A spunky-tech soundtrack full of panting drum beats and clanging swords that’ll have you resisting the urge to bust a move. Cranes plucking monstrous fireballs from the runway and launching them into a fountain. Tommy Cash stood beside Michele Lamy, his fluffy, Hagrid-like hair extensions falling just beside a pair of beige speedos. Isolated, these instances are exactly that, instances. But together, they’re the vital cogs that keep the loins of a Rick Owens show burning brightly.

A much-needed Egyptian getaway is the inspiration for the designer’s latest collection. The trip provided Owens with a break, a moment to look and truly study his surroundings, to feel each grain of sand pour through his tanned hands. Despite the remoteness of his surroundings, Owens immediately felt at ease, driven by a history of order, of discipline.

Edfu, titled after the temple of the same name, takes its cues from the country’s stoic frameworks, with Owens throwing hardwear to the wind in favour of striking tailoring. His blazers and coasts cinched by tight belts, repositioning drama to thick shoulders and scuff-prone trouser legs. Some flappily veiled the designer’s signature Kiss boots, which stomped down peeling staircases with as much disrespect as they can muster, in graphic prints and sheeny viscose.

Vest-like harnesses were there too, reduced only to their binding from last season’s abstract banana knits. As were wing-like jackets in cropped snakeskin. This glimpse of colour made way for an explosion of reptilian flavour, with metallic trousers, gilled gilets and tulle-cocoon-robes suddenly enveloping Owens’ crew. One noted member of his possé was French designer Ludovic de Saint Sernin, who left his sexy, rhinestoned menswear behind as he closed Owens’ runway in a sweeping black sports jacket, the chaser to a slew of kitschy prints and horny leather jackets. Who wouldn’t do that for Rick?