LOVE, LOUIS

Kyle Ho introduces Chapter One: LOVE, LOUIS, a collection that refuses to be bound by seasons because true style does not obey time. It lingers in the shadows; woven into the narratives we inhabit. This is not fashion to be worn and discarded; it is a second skin, a presence that clings to the body like an unspoken secret, whispering of seduction and danger, of precision and the abyss.

Louis is a collector, but not merely of objects. He gathers moments such as stolen glances, the weight of hands that linger too long. By day, he curates relics of the past, artifacts of forgotten time, each one chosen for its quiet power. He sees his body as vast, it is a sanctuary of history, yet he walks with the detachment of a man untethered to it. Tailoring becomes his armour, his sharp shoulders and elongated silhouette, a controlled façade, a composition of noir, rouge sang, and muted whispers of decay. Worsted wool, leather, and denim form a cruel embrace, each fabric a deception, veiling the chaos that stirs beneath.