At some point between showing off a terry-like tweed and a collarless gray denim jacket, Véronique Leroy stressed that she designs pre-collection, not Resort—which is to say, clothing meant to ease into Spring, not intended for a winter escape. In most instances these days, the difference is simply a question of word preference. But for Leroy, the distinction is clear. With this in mind, her collection of refreshed greatest hits—cardigan jackets, easy day dresses, tunics—was straightforward and sharp. Leroy has exacting fabric standards: From a worktable in her atelier near the Bastille, she crunched a dry, double-faced crepe between her hands and extolled the sponginess of a cotton viscose. She used bonded poplin on the short sleeves and breast pockets of a classic shirt to give stronger form to an otherwise relaxed shape. Rather than default to a print, she sourced a macro netted cotton with holes the size of euro coins. Stripes became a technical challenge in which knitted cotton alternated with a barely there nylon base. The payoff was high—both the stripes and circles yielded a delicate yet architectural transparency.

As much as Leroy leans toward repetition (sometimes too much), she is always cleverly rethinking her designs. A widely cut trouser featured pockets that were accessible from the side as well as the top. Her reasoning: Patch pockets are more flattering on the pant, but she wanted to preserve the optional fingers-in-thumbs-out attitude of side pockets. Leroy selects her color much the same the way a perfumer selects notes: Each hue—hydrangea pink, mineral orange, extreme blue, and saffron—must balance the other to achieve some sort of ineffable mood. This is even more essential when a collection is so weighted toward basics. Sometimes, though, the frisson of a fabric is enough.