A word of warning: don’t turn up to a Dilara Fındıkoğlu show if you’re craving a quiet night. London’s doyenne of darkness always brings the kind of chaos fashion week used to thrive on. You’re shoulder-to-shoulder in the queue, faced with Berghain-grade security and flanked by people who’ve clearly been plotting their outfits for weeks. For those of us too young to have lived through it, you can’t help but wonder: is this what the McQueen and Galliano nights felt like?

This season, Fındıkoğlu explored the architecture of constraint. In her show notes, she wrote of “the rooms, walls, and cages that have confined women, physically, socially, and spiritually.” It’s familiar territory for the designer, who often roots her collections in sharp commentary on the subjugation of women, both past and present. Across a lacquered black floor, her models paraded out with that classic Dilara walk – part-strut, part-Bambi on the ice.

Some models had twigs in their hair, dirt on their hands and tears streaming down their face. Others had their whole visages obscured by metal ornamentation. Legs were covered in straw, packs of fags and tobacco pouches fell out of handbags, and one dress was being stained in real-time by the cherries pinned all over it. Some of the models looked like they were going through hell, or had just escaped whatever horror had befallen them. It was a raw and provoking spectacle. But for Dilara, her provocation is never gratuitous. “This collection the cage opens and we give freedom to the past souls that never truly had it,” her show notes continued. “And free the women of today from this pain.”