Written by Nicole Štěch

Margiela was appointed to the French fashion house in 1997. The announcement that he would become creative director of Hermès women's ready-to-wear initially prompted mixed reactions. Fashion insiders expected the Belgian designer's radicalism to be tempered by Hermès' conservatism. Perhaps they anticipated that he would transpose the experimental methods he had cultivated under his eponymous label onto the house's garments and leather goods. Instead, he did precisely the opposite. He began to speak in a quiet, understated language imbued with profound respect for women and with a desire for them to feel free, comfortable, and confident in their clothes.

To understand the significance of his work, it must be placed within the context of its time. The fashion world was then dominated by the cult of the designer. Tom Ford transformed Gucci into an unapologetically provocative house, radiating sex appeal through both its collections and advertising campaigns. At Givenchy, Alexander McQueen gave form to his genius in creations that remain unmatched. At Dior, John Galliano unleashed his boundless imagination and, despite the controversies that surrounded him, delivered some of fashion's most spectacular displays of opulence. Amid this constellation of larger-than-life personalities who captivated the industry's attention, Martin Margiela emerged as something of an antithesis. An almost anonymous designer, renowned for refusing interviews and operating behind a veil of anonymity, he chose instead to communicate through a language of quiet restraint. While his contemporaries sought attention through theatricality, provocation, and spectacle, Margiela embraced silent minimalism. It was a far more demanding discipline, for stripping away ornament and expressive excess also means abandoning the easiest ways to command attention. At that point, there is nowhere left to conceal imperfection. Everything rests on the precision of the cut, the balance of proportions, the quality of the fabric, and the way a garment moves with the body. It was precisely within this restraint that Margiela's brilliance revealed itself. Minimalism can be simple. Or it can be deeply sophisticated – as Margiela's invariably was.

Perhaps this is exactly how he earned his own cult following. He blended avant-garde experimentation with the house’s centuries-old tradition, quietly spearheading the rise of a radical minimalism that would later permeate the entire industry. During his tenure at the house, he pioneered approaches no one had attempted before. He was particularly fascinated by the lining of a garment – and, above all, by the idea of bringing it into plain view. Elevating it from its hidden, functional role, he transformed it into both a defining design feature and a decorative element. His work at Hermès was also distinguished by his innovative use of highly versatile knitwear and leather. At the helm of such a storied maison, Margiela had access to the finest luxury materials, allowing his collections to showcase exceptional natural fabrics and leathers, often sourced from rare and exotic origins. He continually experimented with these materials, pushing both their technical possibilities and the way customers perceived them. He challenged perceptions in another subtle way as well. Rather than relying on conspicuous logo-centric branding, he stripped Hermès of visible logowear and introduced an understated alternative: buttons with six holes, stitched in such a way that the thread formed the letter H. A discreet signifier for those in the know.

His approach to designing collections for Hermès – twelve in total between 1997 and 2003 – was defined by an unconventional vision of the wardrobe. Not one that reinvents itself every season, but one that evolves slowly and organically alongside the woman who wears it. Rather than creating standalone pieces designed for a fleeting impact, Margiela conceived each garment as part of a carefully considered system, allowing new additions to be gradually integrated and effortlessly combined across collections. In many ways, it feels as though he was speaking about sustainability long before it became one of fashion’s most frequently invoked buzzwords. At a time when Hermès was synonymous with its signature orange, the Kelly bag, printed silk carré scarves, and prominent branding, Margiela chose a strikingly different path. He abandoned colourful prints and most of the house’s instantly recognisable visual codes, directing his attention instead to what truly mattered: cut, material, and the enduring value of a garment. His collections were built around a restrained palette of brown, beige, grey, and black, to which he remained faithful throughout most of his tenure. Only in his final two seasons did he allow subtle accents of orange and red to enter this otherwise muted composition.

The same restraint informed his garment construction. Coats were often designed without buttons and intended to be worn open, jackets were stripped of their linings so they could move naturally with the body, and silhouettes relied on the weight of luxurious fabrics to create an effortless sense of drape. Floor-grazing coats, ingenious waist ties, hidden pockets, and his continual reinterpretation of the V-neck demonstrated that even the smallest adjustment could transform the character of a garment. He also paid extraordinary attention to texture, using it to bring richness and depth to his minimalist collections without ever relying on decoration. Ultimately, the foundation of Margiela’s work at Hermès was an extraordinary respect for women – for the way they move, the realities of everyday life, and their desire to feel free, comfortable, and confident in what they wear. For him, luxury was never about ostentation or instantly recognisable logos. It was about how perfectly a garment could serve the woman wearing it.

Although the 1990s celebrated postmodern extravagance, another aesthetic was quietly beginning to emerge alongside it. Jil Sander abandoned ornament in favour of a refined, feminine minimalism, while Helmut Lang championed pragmatic restraint and functionality. At the same time, Martin Margiela was constructing a world defined by black, grey, impeccably tailored jackets, and seemingly ordinary wardrobe essentials. All three shifted the focus away from decoration and towards the very essence of clothing itself. Margiela, however, took this philosophy to an exceptionally subtle level. For him, it was never merely an aesthetic but a carefully considered system of dressing, in which every cut, material, and detail served a purpose. Looking back, it is clear that his six-year tenure at Hermès was far more than a chapter in the house’s history. It became both a defining phenomenon of its era and a blueprint for an aesthetic that would come to dominate fashion many years later. What once seemed almost inconceivable – the absence of ostentation, discreet luxury, the rejection of conspicuous logos, and an uncompromising commitment to quality – is now regarded as the very pinnacle of modern luxury. Above all, Margiela stands as a true pioneer. His legacy lies in proving that the most profound innovations do not have to be the loudest. Sometimes, all it takes is to create a timeless, understated elegance that celebrates neither the brand nor the designer, but the woman who wears it.