and another began. Beckham has taken that century-old argument and brought it into her own precise, increasingly confident fashion language.

See the full collection below from Victoria Beckham's Spring/Summer 2027 Collection in Paris