Up in one corner of the Prada space was a small, white, pitched-roof house. From it a white fenced walkway led in a meandering slope down into an audience that was at last wrapping up its pre-show social media obligations and settling into its seats. Up in that house you could see light pulsing out from the windows and around the door, plus hear from some sound system within Maxi Jazz intoning “I can’t get no sleep” beneath the amphetamine beats of Faithless’s Insomnia.

This created the impression that when the door finally cracked ajar and the first of 50-ish young models started their runway descent, they were stepping out into that twitchy and tinnitus-cursed netherworld between an all-night party and the punishingly lit unreality of the morning after. In truth, however, these models looked way too fresh faced to have spent the night losing their minds. Instead it was left to the collection to make you doubt you were always seeing things entirely straight.

Apparently wool (actually cotton) trousers in a ’90s bootcut and dadcore fabrications—some of them pretty heavy looking—featured painted-on trompe l’oeil belts. It was hard to be sure as the models strode fast in front of you, but some of those pants looked to have been a little worn at the hem. Fitted Breton striped pullovers looked shadowed with sweat and running dye, their patterns apparently warped by enthusiastic movement: but that was the print. Colored V-neck knits or cardigans that at first glance looked worn over polo shirts or crew necks were at second glance evidently single knit garments. Collars and cuffs on floral shirts and cropped jackets were hoiked up or out by inbuilt wires in order to throw wild anti-gravity shapes. The impression of not quite trusting your eyes was reinforced by the mirrored wraparound sports shades whose lenses were printed with beaches and seascapes and other places you’d like to be transported to.

Alongside the garments and accessories that were designed to make you second-guess your perception, others made you wonder if the models were their original intended audience. Some outerwear was cut so that the sleeves ended just below the wearer’s elbows and the skirts ceased slightly above the knees—the scale of these coats suggested that might have originally been sized for someone more diminutive than these towering young men: possibly even Mrs. Prada herself.

She was backstage alongside Raf Simons to provide some context: “youthful optimism,” was Prada’s summation. Simons added that the collection was intended to transmit “that freedom to allow yourself to let things come together and find a way.” Built into it was the notion that this was to some extent an appropriated wardrobe whose garments were either hand-me-downs or otherwise acquired. Simons added: “There are elements that are female, masculine, coming from mom, dad, grandad, grandmother. Maybe things from your memories…”

“…and fantasy!” interjected Prada.

Of the feeling that these garments were pre-loved, whether through the quirks of proportion, the sense of wear, or the conscious crumpling, Simons said: “We wanted it to look already alive—clothes that you already live with—not too constricted or contrived or architectural or conceptual: more like free youth spirits.” Added Prada: “And it’s about the opposite of grandness, because there is too much grandness around in general.”

Both suggested that they were inspired by and working to appeal to the directness, innocence and purpose of youthful intent, or as Simons said, “Sometimes when you are older you start to overthink a lot and you limit yourself. When you are young, you just go.” To an extent, this spirit seemed to have impacted the designers’ own way of working. “We just put things together,” said Prada. And when asked why they had used artwork by Bernard Buffet on this collection’s T-shirts, she replied: “Basically, we liked the graphic.”