On Friday afternoon, I went over to the Balenciaga offices to meet with still surname-free Demna and peruse a few pieces from the new collection. We talked about Los Angeles—where he showed in December—and good taste versus bad, and how the whole tired-from-inception concept of quiet luxury makes the skin crawl. I told him about John Fetterman, and the uproar over the senator’s sweatshirts. Good taste is often in poor taste, if you know what I mean. Trying to look classy often makes you look pathetic.

I liked what I saw at the preview, but the Sunday show, which took place in a box constructed over Napoleon’s tomb—the walls, floor, and ceiling lined in screens depicting “morning to night”—was the best thing I’ve seen all week. Before it started, the ceiling’s digital blue sky made it look as if the sun was shining down on us. (It’s been raining.) The product—as Demna comfortably called it, freeing that word from shame—was refreshingly individualistic. In other words, it was the opposite of the repetition-happy collections that many other designers have been showing. (To emphasize the idea of individuality, every “invite” was a tchotchke sourced on eBay that was related to the guest’s past. Mine was a small porcelain poodle, inspired by Ralphie, the family dog. He now lives with my in-laws in Miami.)