Okay, picture this: you’re a kid, banned from the TV, crouched at the top of the stairs while Alien plays somewhere below. You can’t see a thing; only sound leaks through. Screams. Music. Muffled panic in the dark. That’s Louis Gabriel Nouchi’s origin story, and honestly? It explains everything.
That early cocktail of fear + fascination has been marinating ever since, bubbling up season after season at LGN. For Fall/Winter 26, it finally erupts, full xenomorph mode. Alien isn’t just a reference point here; it’s a sensory memory, a mood, a low-level anxiety stitched into tailoring.
The show unfolded in a half-lit, slightly feral underground car park in Paris, very “crew lost in space, hope fading.” Models slipped out of the shadows in razor-sharp tailoring stretched to uncanny proportions: elongated tuxedo jackets, narrow silhouettes, sleeves that seemed to keep going forever. Pleating pulled toward the bellybutton (yes, that bellybutton) nodded discreetly to the film’s most infamous body horror moment, while sheer cupro tops and floor-length dresses clung like membranes, soft, translucent, unsettling.
And don’t panic: the facehuggers were strictly symbolic. Braided hair sculptures by Charlie Le Mindu wrapped around faces and jaws, fixed in place like stylish parasites rather than full cosplay. Creepy, but make it chic.
New this season: cocooning coats, half-zip anoraks with matching cargos riffing on boiler suits, and a tactile mash-up of materials that felt equal parts spacecraft and fetish wardrobe. Crisp nylons, padded cottons, plush fleeces and putty-toned wools evoked sterile sci-fi interiors, while black rinsed denim, oily jacquards and flashes of glossy latex dipped straight into the H.R. Giger universe. Clean meets corrupted.
Then there was that look: the tank top and mini-brief combo, unmistakably Sigourney-Weaver-coded, stamped with “OnlyFans” across the chest. Cue discourse. Nouchi’s collaboration with the platform goes beyond merch; it includes the launch of an LGN account, conceived as a private space to unpack the brand’s core obsessions: the body, sensuality, inclusivity, and desire.
“Private doesn’t mean pornographic,” he says, framing it more like a paid magazine or members-only club. Intimacy over exposure. Trust over clickbait.
On Instagram, the brand summed it up like a manifesto-slash-late-night-text: We are all aliens. Let’s stay weird. Different. Unaligned. Open. Curious. Living on the edge. Comfort is the enemy. Fear keeps you sharp.
The collection itself dives headfirst into that tension, fear versus desire, sex as danger, pleasure as threat. Nouchi talks about Alien as a saga of heroines moving through time: cloned, hunted, autonomous, always resisting systems trying to control them. Geek fantasy? Sure. But also a mirror.
Hair was the starting point: how do you embody a facehugger without turning it into a costume? Answer: hair devouring the face. Masks. Anonymity. Desire amplified by what’s hidden. Bare backs, exposed collarbones, mouths, thighs. Skin as graphic territory. Skin as power.
Silhouettes stretch and distort, narrow tailoring, flared trousers, oversized shoulders, coats that elongate the body into something almost inhuman. Bunny Boots stomp in with a comically massive foot. Elongated lines clash against cocooned shapes. The belly, emotion, birth, and vulnerability become a focal point through draping, slits, and trompe-l’œil faces emerging from tops like bodies trapped inside bodies.
The palette plays it deceptively calm: greys, warm and cold, ecru, muted organic tones. But look closer, flannel meets latex, technical cottons masquerade as tailoring, jerseys wear like denim, viscous glossy surfaces mimic skin, leather, something alive.
At its core, FW26 is about the fear of sex: its danger, its mystery, its power. The fear of childbirth. The idea that pleasure itself might be a threat. That these anxieties birthed a horror franchise says everything.
So yes, an OnlyFans collaboration makes sense. So does the underground car park. So does the obsession with parasites, masks, and desire under pressure.
In space, no one can hear you scream, but at LGN, you can definitely see it.
Words by Lewis Robert Cameron
Louis Gabriel Nouchi @louisgabrielnouchi
Styling: Marc Goehring @marcgoehring
Hair: Charlie Le Mindu @charlielemindu
Mua: Patrick Glatthaar @patrickglatthaar
Casting: Alexandre Cyprien Junior @alexandrejuniorcyprien
Production: Napoleon Studio @napoleonstudio_
Music: MODE-F @mode_f
Vidéo: Baleine Sous Cachalot @baleinesouscachalot
Director: Anthony Goujjane @anthonygouj_
Photographer: Luca Tombolini @collective_parade
Press: Karla Otto @karlaotto
Collaboration: @onlyfans, @puma
Special thanks to @lorealparis @jomo @parisfashionweek @groupeduval
