In the candid rooms of the Musée de la Mode, Rick Owens constructs a sanctuary for what society has cast aside: the discarded, the reviled, the beautifully defiant. Draped in silence and sheathed in felt, cement and steel there is no chronology to follow, only a slow unraveling of obsessions and of bodies eroding under the weight of time, of filth recast as dignity, of decay offered as erotic promise.