Until just over a week ago, Kent & Curwen was best known as a sincere, though slightly fuddy-duddy, purveyor of gentlemanly English prep. Those connotations were dispelled, however, with its relaunch under the creative purview of Daniel Kearns, led by a poppy—but still preppy!—campaign shot by British photographer Glen Luchford.
Today, Kearns continued the rollout of his youth-driven vision for the heritage brand: a 200-seat show in the sculpture-lined corridors of the Royal Academy, one of Britain’s most prestigious learning institutions. It was a canny choice of location, not just for the back-to-school vibes that September inevitably brings, but also because the setting subtly acknowledged Kent & Curwen’s foundations. Started in 1926 as a purveyor of ties to the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge universities, it quickly became a significant player in the British school uniform market.
It made sense, then, that the opening looks of Kearns’s new era for the label should directly invoke that history. Amply cut blazers with 3D rosette appliqués, knife-pleated skirts slashed at the side seams or hoiked up so the hem was about halfway up the thigh, and slim shorts came in navy and charcoal wool. Blue poplin shirts, some featuring look-alike Sharpie scrawls, will trigger nostalgia in anyone who has attended a British secondary school. School team rugby shirts and cricket sweaters—both long-standing brand staples—figured prominently, the latter reimagined as a jaunty minidress as part of the label’s first womenswear offering.
Granted, rethinking the oh-so-English school uniform isn’t exactly a novel premise—it’s familiar territory for the interrogation and subversion of the stuffy social conventions and mores it represents. What made Kearns’s proposal compelling was a degree of earnest homage, with the designer keenly observing how uniforms routinely present themselves on London’s streets today. “Just walking here this morning, passing all the kids heading to school at different ages, it’s such an inspiration,” Kearns said during a preview at the brand’s airy North London studio, a stone’s throw from a number of sizable secondary schools. “That was the starting point: this idea of the conformity that is set by uniforms. How they instill a sense of belonging, but then they’re almost like a starting point to create your own identity.”
Later looks explored the experimentation phases that come upon leaving the framework of a uniform behind—a sentiment no doubt informed by the fact that Kearns’s son has just left school for a place at Bristol University. “There’s the idea of a transition between school and university or work—a time when there’s a huge expectation and sense of excitement as you step into adulthood, but also a nostalgia for this childhood you’re leaving behind,” he said. A burgundy bouclé jumpsuit and a double-breasted chocolate wool equestrian jacket—both sported with oversized aviator shades—channeled a sense of a girl on the cusp of womanhood toying with a vision of ladylike dressing passed down from her mother. A trench coat in crisp black gabardine came with an exaggerated storm shield, echoing the pomp of an Oxford scholar’s gown.
While uniform, by its nature, is democratic fare, the codes brought to the fore skewed pretty posh—albeit not quite into Etonian top hat territory. That checks out, given that Kent & Curwen has historically catered to a privileged social echelon. And even if the aim here was to expand its appeal, there’s a general appetite for the sartorial codes of British gentry, as recent collections from Miu Miu, Celine, and even Palace (by way of a Barbour collaboration) attest.
With its extensive heritage in the field, Kent & Curwen leaning into that is a no-brainer. But with so many others doing similarly, it bears contemplating where the brand will sit within the mix. “We want to represent London now,” was Kearns’s response. “We want to make sure that we keep the heritage—in 1926 we pretty much invented preppy, way before a lot of other brands—but it has to feel relevant to a new generation. To my son and his mates, for example—it’s got to make sense to them.” But is a generation of kids who’ve just hung up their uniforms ready to slip back into reimagined versions of them? Well, judging by how convincingly a number of Kent & Curwen–clad (presumably) Gen-Z attendees in the front row pulled it off, it would seem so.
