Jonathan Anderson rounded off his decade at Loewe with a show in the round. It began with a bouncingly light, flowered, off-the-shoulder crinoline dress, whose visible underhoops were also circular. Intake of breath: Corseting-free and hands in pockets, the models zipped around in two-tone oxfords and oversized, silver-mirrored aviators, for all the world as casually as if they were wearing sweatshirts and jeans.

Anderson was about to mess with classicism, the relevance of old couture crafts, fashion realism, trompe l’oeil, and pop culture in the modern world: In essence, all the ways he’s been progressing and elevating since he joined Loewe 10 years ago at the tender age of 30. He’d sent an antique-looking gilded silver ring engraved with the brand’s name as a souvenir with every invitation. “I wanted this idea of something circular. The ring is circular,” he said.

There was no elaborately constructed set this time. Only a single artwork by Tracey Emin stood in the center—a narrow pole with a little, ordinary bird perched on top cast in bronze. As the press release observed of its significance: “Caught in a moment of pause, she encourages us to imagine imminent flight, and ultimately its freedom.”

So there we were, seated in a stripped-back arena of benches in a white box, from which to spectate upon nothing but his clothes. Out came a visual deluge of high skills and crisp editing. Mind-bending references to classical composers and painters on T-shirts—made, scarcely believably, in feathers—pictured Mozart, Chopin, Bach, Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, and a Manet soldier boy. “I like this idea that they’re kind of like pinup rock stars,” Anderson said. “Like when you go to a museum or you go to a concert: experiential things that you want to take a memento of with you. The idea that music reminds us of moments in our lives.”

Then there were his multiple reimagined French golden age couture dresses, all hoops and semisheer flower prints and trapeze-line silhouettes abbreviated to teeny-tiny minis. It’s been a long time since a fashion designer has taken on the grandeur of event dressing, respected the beauty and joy of it, and yet shown such a delightfully unpainful way to wear it—with sneakers. “I think it’s interesting when you strip out the fussiness,” Anderson said.

There was no sense that this was a 10-year retrospective of Anderson’s work at Loewe. But then again, the imprint of what he’s done for the formerly little-known Spanish leather house was all over the collection. It emanated maturity, modernity, and a calm ownership of sophisticated tailoring—blazers over elegantly draped voluminous trousers; classic leather coats carved with a turned-up fillip in the hem. This quite apart from creating all the commercial catnip signatures—ultra-desirable bags and the Ballet Runner logo sneakers—that are recognized and wanted by every girl and her mother worldwide.

That is a massive achievement, one that brought Anderson a standing ovation, a massed round of applause from his designer peers Sarah Burton, Nicolas Di Felice, Kris Van Assche, Pieter Mulier, and Adrian Appiolaza, as well as Delphine Arnault and all of Anderson’s actor friends in the house.