Happy Hour
Flip through an old photo album and a chronicle of fashion history will appear.
Visions of your former selves, dressed in rock-glam glitter or linebacker shoulder pads, can induce cringes or pleasant waves of nostalgia. At either extreme, the snapshots show that your clothes reflected the times and your evolving persona.
Even if you appear in jeans throughout, subtle style variations date each era as clearly as any changes in your age, weight, hairstyles, makeup and the cast of significant others surrounding you.
During nine days of fashion shows here, certain looks will emerge that, when spotted years from now on the laser disc or CD-ROM that has replaced the curling pages of the family album, will be identifiable as 1997. Who are we now? How do we want to look?
Two collections that began this round of more than 60 fall runway presentations see the woman of today as slick and mean, an unsentimental rock ‘n’ roll child tough enough to stomach any “X-Files” episode. Both Versus, by Donatella Versace, and D, the DKNY spinoff that Donna Karan introduced last season as a higher-priced design laboratory, featured mostly black-clad models whose eyes had been scarred with slashes from an eyebrow pencil. The makeup didn’t create a pretty picture, nor was it meant to.
In abandoning ruffles and flourishes, softness and romanticism, both collections resurrected the angry spirits of grunge and punk. Ever see a woman sizzle in a black leather blazer over a black jersey mini-dress, then ransack your closet for pieces that might constitute a similar combination? Many designers are as suggestible as the rest of us. They spot someone out on the town in a black nylon zip-front jacket over a miniskirt of cement-colored leather, and as quick as you can say “street fashion,” a version of that look turns up on the runway.
Anonymous muses keep fashion democratic and dynamic. In a way, Versace and Karan offered us more examples of the way many women like to dress. If the current aesthetic is long on mismatched elements boldly juxtaposed and as harsh as heavy metal, the designers don’t deserve all the credit or blame.
But only some inspiration comes from real women. Just as I scribbled “Ann D.” under “H. Lang” in my notes at the Versus show, International Herald Tribune Fashion Editor Suzy Menkes leaned over and whispered, “I’ve written Ann Demeulemeester and Helmut Lang so many times at the D [show] and here that I don’t know what else to write.” Neo-punk slashes, liberal use of black leather, asymmetrical cuts and androgynous sportswear have been hallmarks of those edgy European collections.
Noting the tattered, uneven hems of clingy, sleeveless dresses, Menkes, who lives in London, asked: “Are American women really going to go for this?” Check their photo albums after the turn of the century to see.
While it’s tempting to criticize designers for being derivative, some degree of consensus among them allows us to peg our snapshots to a period. Vivienne Tam’s brown nylon trousers worn with a sheer sequined top over a ribbed white undershirt bore the influence of Miuccia Prada, as did BCBG’s lovely gray silk and cashmere turtleneck paired with a short, beaded chiffon skirt. Call them different expressions of the mood of the moment.
The mix of seemingly dressy and sporty elements continued in New York, as seen in Cynthia Rowley’s tight leather bustier over full tweed pants or BCBG’s sheer, glittery chiffon dress under a librarian’s cardigan. The slouchy trouser perfected by Demeulemeester is now ubiquitous. Too long, too baggy in the seat and cut to droop below the natural waist, the straight-legged, tab-front, often cuffed boy pant appeared for fall in everything from leather to menswear wools. Marc Jacobs, in a confident, haute Gap collection, cut the trousers of gray cashmere and wool and tucked snug long-sleeved T-shirts into them.
As much as we may thank designers for repeating silhouettes often enough for us to get the message, we must also celebrate those independent creators whose work transcends trends. Todd Oldham is a wacky classicist. Wacky, because who else would pop a faux white mink sweatshirt over a long skirt beaded in the pattern of a magic carpet? And classic, because his unusual designs become timeless collector’s items.
Oldham designs like a fearless champion athlete. If no mountain is too steep for Picabo Street, no color is too bright, no combination of textures too wild nor pattern too intricate for Oldham. No one looks to him for career clothes, yet many women dedicated to decorating their environment depend on his ebullient evening fantasies.
His collection was packed with original ideas: a crinoline-puffed faux cheetah long skirt under a quilted brown parka that hugged the ribs and waist; a crewel print silk-screened on a full-legged pantsuit; a strapless top that could have been created in arts and crafts class by coiling yarn and fixing it with glue. A pleated trouser as wide as a skirt in wildly colored stripes joined forces with a crocheted sweater made with every yarn color in Grandma’s knitting basket.
Oldham never holds back. A skirt festooned with tiers of colored glass bead tassels would be stunning with a plain black top. For full runway effect, he gives it a long-sleeved T-shirt of multicolored, sequined stripes. Oldham’s unique wit makes a mutant-animal-print ball gown in velvet wrapped with a blue and brown stole quilted like a comforter work. Most designers don’t have Oldham’s saucy charm. He is an American treasure who believes women want to look happy.
