The clothes carried the exact same chaotic logic. Martens has always understood that more is more, but here the brief was clearly: if you can't choose what to wear, wear everything at once. A waxed leather jacket sat over a topstitched blazer, which sat over a ribbed jumper fused straight into a tracksuit collar. Layers stacked until the eye completely lost track of where one garment stopped and the next began. Denim was coated and laser-treated until it passed for leather, while trompe l'oeil prints dragged winter coats onto spring shirts — tweed and shearling rendered in fabric that had never seen a sheep. One print even directly reproduced the raw-edged shearling coat from Martens' very first Diesel show, a nostalgic nod to where all this beautiful madness started. Trousers and skirts opened at the waist into a low-rise cut that looked almost architecturally impossible, finished off with orchid embroidery creeping up from the hem. One top stayed up purely on the strength of a belt, echoing the very first look Martens ever sent down a Diesel runway.