Of the designers showing at London Fashion Week, more than half will have passed through Central Saint Martins, a remarkable number for any one college. It tracks, then, that CSM’s flagship MA course again took the headline slot on the opening night of the autumn/winter 2026 season – the end-of-year goal towards which students work, and for which only a handful are selected. Headed up by course director Fabio Piras, the showcase remains one of the most keenly observed moments on the schedule, a must-see for buyers, editors and prospective employers scanning for fashion’s future.
The legend looms large. When John Galliano graduated in 1984, his French-Revolution-inspired Les Incroyables collection was bought by Browns. In 1992, Isabella Blow snapped up the clothes from Lee McQueen’s graduate show, and within four years, he was designer-in-chief at Givenchy. Much has changed since then – not least because the hiring of artistic directors now seems contingent on having been one before – and yet this year’s graduates harbour ambitions no less lofty. “A creative director role would be the ideal,” says Mé Mé Yin; “a couture house,” adds Finnerty Mackay; while Arielle Uno has her sights set on Chanel and Bottega Veneta. Their collections span themes as diverse as addiction and post-industrial idealism, glitch feminism and the invention of flight.
Get to know eight of the graduating designers from Central Saint Martins’s MA class of 2026, here.
Glamour in its rawest form. Like pulling a diamond out of the ground. On that note, nature is at the core of everything I do. Every design decision I make, I think, “How will this impact the environment?”
The collection is called RUST – Rebuilding Us Slowly Through Nature – and is about the community of women from the Niger Delta, where my family and I are from. It imagines a world shaped by the collapse of the oil-rig economy, in which women gather its debris and waste and refashion it into a society grounded in glamour and spirituality. I think of it as industrial glamour: pushing utilitarian materials to a point of beauty. I’ve been researching waste in West Africa for several years, but the initial spark came on a country walk, where I kept encountering abandoned, rusting objects. I collected them, alongside bike tyres, and used them to dye silk and frayed tweed.
The Makers Camp – three weeks where students, artisans and sustainability-focused companies came together to reimagine fashion’s future through Ghanaian material practices – was integral. When you’re not close to an issue, you tend to think abstractly about what could be done, but at the camp, the idea of thinking globally and acting locally became central, and that’s something I carried through to my final collection. It also led to a side project: I collected children’s clothing and donated it to vulnerable people in the local community. Another key lesson was learning how to work with unconventional materials. You have to invent your own rules for those materials, which means becoming comfortable with failing – and failing often – so you can understand exactly what to do next.
CSM has already started doing this, but I’d like to see more global voices and perspectives embedded within the curriculum. As an African designer, the way I approach fashion is different from a Western framework, and bringing that perspective into the classroom strengthened both my point of view and that of my classmates. There’s so much to learn from other cultures, even if it’s not something you immediately relate to.
I’d like to work in textiles at a fashion house for a few years – ideally Chanel or Bottega – and from there, I want to build my own holistic approach to fashion, centred on community workshops, craft, sustainability and human connection. I’m passionate about learning and immersing myself in underrepresented stories, and creating platforms for those narratives is central to my practice.
We had a collaboration project called “To Brand or Not to Brand”, and our group went above and beyond. Instead of creating a fashion brand, we created a political party. We staged a RuPaul-style drag debate and even wrote a song.
My background is rooted in the atelier, but my appreciation of craft skyrocketed once I discovered tailoring and the techniques involved in manipulating cloth to reflect and enhance the body. My work explores how the body can be shaped and emphasised through material and over-engineered pattern cutting, not because it’s the most logical choice, but for the sheer joy of exploring my craft.
As the son of three generations of alcoholics, I’m acutely aware that I am biologically predisposed to developing an addiction in my lifetime, alongside the fact that queer people are two to three times more likely to develop addiction than their straight counterparts. This led me to a deep dive into research around the scientific and sociological causes of addiction. (As human beings, we are hardwired to form addictions, whether to substances or to certain actions and behaviours. It’s an intrinsic part of what makes us human, and something that should be understood as part of life.) Anyway, the collection began with the acknowledgement that addiction is a hereditary predisposition. Revisiting the childlike wonder of dressing up in our parents’ clothes, I found myself constraining my body through corsetry to fit into my grandmother’s tight ’50s jackets and circle skirts, only to then be drenched in an oversized ’80s coat inherited from my father. The resulting shift and drape of excess fabric wrapped around a constrained waist became the grounding silhouette of the collection
The combination of latex and wool is an ongoing creative practice of mine. In this collection, that materiality is connected to queer nightlife. As the rise of PrEP and doxycycline has reduced the perceived need for condoms, objects that once symbolised sex positivity and safety have been discarded in London’s darkrooms, replaced by lubricant. It led me to collect expired condoms and upcycle them into a luxurious textile, unrecognisable from its original form, reclaiming their value.
Fashion education is incredibly fast-paced, and social media adds pressure by promoting the idea that success means graduating and immediately becoming an independent designer. While that path works for some, for most, it’s financially unrealistic and not everyone’s ambition. Too much emphasis is placed on graduation as a final destination, rather than on a graduate collection being a starting point. Students should be encouraged to keep growing, experimenting and playing, instead of feeling like everything has to be resolved by the end of the year.
Growing and learning, hopefully within a couture house. I hope to find myself surrounded by people who are as passionate about craft as I am, working as a team towards something bigger than us.
I’ve always admired photography and had played with film before, so whenever I could find the time, I taught myself how to shoot large-format film. I ended up turning that into a small personal project and photographed the class. It was so lovely bringing everyone together and creating a snapshot of the MA class of 2026.
A balance of intention and pleasure, rooted in a desire to offer a wardrobe that reflects the complexity of women, the throes of everyday life, and the ongoing pressure to conform to unattainable ideals.
Growing up in Dublin and attending Catholic school, I wore a uniform every day from the age of five to 18. That constant regulation of dress made me acutely aware of how modesty and conformity are socially prescribed and performed from an early age, an awareness that has continued to resonate as I’ve moved further into womanhood. In contemporary high fashion, a clear hierarchy persists, in which minimalist aesthetics are celebrated as intellectually superior and socially prestigious. Minimalism is often valued for traits that are culturally coded as masculine: restraint, seriousness, efficiency. As a result, women who adopt minimalist dress are frequently perceived as more credible, rational and compatible with “high” culture or positions of authority. My collection challenges that. By reimagining “sophisticated” and “timeless” staples, such as the trench coat and tailored trousers, it proposes a wardrobe for women who are both pragmatic, but also provocative.
The collection employs fabrics traditionally coded as “feminine” or dismissed as lowbrow within high fashion. Foiled mesh, animal print and jersey reference the style rituals of Irish adolescent nightlife, where fashion, for me, became a meaningful site of resistance against culturally and institutionally enforced norms of politeness. I deliberately pushed myself to work with materials often labelled as “tacky” or “high street”. Through draping and cut, I aimed to give these fabrics the same level of consideration as luxury textiles, using them to express female sensuality and unapologetic power.
Making the pre-collection was integral for me. It was the first substantial body of work I’d produced since working on the runway team at Burberry, and it gave me space to apply the “good taste” I’d acquired there. In the end, the tutors encouraged me to bring in more personal influences – “If it’s too safe, too easy to understand through a commercial lens, it stops being challenging” – pushing my design into more risk-taking territory. I’ve grown into a confident and unapologetic version of myself.
I would like to see more of an emphasis on technicality and making, specifically within womenswear courses, as well as actively encouraging respect for and a deeper understanding of the technicians and pattern cutters whose expertise underpins the entire discipline.
Wherever possible, I will commit to working exclusively with women. London’s fashion landscape demands an act of female defiance. Whether through my own practice or within a brand, I want to create a revolution rooted in the lived realities of everyday women. In the same way that Vivienne Westwood’s punk subverted British propriety, and Sonia Rykiel’s Left Bank aesthetic offered Parisian women a new language of autonomy, I want to rupture fashion.
Impossible to choose just one. I’m grateful for every laugh shared with friends I know I’ll have for life.
Traditional in silhouette and engineered using new-age technology, the garments appear familiar yet share no similarities in construction. The designs are crafted without the use of sewing.
Each collection begins in the same way: I look for a historic event or invention that can offer technical inspiration. For this collection, the starting point was the invention of aviation in the early 1900s. I spent months visiting vintage aircraft collections and engineering libraries, gathering as much firsthand research as possible, which led to the slotted plywood jacket, wing hairpins and the wing shadow dress.
The main technique used in this collection is a knit-like textile that can be assembled without sewing, combined with an image-based algorithm in Grasshopper to create three-dimensional illusions. These illusions are intentionally analogue, echoing the vintage quality of many of my references. I applied this to paper, calico and thin plywood materials used in, or closely associated with, early aviation. The result is a piece that moves like knit, contours like woven, and can be produced in almost any material.
The fashion industry is an endless cycle of competition and comparison, and during my time on the MA, I saw many strong projects turned down. Not because they were bad, but simply because of circumstance. The point is: don’t take these things personally, and keep moving forward!
The cost of fashion education is restrictive. Expanding scholarships, grants and partnerships would bring more people into the fold and strengthen the industry as a whole.
Hopefully somewhere interesting, working on something I didn’t yet know existed.
Playing late-night Would You Rather with my table mates, Mia, Giulia and Adya.
I’m interested in the tension between discipline and softness in masculinity. My work often starts with military uniforms, which I loosen through drape and subtle exposure to reveal something more emotional, human.
The main inspiration is the 1999 film Beau Travail. The characters’ physical gestures, their moments of exposure, and the film’s tactile atmosphere – where military discipline and masculinity sit side by side – became the key visual and emotional references. Each piece retains elements of military dress, but is softened into a more wearable form through relaxed, comfortable silhouettes. Rather than framing masculinity in terms of gender, the collection looks at it as a human condition.
Fabrics are developed around the idea of softness through green and sandy tones. I focused on materials that carry a sense of “soft heaviness” and incorporated knitwear to introduce additional tactile layers. The fabrics use similar colours, so all the looks feel connected, like one soft scene.
The hard lesson was that hesitation slows creativity. Once I started making and testing things physically, problems became new ideas rather than obstacles. I suppose it’s about trusting my instincts. I used to hesitate a lot, even when I liked an idea, but I realised the work only develops after you commit to it. Instead of waiting for the perfect answer, I learned to act first and respond to what happens.
I’d like fashion education to offer students stronger connections to real opportunities within the industry, giving them more chances to apply what they learn during their studies.
I hope I’m still designing with the same passion… and hopefully not broke.
Drinking pints with friends at the student bar. I’ll miss it.
I am not creating fantasies, but making fabulous realities.
The starting point for this collection was my hometown, and the street photography of Liu Tao, whose work captures the ordinary lives of people who often, unintentionally, create poetic and absurd fashion moments. I’m interested in the way their – and our – everyday clothing can be approached with the same care as couture. Polo shirts, suits, tank tops, denim and motorbike raincoats form the core wardrobe, with all patterns drafted from scratch. Most silhouettes shift with the wearer’s movement, creating illusions through tulle denim, booted trousers, skirt-like shorts and effects, such as smoke-like tulle and flies buzzing around the head. I also applied my tailoring skills to semi-fitted suits that come structured at the back but unfitted at the front.
Printed denim is applied across multiple layers of tulle, each layer edited to the pattern shape and hand-attached before cutting. A polo shirt is made from fabric hand-cut into striped sections, with raw edges joined using specific thread colours. Throughout the collection, I experiment with varying degrees of transparency, including ultra-light organza, one-way woven organza, two-tone chiffon and tulle.
During my BA placement year, I was fortunate to work as a graduate trainee and intern at Alexander McQueen and Maison Margiela, working under Sarah Burton and John Galliano during their final periods at the houses. I was able to observe John Galliano’s process from the emergence of a raw idea to its final realisation. I often tried to think from his perspective and imagine what he might be thinking, but I soon realised that he is actually just like us, and this deeply changed the way I think and create afterwards. After returning to the final year of my BA, I struggled to find a balance that allowed me to be fully honest in both my work and my process. And so, during my MA, I made a conscious decision to slow down, to sit with myself, reconnect with what I truly want to make, and learn how to approach the creative process with greater honesty.
I think CSM is a very good place to discover emerging designers. At the same time, in an already saturated fashion industry, it can feel contradictory to encourage the creation of so many new brands, especially when sustainability is such a core part of how we’re educated. Whether at BA or MA level, there should be more space for students to realise that starting a brand is not the only path to achieving their dreams.
I would love to have my own brand, but it’s not something I feel the need to rush. For now, I see myself actively creating across multiple mediums, still within fashion, but also through things like an inspirational Instagram account, photography and fashion-led art pieces, while continuing to work as a designer in Europe, which is where my strengths lie. In 10 years’ time, or perhaps further down the line, I hope to be in a position to influence fashion and art education in China, or to contribute to raising the general level of aesthetic awareness. And honestly, a creative director role would be the ideal… just in case any CEOs are reading this. I also love being part of a team!
One night, I was accidentally locked inside the digital lab and ended up staying and working until after midnight. My friends joked, asking if I’d seen Lee McQueen’s ghost, but I had, of course, already met him a couple of times in my dreams. And, oh my God, we’re submitting these answers on the anniversary of his passing. RIP!
Eclectic, instinctive and process-driven. Working at an antique market in Spitalfields, the stories, values and relationships I’ve formed with the traders have had a strong influence on my work, shaping how I want to engage with the industry and what I want to communicate through design. Keeping a human aspect and staying real and grounded is essential, even when the work moves into more fantastical territory. I see markets as a kind of blueprint for communication, places where experiences, knowledge and values are shared across generations and cultures.
I draw on the dense, maximalist layering of stories embodied in the traders’ stalls, working with found materials and garments and allowing research and narrative to develop naturally through making. By combining objects and considering their historical and cultural meanings, I create new dialogues that question both past and present societal values, as well as ideas of material worth.
I’m interested in making the old feel new and the new feel old, blurring the line between what is found and what is newly made. I use objects and materials as points of reference which, when combined, draw out poetic narratives and ways of examining contemporary culture and the human experience. In that sense, the work draws on the spirit of ’50s artists working with found objects, such as Jean Tinguely and Robert Rauschenberg.
Understanding where my work can sit in the real world – within existing systems, against them, or somewhere in between – is important to me. That’s been difficult to imagine without conversations with people who have firsthand experience and can help point the way. On a practical level, it’s also about maintaining a life outside of the work and the collection, and keeping a broader world beyond fashion. Stepping away at times helps me avoid getting too caught up in the mess.
Arts schools tend to feel more human in the way they’re run, from administration to course structure. In contrast, the university system can feel disconnected from the realities of specific creative practices, which can sometimes stifle human interaction and creative processes.
I’d love to see something like the House of Beauty and Culture from the ’80s return, a collective studio that brings together multiple creative disciplines. I think that kind of shared space is needed.
Bickering over a beer at the end of the day.
Drawing on glitch feminism, I use couture volumes to empower women through distorting the body, pushing back against the expectations placed on it, and, in the process, build myself as a woman.
Constructing a new body as I move through my transition, I explore feelings of euphoria and dysphoria through bodysuits, finishings and padding. Organically industrial silhouettes extend the body beyond society’s expectations of womanhood. Throughout the collection, 3D anaglyph red and blue accents reference ascension, a way of seeing beyond the illusion of what a woman is defined by.
Through creative pattern cutting, I work with the lightness and malleability of space mesh, layering chiffon and crin to create accents that echo a 3D anaglyph filter. Power mesh and elastic reference the language of shapewear. Upcycled sunglass lenses are woven into facial panels and hems, mimicking the patterning of feathers or scales, and giving the garments an exoskeletal quality. I also smash these lenses to produce my own sustainable sequin shards.
CSM taught me not to fear failure. My ability to drape, for example, comes from making perfect mistakes accurately.
I always want more space to create. Trans people should take up as much space as they can whether that’s physically, creatively or spiritually.
I hope to be working fluidly across fashion and music. For example, I collaborated with producer and musician Mafu on the soundtrack for my collection, built from songs and poems I wrote about my experiences of reality and escapism as a trans woman. Breakcore underpins both the sound and the silhouettes by taking an archetype and literally breaking down the physical binaries.
Coming back after BA and seeing the progression I had made with myself and my design.
