Dear Shaded Viewers,
Paris does not discover its designers so much as it tests them. Into this city of exacting mirrors steps Amir Khorasany, an emerging force whose language is volume, draping, and the quiet conviction of a cut that knows exactly where the body ends and imagination begins.
Before Paris claimed him, London trained him. At Central Saint Martins, first on the BA and then the MA, his work walked those narrow runways where fluorescent light and ruthless critique have made and unmade generations of designers, and yet his silhouettes insisted on their own scale—shoulders widened like horizons, hips carved like cliff edges, fabrics pressing gently but firmly against gravity.
In the CSM archive, preserved on a glowing screen, the pieces reappear as relics of a future that is already happening: a wool jacket that seems to ignite the air around it, a nude jumpsuit that turns the body into a single, vertical exclamation mark. Khorasany’s womenswear behaves as if light were a textile. Textiles cut across the torso, slice through sleeves, then wrap around the body like a soft embrace; these are clothes that do not merely dress a body, they stage it.
If the MA runway is a laboratory, Paris is an arena, and Khorasany has already stepped into its center. He lived the experience within the refined turbulence of Lanvin, assisting the artistic direction of womenswear and accessories, he is not just sketching fantasies in isolation; he is sitting in rooms where collections must become calendars, fittings must become strategies, and drapes must become production lines that still somehow remember their first, fragile pin.
Here, his sculptural instincts learn to negotiate with reality: that radical shoulder must greet a hanger, that daring volume must pass through a factory, the perfect designs that must survive seasons and a spotlight.
Khorasany’s work, born under the harsh white light of a CSM fitting room, now glows in his quiet atelier where his volumes cut through the grey with the certainty of someone who has already seen their work survive the unforgiving gaze of both tutors and clients.
Amir Khorasany is not yet a monogram on the side of a perfume bottle, and that is precisely what makes this moment dangerous, electric, worth watching.
He stands at the point where many careers vanish: after the euphoria of the graduate show, before the safety net of a fully established label; armed with an MA’s archive of sculptural womenswear, a Parisian address, and the daily discipline of making his ideas legible to a global house.
In a city that has seen every silhouette come and go, his promise lies in how stubbornly his clothes occupy space—unapologetic volumes, and the quiet belief that the next great chapter of Paris fashion may already be walking among us, under a grey jacket and a black jumpsuit, on a street where his future is.
Designer: Amir Khorasany
Brand: KHORASANY – Instagram: @amirkhorasany
Photographer: Kalpesh Lathigra – Instagram: @kalpeshlathigra
Later,
Diane
@amirkhorasany
