Hours before Haider Ackermann’s Tom Ford debut, I edged myself with his interview on Bella Freud’s Fashion Neurosis. And while I’m not really one for it—I like the scenic ride, but I have to feel like the car is moving—it did the trick. During the hour I spent listening to Ackermann ramble about his life, I learned two things. One: If I ever want to hook up with him, I’ll have to let go of my love for buttons (watch this space for a Depop account exclusively for my buttoned pieces). And two: the show I was about to see was not going to align with my admittedly large expectations. I’d been dreaming of what his debut would look like ever since it was announced. Besides being a huge Ackermann fan, I’ve also started an obsessive collection of Tom Ford-era Gucci speedos. Point being: my expectations were high.

“Ackermann is after something different, an intellectual tantrism that lingers in the mind, rather than just the body.”

In my ignorant mind, I conjured images of sex like no other—raw, decadent, unmistakably Ford. But while that vision wasn’t fulfilled, what Ackermann created was undeniably sensual and queer. The set alone, made of steamy glass walls that spoke directly to the fantasy of a bathhouse, was enough to appease the imagination of any raging homosexual. Unlike the delicious debauchery that takes place inside, Fall/Winter 2025 was an intellectual and considered take on sexuality. Ford’s sensuality was about palpable sex. Sweat, skin, and excess. Ackermann is after something different, an intellectual tantrism that lingers in the mind, rather than just the body.

And while what was presented was anything but stereotypical, a taste of the expected was a lovely way to start the collection. Full-leather ensembles were essential. Leather lesbians and pinstripe-suited twinks came down the runway in androgynous, full-coverage looks. Even in its most forward sexy moments—a patent red crocodile coat meant to be worn with nothing underneath—there was a sensible composure. Typically Ackermann-colored contrast shirts and suits ignited a journey into what can only be described as power-lesbian wear. Baby pink with sickly green, Tinky-Winky purple with mature beige, jewel yellow with deep brown—Ackermann’s mastery of color was on full display, standing in sharp contrast to Ford’s fetish of neutral tones.

The collection flirted with the female gaze, toying with the clichés of femininity only to twist them into something sharper, and therefore, even sexier. If sensuality is stereotypically subtractive in its disposal of coverings, Ackermann made it additive, stripping us of the idea of nudity as the pinnacle of the erotic. Sensual dresses all had a sense of restraint to them. Beautifully draped gowns were full-coverage in the front, and barren in the back, while maxi dresses appeared to have been cut just shy of the model’s thighs. And, while many had a hard time swallowing the glittery suits that closed the collection, there is something undeniably queer about DL campiness. No, it’s not a part of the community the fashion gay might be eager to claim, but who else would wear them other than an elder homosexual on his third outfit change of the wedding night, or perhaps Shawn Trujillo at an RHOSLC reunion?

It wasn’t the glossy, drugged-out sex appeal of Ford, but Ackermann’s queerness was just as potent—refreshingly subversive in an industry still shaped by the male gaze. His vision proved that sensuality doesn’t have to be loud to be intoxicating, that desire can be just as commanding when it simmers beneath the surface, rather than dripping off the skin. And much like the kiss the two shared when the latter came to take a bow—the video of which I’ve watched an ungodly number of times—this is a show I won’t shut up about for seasons to come.