Les Corps En Déplacement

There’s a distinct kind of silence in the parts of a city not meant to be seen. The loading dock behind a shuttered shop. The sidewalk outside a windowless wall. The backlot where the air smells like old stone and hot metal. This is where Liminul’s June cover shoot takes place, not in the Paris of postcards, but in its quiet margins.

Here, fashion becomes something else. Not performance, not identity, but residue. Tracksuits are reassembled into layered uniforms. Hosiery becomes a second skin. Heels grind into pavement not made for them. The body, too, is uncommitted. It leans, sprawls, slouches, walks, but never arrives.

This month we ask, what lingers when nobody’s looking? A form of intimacy that manifests when the body is left alone in the frame.