High Fidelity
When the term “planned obsolescence” first entered our national vocabulary, it seemed to be the dirty secret of American industry. The idea that automobile manufacturers made machines designed to wear out, so they would have to be replaced with newer models--what a shocking concept, what a betrayal of the public trust! Oh, grow up, as Joan Rivers would say.
Any merchant interested in selling a product wants to sell more. That capitalist drive is as basic as a randy young man’s biological imperative to perpetuate the human species. And fashion is no different, or hasn’t been until now.
But any upstart bent on success in fashion would have to be impressed by the irony that the titans of the business, the enduring household names like Ralph Lauren and Giorgio Armani, have been consistent for a quarter of a century. They develop a look that is identified as theirs, then refine and gradually change it over time. Such fealty to a particular aesthetic owes more to strong personal visions than seasonal whims.
But it takes a long time for clothes to actually wear out. Styles must change if women are to be inspired to buy. Designers have to either provide tempting alternatives to what’s already in a woman’s closet or touch deep veins of insecurity and convince her that she’ll look out of date if she doesn’t adopt what’s new.
As a week of spring fashion shows in New York got underway, planned obsolescence wasn’t obvious. It hadn’t been in three weeks of European spring shows either. Designers seem to be welcoming a slower pace, as if mounting style revolutions every six months had given them battle fatigue. They haven’t lost the war due to creative attrition, but they’re making a clear, peaceful choice to stand behind what they touted not so very long ago, as well as expressing a belief in the beauty of true classics.
Some credit for this change in the direction of less change should also go to women, who have found their voices in politics, business and culture, and aren’t as malleable as they were when June Cleaver was a sweet symbol of American femininity. Because they have voted with their charge cards, long, short and in-between skirts co-exist where once one acceptable skirt length was dictated by designers.
The result is that, although certain new looks dominate any season, others, like a favorite house guest, stick around a while. In other words, the slouchy trouser survives, the slip dress will not die, the slit pencil skirt rules and sheer fabrics continue to expose as much as they conceal. Any color looks new, as long as it’s a shade of gray. Advances in fabric technology are still a source of innovation. Pleated skirts, cowl necklines and cropped pants that hadn’t been seen lately are appearing, and even the light, diaphanous fabrics responsible for last year’s mood of gentle girlishness have given way to stiffer styles that reveal a harder edge.
There is change, but it’s subtle. In practical terms, that means that most of last year’s clothes will still look good next spring. And that isn’t necessarily bad news for stores. Women who weren’t quite ready to wear bare camisoles when they first appeared might want them when they show up in stores again next spring. Those who have enjoyed their flat-front, low-riding trousers will be able to find more of them, in different fabrics and colors.
Marc Jacobs is just the sort of hip young designer who disdains trends that change so quickly they cause whiplash. So is Todd Oldham, fashion’s gifted, wacky classicist. John Bartlett, who began his career designing menswear, is evolving his own aesthetic, one that owes its inspiration to the tough chicks of Hollywood dramas. And Los Angeles-based designer Max Azria of BCBG is a retailer as well as a manufacturer, lord of 39 free-standing boutiques. That puts him in a position to keep producing those styles his customers respond to, as well as go in new directions.
The sophistication of Marc Jacobs’ casually assembled sportswear is beyond a college girl’s grasp and comprehensible to only the hippest matron. One of his signature looks, a ribbed cashmere T-shirt worn with trousers, showed up again. This time the top was fuchsia and the narrow pants were cut off just below the knee. Everything Jacobs presented--sleeveless little black dresses, mid-knee length skirts slit up the back, softly pleated skirts and sleeveless cashmere sweaters paired with shiny satin pants--were worn with high-heeled sling-back shoes of iguana skin. Only certain women can pull off those rather dangerous shoes. And that’s exactly the point.
Bartlett is so enamored of lethal women that he dedicated his show to them. While models emerged wearing low buns in the style of Norman Bates’ mother, dialogue from “The Bad Seed” and “Vertigo” provided a foreboding aural backdrop. Fortunately, Bartlett’s homage to film noir vixens didn’t prevent the clothes from being modern. A lean, mean, buttonless red trench coat wouldn’t show blood, but with its tightly sashed waist it might cause some to boil. So would his beaded muscle T’s and nasty, snug sheaths. This was only Bartlett’s second women’s collection, but he has a sexy, confident style. It looks like his following will deservedly grow.
BCBG is a line that miraculously provides a digest of whatever is happening in international fashion. This is to Azria’s credit. He’s like a great chef who can taste a sauce and name the ingredients--he wouldn’t be able to do so if he weren’t a creator himself. So there are echoes of Prada, Helmut Lang, Jil Sander and Calvin Klein in his lovely spring collection. He never slavishly copies any one, but the spirit of the moment, often seen elsewhere, has a way of turning up at BCBG too. And women depend on that, especially those unwilling or unable to pay for more costly designer clothes. BCBG gives them well-made, well-priced styles that look completely current.
A sharkskin apron dress and a low-backed tunic that looks like a pretty waiter’s apron are wonderful additions to BCBG’s basics. Azria’s wife Lubov, design coordinator and herself an Ingrid Bergmanesque beauty, said, “We thought about timeless, classic clothes when we were designing. What would Grace Kelly wear if she were here in the year 2000?”
Oldham’s exuberant party clothes achieve timelessness by virtue of their outrageousness. Oldham is fearless, and fortunately he has the talent to back up his bravado. Many designers shy away from prints. (There were none in Jacobs’ collection, for example.) Oldham splashes tropical bandanna patterns, hand-painted flowers and bird cage prints on brilliantly colored organza gowns. Then he adds a fringe of gold beads or glittering ribbons. The general idea is to let it all rip--all the color, the pattern, the bareness the law will allow.
Julia Roberts sat in the first row at the Oldham show, and as each glorious creation came out on the runway, her deservedly famous smile spread as wide as the mighty Mississippi. Anyone but an irredeemable grouch would have the same reaction to a tiny, strapless dress decorated with beaded flowers and embroidered bees. Especially the lucky woman wearing it.
