Art Deco at One Hundred: Why the Sleek Design Aesthetic of the ‘Machine Age’ Still Endures

Against a backdrop of geometric skyscrapers, Tamara de Lempicka's Portrait of Romana de la Salle, 1928. The painting sold at Sotheby's New York in 2022 for $14.1 million and was previously owned by German fashion designer Wolfgang Joop for more than 20 years. 

By Lynn Hilditch

In Paris in 1925, the French government initiated its ambitious International Exhibition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Arts with one specific goal – to showcase and celebrate the excellence of French modern design. This display of innovative ideas contributed to the rise of a ubiquitous design style that became known as art deco.

In Toulouse, France, the Art Deco facade of the 

Depeche du Midi newspaper, built in 1926 by 

architect Leon Jaussely in rue Alsace Lorraine.

Originally conceived in western Europe in the 1910s, art deco became dominant in the 1920s and flourished between the first and second world wars. In the US it was known as art moderne (or streamline moderne), a symbol of American interwar prosperity, optimism and luxury – the epitome of the “roaring twenties”.

Although known by various names, the term art deco (short for the French arts décoratifs) has been attributed to the Swiss-French architectural designer Le Corbusier. He harshly criticised the new style in his journal L’Esprit Nouveau,pithily claiming that “modern decoration has no decoration”. Likewise, historian Nikolaus Pevsner considered its “jazzy modernism” a perversion of true modernism.

The term was only confirmed in 1968 with the publication of Bevis Hillier’s book Art Deco of the 20s and 30s, which fortified the style’s name. Hillier described art deco as “the last of the total styles” affecting “everything, from skyscrapers and luxury liners to powder compacts, thermos flasks, lampposts and letterboxes”.

In America, art deco spanned the boom of 1920s and the bust of the Depression-ridden 1930s. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novels The Beautiful and the Damned (1922) and The Great Gatsby (1925) reflected the style of the period: flappers and “sheiks” embracing the spirit of frivolity, liberation and hopefulness.

The “machine age” was in full swing, and technology was rapidly improving quality of life. The period saw the introduction of the industrialised printing press, radio, the first skyscrapers and modern transportation. There was a sense of excitement and expectancy in the air, a time of anticipating a future filled with promise and possibility.

A sense of style

Radio City Music Hall's lobby in New York 

opened in 1932. Brian Logan/Shutterstock 

Stylistically, art deco’s distinct machine aesthetic replaced the flowing, floral motifs of the earlier arts and crafts and art nouveau styles. This movement incorporated streamlined, geometric designs that expressed the speed, power and scale of modern technology.

Design influences came from the early 20th century art movements of cubism, futurism and constructivism as well as from the ancient exotic cultures of Egypt, Assyria and Persia.

Zig-zags, sunbursts and stylistic flowers became synonymous with the style, along with the use of bright colours (influenced by fauvism), strong rectilinear shapes and new materials such as aluminium, stainless steel, chrome and plastic. According to art deco expert Alastair Duncan: “for the first time, the straight line became a source of beauty.”

Art deco often conjures up images of delicate Lalique glassware or the vibrant abstract designs of British ceramicist Clarice Cliff. But despite its European origin, art deco is perhaps best defined by American architecture.

The soaring Art Deco "Wisdom" design above the

main entrance to the Rockefeller Centre in New York 

from the plaza, with its strong verticality in limestone.

The Chrysler Building, the Empire State Building and the Radio City Music Hall are among the most impressive examples with their sleek, linear appearance with stylised, often geometric ornamentation that transformed New York City into a futuristic modern metropolis. It is perhaps inevitable that art deco would influence film-making (Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, from 1927, for example) and later 20th-century design styles, like retrofuturism.

While painting is not closely associated with art deco, Tamara de Lempicka’s highly stylised portraits of aristocrats and socialites echoed the 1920s glamour and sophistication. Her work defined the role of “the new woman”, a term originally coined in the late-19th century, but also referring to a generation of free-spirited women with liberal interpretations of gender in the early 20th century.

Many of Lempicka’s paintings were of nudes with several set against a background of New York skyscrapers. The cubist influence in her work is also evident through her use of bold lines and geometric, angular shapes. Lempicka’s work increased in popularity during the late-1980s when a string of celebrities, including Jack Nicholson and Barbra Streisand, expressed their admiration for her work.

A signature example of Art Deco style,

Tamara de Lempicka's "Young Girl in

Green" (1927) at the Centre Pompidou.

Madonna, an avid collector of the artist who has admitted to owning enough Lempicka paintings to open a museum, referenced Lempicka’s unique aesthetic in her music videos for Open Your Heart (1987), Express Yourself (1989), Vogue (1990) and included projections of Lempicka’s paintings in her 2023-24 Celebration Tour.

Today, the art deco style remains relevant and desirable. In January 2025, Country and Town House magazine announced “art deco is back for 2025” in interior design.

Mercedes-Benz recently showcased its new Vision Iconic show car – its dramatic radiator grille designed to harken back to the “golden era of automotive design in the 1930s”. Jaguar also created a pink show car earlier this year, the advert for which referenced the art deco architecture of Miami Beach.

A century after its Parisian debut, the art deco movement continues to inspire with its modernity, elegance and freedom of form, creating a sense of nostalgia through juxtaposing perspectives from the past and present..

Lynn Hilditch, Lecturer in Fine Art and Design Praxis,. Liverpool Hope University

Why Does it Feel So Hard to Work Out in the Morning? Here are Some Scientific Reasons Why

You are not imagining it, there are good reasons why it feels so difficult to workout in the morning. 

By Hunter Bennett, University of South Australia

Your alarm goes off. Somehow you manage to get dressed, drag yourself to the gym, and start squatting.But why does it feel so hard? Your legs are heavy and the weight you lifted only a couple of days ago – in the afternoon – feels almost impossible.

No, you’re not imagining it. There’s a large body of evidence to suggest most of us are stronger, more powerful, and have better endurance later in the day.

There are several reasons exercising can feel much harder first thing in the morning. Here’s why, and how you can adjust to morning exercise if you need to.

Your circadian rhythm affects your workout

Your body has a natural 24-hour clock that regulates hormones, body temperature and when you feel most awake or ready for sleep.

This clock is called your circadian rhythm. It is controlled by the brain but can also be influenced by external factors such as sunlight. This might explain why exercising in the morning in winter can be especially hard for some of us.

Research shows your circadian rhythm is clearly linked to exercise performance, which tends to follow a daily pattern.

Most people reach their peak between 4 and 7pm. This means we tend to be stronger, faster and more powerful in the afternoon and early evening.

We don’t know exactly why. But there are a few potential explanations.

Matt Garrow/The Conversation. Adapted from Delos, CC BY

Body temperature

Your core body temperature is at its lowest around 5am, and steadily increases across the day. When your body temperature rises, your muscles contract more efficiently. We think this is part of the reason people are typically stronger and more powerful later in the day.

Hormonal fluctuations

Insulin – the hormone that regulates blood sugar (glucose) levels – tends to be highest in the morning. This leads to a decrease in blood sugar, meaning less glucose your body can use as fuel, likely affecting how hard you can push.

Nervous system function

While we don’t know exactly why, there is some evidence to suggest your nervous system is better at sending signals to your muscles throughout the day. This allows you to use more of your muscle fibres during exercise, essentially making you stronger.

But what if I’m a morning person?

Your sleep chronotype can also affect exercise performance.

This describes your natural inclination for sleep and wakefulness at certain parts of the day – basically whether you’re a “morning person” (an “early bird”), or feel more productive and alert in the evening (a “night owl”).

Research shows night owls with a late chronotype do notably worse when exercising in the morning, compared to people with an early chronotype.

While we don’t know why this is the case, it might be that night owls experience smaller fluctuations in hormones and temperature throughout the day – although this is just speculation.

Interestingly, being sleep deprived seems to affect physical performance in the afternoon more than in the morning. So if you’re staying up late and not getting much sleep, you may actually find it easier to exercise the next morning than the next afternoon.

So, does timing matter?

Whatever time of day, if you can feel yourself working you will make progress – for example, increasing muscle strength and improving aerobic fitness and heart health.

So if you’re exercising to get bigger, stronger and fitter, the timing doesn’t actually matter.

Besides, when we exercise often comes down to motivation and convenience. If you like to exercise earlier in the day and that suits you best, there’s no reason to change.

But you can adapt if you need

If you have a sporting event coming up in the morning – and you usually train in the afternoon – you might want to prepare by doing some early exercise so you’re at your peak.

There is evidence to suggest that repeatedly training in the morning can close the gap between your afternoon and morning performance.

Basically, your body can get used to exercising at a particular time, although it will likely take a few weeks to adapt.

Finally, if you find exercising close to bedtime makes you feel too alert and is disrupting your sleep, you may want to try doing something more gentle at night and/or exercising earlier in the day.

Hunter Bennett, Lecturer in Exercise Science, University of South Australia

Almost Unimaginable Beauty and Opulence: the Paradise Pleasure Gardens of Ancient Persia

Nine paradise gardens in Iran are collectively listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site, the Eram Garden (pictured above) built in the 12th century is one of the most splendid.  

By Peter Edwell

Some of the most enduring ancient myths in the Persian world were centred around gardens of almost unimaginable beauty and opulence.

The biblical Garden of Eden and the Epic of Gilgamesh’s Garden of the Gods are prominent examples. In these myths, paradise was an opulent garden of tranquillity and abundance.

But how did this concept of paradise originate? And what did these beautiful gardens look and feel like in antiquity?

Pairi-daēza is where we get the word ‘paradise’

The English word “paradise” derives from an old Persian word pairidaeza or pairi-daēza, which translates as “enclosed garden”.

The origins of paradise gardens lie in Mesopotamia and Persia (modern Iraq and Iran).

The Garden of the Gods from the Epic of Gilgamesh from about 2000 BCE is one of the earliest attested in literature.

Some argue it was also the inspiration for the legend of the Garden of Eden in the book of Genesis. In both of these stories, paradise gardens functioned as a type of utopia.

When the Achaemenid kings ruled ancient Persia (550–330 BCE), the development of royal paradise gardens grew significantly. The paradise garden of the Persian king, Cyrus the Great, who ruled around 550 BCE, is the earliest physical example yet discovered.

During his reign, Cyrus built a palace complex at Pasargadae in Persia. The entire complex was adorned with gardens which included canals, bridges, pathways and a large pool.

One of the gardens measured 150 metres by 120 metres (1.8 hectares). Archaeologists found evidence for the garden’s division into four parts, symbolising the four quarters of Cyrus’s vast empire.

Technological wonders

A feature of paradise gardens in Persia was their defiance of often harsh, dry landscapes.

This required ingenuity in supplying large volumes of water required for the gardens. Pasargadae was supplied by a sophisticated hydraulic system, which diverted water from the nearby Pulvar River.

The tradition continued throughout the Achaemenid period. Cyrus the Younger, probably a descendant of Cyrus the Great, had a palace at Sardis (in modern Turkey), which included a paradise garden.

According to the ancient Greek writer, Xenophon, the Spartan general Lysander visited Cyrus at the palace around 407 BCE.

When he walked in the garden, astounded by its intricate design and beauty, Lysander asked who planned it. Cyrus replied that he had designed the garden himself and planted its trees.

Perhaps the ultimate ancient paradise garden was the legendary Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

In one tradition, the gardens were built by the neo-Babylonian King, Nebuchadnezzar II (605–562 BCE).

The gardens were so magnificent and technologically advanced they were later counted among the Seven Wonders of the World.

Perhaps the ultimate ancient paradise garden was the legendary Hanging Gardens of Babylon. mikroman6/Getty Images

In a later Roman account, the Hanging Gardens consisted of vaulted terraces resting on cube-shaped pillars.

Flowing water was a key feature, with elaborate machines raising water from the Euphrates river. Fully grown trees with vast root systems were supported by the terraces.

In another account, the Hanging Gardens were built by a Syrian king for his Persian wife to remind her of her homeland.

When the Sasanian dynasty (224–651 CE) came to power in Persia, its kings also built paradise gardens. The 147-hectare palace of Khosrow II (590–628 CE) at Qasr-e Shirin was almost entirely set in a paradise garden.

The paradise gardens were rich in symbolic significance. Their division into four parts symbolised imperial power, the cardinal directions and the four elements in Zoroastrian lore: air, earth, water and fire.

The gardens also played a religious role, offering a glimpse of what eternity might look like in the afterlife.

They were also a refuge in the midst of a harsh world and unforgiving environments. Gilgamesh sought solace and immortality in the Garden of the Gods following the death of his friend Enkidu.

According to the Bible, God himself walked in the Garden of Eden in the cool of the evening.

But in both cases, disappointment and distress followed.

Gilgamesh discovered the non-existence of immortality. God discovered the sin of Adam and Eve.

Paradise on Earth

The tradition of paradise gardens continued after the Islamic conquest of Persia in the 7th century CE.

The four-part gardens (known as chahar-bagh) of the Persian kingdoms were also a key feature of the Islamic period.

The Garden of Paradise described in the Quran comprised four gardens divided into two pairs. The four-part garden became symbolic of paradise on Earth.

The tradition of paradise gardens has continued in Iran to the present day.

Nine paradise gardens in Iran are collectively listed as a UNESCO World Heritage site. The Eram garden, built in about the 12th century CE, and the 19th-century Bagh-e Shahzadeh are among the most splendid.

Today, the word “paradise” evokes a broader range of images and experiences. It can foster many different images of idyllic physical and spiritual settings.

But the magnificent enclosed gardens of the ancient Persian world still inspire us to imagine what paradise on Earth might look and feel like.

Peter Edwell, Associate Professor in Ancient History, Macquarie University

Often Overlooked, Tudor Art Richly Reflected a Turbulent Century of Growth and Change

Elizabeth I as the Queen of Love and Beauty c.1600 possibly by Marcus Gheeraerts the Younger. also known as the Rainbow Portrait. Hatfield House, Hertfordshire, England.  

By Christina Faraday, University of Cambridge

It can sometimes seem like the Tudors are everywhere, at least in Britain: on television, in bookshops and in historic houses and galleries across the country. Yet within the discipline of art history, appreciation for pictures and objects produced in England between 1485 and 1603 has been slow to take hold.

The Embarkation of Henry VIII at Dover by artist

unknown, c. 1520-40 was meant to show the 

military might of the Tudors. Hampton Court

Palace, London. 

For a long time, narratives about the popular impetus behind the Reformation led some historians to believe art was unwelcome in Protestant England, for fear it would inspire people to commit idolatry.

Meanwhile, long-held scholarly prejudices towards easel paintings and sculptures (which, excepting portraits, are few and far between in Tudor England) and against “decorative” arts and household objects, reinforced the notion that the country was practically barren of visual art in the 16th century.

Happily, times are now changing. In the last few years, the period’s beautiful and intriguing artworks have been receiving more attention in mainstream art history, not least in the New York Metropolitan Museum’s 2022 exhibition The Tudors: Art and Majesty in Renaissance England.

Still, to date there has never been a comprehensive introduction to Tudor art aimed at the general public. My new book, The Story of Tudor Art will be the first to unite artworks and contexts across the whole of the “long Tudor century”, looking at the works of famous names like Hans Holbein the Younger and Nicholas Hilliard, but also beyond them, to interior furnishings, fashion and objects by unknown makers.

The book considers art made for the royal court, but also for increasing numbers of “middling” professionals, who embraced art and material objects to mark their new-found status in society.

Rather than appreciating art on purely aesthetic terms, Tudor viewers had practical expectations for the objects they owned and commissioned. Art was primarily a mode of communication, akin to speeches or the written word. Images had an advantage, however, as vision was considered the highest of the senses, exerting the greatest power over the mind.

Henry VIII AT 49 years old, by Hans Holbein

the Younger, 1540. Palazzo Barberini, Rome.

Images could shape the viewer morally – for example, through exposure to long galleries full of portraits of the great and the good, where viewers could learn about them and emulate their virtues. But this shaping was also physical, as with stories of pregnant women who, viewing certain images, were thought to unconsciously shape the foetus in their womb, a phenomenon known as “maternal impression”.

Most casual observers probably recognise Holbein’s magnificent portraits of Henry VIII, and some of Elizabeth I’s many painted personae. But even for aficionados, artworks produced under Henry VII, Edward VI and Mary I remain relatively obscure. 

One of the book’s aims is to draw attention to these overlooked periods, showing that even during the so-called mid-Tudor crisis (when England had four different rulers in just 11 years), art and architecture remained a priority for shaping narratives about individuals and institutions such as the Church.

Henry VII emerges as a canny patron of visual arts, using various means to promote himself in his new role as king of England. Artists looked to legendary characters, ancient and recent, to bolster his tentative claim to the throne.

Popular legends originating in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s (largely fabricated) “British history”, resurface in a genealogical manuscript in the British Library showing Henry VII’s descent from Brutus, the legendary Trojan founder of Britain. This positions Henry as the Welsh messiah destined to rescue Britain from its Saxon invaders.

Architectural patronage at Westminster Abbey in London and King’s College Chapel in Cambridge aligned him with his half-uncle and Lancastrian predecessor, Henry VI. Rumours of miracles had been swirling about him since his probable murder in 1471. Meanwhile, reforms to the coinage included the first accurate royal likeness on English coins, changing the generic face used by his predecessors into a recognisable portrait of Henry VII himself.

The Protestant monarch Edward VI and his regime passed the first official laws against religious images, resulting in the tearing down of religious images and icons in cathedrals and parish churches. But Edward VI’s reign was not only a time of destruction. Under the influence of the two successive leaders of his council, elite patrons began to embrace classical architecture, a development that may relate to Protestant ideas about restoring the church to the time of Christ’s apostles.

Edward’s successor, Mary I, a staunch Catholic, made many attempts to undo the work of her Protestant-minded predecessor, including legislation to restore some church images. Perhaps more significantly, her marriage to Philip II of Spain brought England into closer artistic alignment with continental Europe. This saw a flood of artworks and artists associated with the Habsburg empire enter the country, including the first Titian portrait ever seen in England.

Due to the long neglect of Tudor art in mainstream art history, a vast amount of research remains to be done. Even within the better-studied reigns of Henry VIII and Elizabeth I, discoveries are waiting, and whole avenues of cultural and intellectual interpretation are yet to be explored.

Christina Faraday, Research Fellow in History of Art, University of Cambridge

Why Jane Austen’s Leading Men are Such Enduringly Popular Heartthrobs

Mr Darcy played by Colin Firth in the BBC's beloved 1995 adaptation of Jane Austen's novel Pride and Prejudice.  

By Louise Curran

In Ang Lee’s adaptation of Sense and Sensibility (1995), the handsome cad Willoughby (played by Greg Wise) rescues Marianne (Kate Winslet) on horseback in the middle of a raging storm. Pathetic fallacy has rarely looked so good.

Marianne locks eyes with him and falls passionately in love. In Austen’s version, though, it is Marianne’s mother and sister who first register his attractions. “The eyes of both were fixed on him with an evident wonder and a secret admiration … his person, which was uncommonly handsome, received additional charms from his voice and expression.”

Willoughby has “exterior attractions” that the two women quickly notice. Once Marianne can master her own confusion, she rapidly constructs him in her mind as the ideal romantic protagonist.

“His person and air were equal to what her fancy had ever drawn for the hero of a favourite story … Her imagination was busy, her reflections were pleasant, and the pain of a sprained ankle was disregarded.”

Yet despite such auspicious beginnings, by the end of the novel Willoughby has proved to be feckless, shallow and passively cruel. The actual leading man turns out to be the respectable, yet taciturn, Colonel Brandon (played in the film by Alan Rickman).

In his introduction to the 1895 edition of Sense and Sensibility, the poet and essayist Henry Austin Dobson remarked upon the shrewd realism at work in Austen’s ending: “Every one does not get a Bingley, or a Darcy (with a park); but a good many sensible girls like Elinor pair off contentedly with poor creatures like Edward Ferrars, while not a few enthusiasts like Marianne decline at last upon middle-aged colonels with flannel waistcoats.”

For many modern readers, Brandon remains a disappointing compromise when compared with Willoughby’s flagrant virility.

Austen’s heartthrobs

All of Austen’s leading men are rich, which certainly helps to intensify their charms. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pride and Prejudice is the wealthiest man of Austen’s fiction.

Initially he draws local attention for his “fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and the report, which was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his having ten thousand a year”, until he is quickly “discovered to be proud”.

One of the key debates of Pride and Prejudice (1813) concerns marriage for love versus convenience and financial security. Elizabeth Bennet’s intelligent aunt Mrs Gardiner argues that the phrase “violently in love” is “so hackneyed, so doubtful, so indefinite” and “often applied to feelings which arise only from a half hour’s acquaintance”.

She eloquently expresses the problematic nature of infatuation and the fictional construction of the heroic ideal so prevalent in Regency culture.

Colin Firth’s infamous Pride and Prejudice wet shirt scene.

The phrase recurs right at the end of the novel, at the moment Elizabeth discloses her feelings for Darcy, producing a happiness in him that he “had probably never felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do”.

The repeated phrase is a lovely touch, hesitating as it does between endorsing Darcy as a swoon-worthy leading man, burning with passion, and holding back from such excesses through the suggestion of a faint ridiculousness.

The 1995 BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice gave visual language to this conjunction of intrepid yet hesitant masculinity. Darcy (played memorably by Colin Firth) emerged from water like an Adonis in a wet shirt, only to face an embarrassed encounter with Elizabeth (Jennifer Ehle). Though usually handsome and always relatively rich, Austen’s leading men are also unconventional in that they can be awkward, mistaken, tongue-tied – even a bit dull.

When Darcy’s housekeeper at Pemberley describes him as “handsome”, this adjective, as Austen expert Janet Todd has noted, “extends over physical, social and moral qualities”. This conjunction of qualities shapes the leading men of Austen’s fiction not so much as suitors as familiar figures who come to be transformed by love.

Uncomfortable matches

Some aspects of this heroism might strike modern readers as odd, and they alert us to changing perceptions of the romantic hero since Austen’s time.

The age difference in Emma between Emma Woodhouse (21) and George Knightley (37) was not uncommon in the Regency era, when marriage was often predicated on women’s reproductive value and men’s financial security.

It can be uncomfortable for some readers when Knightley emphasises the fact that he was 16 years old when Emma was born (as he is cradling his baby niece). And when he jokes about having been in love with her since she was “13 at least”. Rather than suggesting anything dubious, this was intended to draw attention to the incremental steps the couple make from brother and sister-in-law to friends and then lovers.

Johnny Flynn’s Knightley has more youthful energy.

Recent adaptations of Emma seem uncomfortable with this age gap. Despite the fact that both Jeremy Northam and Johnny Flynn were in their mid-30s, and of similar age to Knightley in their respective versions (1996 and 2020), Flynn gives off a younger, more virile energy. He punches the air in joy when he realises Emma will marry him, in contrast to Northam’s emotional restraint.

Maria Edgeworth, a contemporary novelist and important influence on Austen, was struck by the way Austen’s leading men were supportive in private as much as in public.

In a letter, Edgeworth referenced the moment in Persuasion (1817) where Captain Wentworth shows his feelings for Anne by submitting to domestic chores: “The love and lover [are] admirably well drawn: don’t you see Captain Wentworth, or rather don’t you in her place feel him taking the boisterous child off her back as she kneels by the sick boy on the sofa?”

In figures such as Emma’s Mr Knightley, who represents the landed English class, and Persuasion’s Frederick Wentworth, a naval hero of the Napoleonic wars, Austen put emphasis on a new kind of domestic masculinity as a source of female desire and national pride.

Like Austen’s heroines, her leading men are not superlatively good. Their enduring appeal lies more in their capacity for self development and their acceptance of change and adaptation. Austen depicts love as the awakening of mutual esteem. It’s something to be worked on rather than something that magically arrives.

Louise Curran, Lecturer in Eighteenth-Century and Romantic Literature, University of Birmingham

In Full Stride: Equestrian Energy Meets Bohemian Rebellion in Shiatzy Chen’s SS26 Paris Collection

Long, swinging hair and natural make-up added to the feeling of a Seventies ethos of liberation in Shiatzy Chen's new collection in Paris. Photograph (above) by Jay Zoo for DAM.  

Shiatzy Chen’s Spring/Summer 2026 collection at Paris Fashion Week, captured the untamed energy of the horse and the free-spirited ethos of 1970s bohemian style. Blending flowing fabrics, intricate embroidery, and equestrian-inspired details, the designs merged Eastern craftsmanship with Western silhouettes. Through a palette that ranged from earthy neutrals to vibrant neons, and playful combinations of structured tailoring and relaxed layering, the Taiwanese designer celebrated movement, individuality, and cultural dialogue, delivering a collection that was at once romantic, bold, and contemporary. Story by Jeanne-Marie Cilento. Photographs by Jay Zoo 

Leather straps and belts

gave the collection an

equestrian theme. 

CALLED Unstill, Shiatzy Chen's new collection was designed to suggest the energy of a horse in full stride. Drawing on equestrian symbolism to inspire her work, Chen’s vision merged the romantic rebellion of the 1970s with modern tailoring, creating an East-meets-West aesthetic that felt both liberated and finely crafted.

From the first look, the collection exuded movement and freedom. Textiles such as chiffon, lace, and lightweight cotton-linen moved with each step, punctuated by the structured curves of saddle-inspired pockets and tailored flares. 

The designer's signature embroidery appeared throughout, not as ornamentation, but as storytelling, adding a certain vitality to each garment. Multi-directional patterns and ribbon detailing recalled the handcraft of folk art, while maintaining a sophistication suitable for Paris’ discerning fashion audience.

Color played a central role in the collection’s narrative. Tobacco browns and coffee tones suggested the earthy landscape of a sun-drenched horizon, while blues, fuchsias, and cobalt punctuated the neutrals like bursts of bright sunlight on a wild meadow. Black and white served as grounding elements, echoing the elegance and discipline inherent in Chen’s tailoring. Together, the palette reflected the duality of the collection: daydreaming wanderers and nocturnal revelers, pastoral calm and disco vibrancy coexisting in balance.

There was a freedom to mix and match, with unexpected pairings such as crochet tops with suiting or pajamas as outerwear, a playful nod to the era of bohemian experimentation.

Silk scarves and softly

flowing, floral designs

enhanced the 70's style.

Flared pants paired with cropped vests, flowing lace blouses over soft skirts, and layered long-on-long looks created a sense of casual sophistication. 

Menswear-inspired pieces were equally dynamic: cropped jackets, leather trousers, cargo-style curves, and bell-bottoms fused utilitarian strength with poetic grace. The freedom to mix and match was emphasized, allowing for unexpected pairings such as crochet tops with suiting or pajamas as outerwear, a playful nod to the era of bohemian experimentation.

Accessories reinforced the equestrian and hippie motifs. Triangular silk scarves became headbands or neckerchiefs; saddle-shaped bags with dimensional clasps offered a subtle nod to the horse motif; while jewellery repurposed bits and horseshoes into necklaces, brooches, and belts. Footwear included reimagined Mary Janes, platform sandals, and brogues, some with metallic accents, merging functionality with exuberant style.

What set this collection apart was Chen's ability to channel her horse-inspired themes into designs that evoked a sense of liberation. Balancing her feel for ethereal romance and bold physicality, the designer was able to fuse Eastern sensibilities with a Western bohemian spirit. In Unstill, Shiatzy Chen once again demonstrated why she is one of the few designers who can continually reinvent the dialogue between heritage and modernity and East and West, in new and interesting ways.   

Scroll down to see more highlights from the Shiatzy Chen SS26 show at the Palais de Tokyo in Paris

Backstage at Shiatzy Chen before the Spring/Summer 2026 show at the Palais de Tokyo in Paris