Supreme moment caps a glam week
If any more proof were needed that fashion designers are really frustrated Hollywood divas, it could be found on the runways here. The fall ready-to-wear season ended at Yves Saint Laurent with an ode to Diana Ross and the Supremes. And just like that, fashion went in another direction.
As in New York and Milan, there were moments here when designers dwelled on the futuristic past, hoping perhaps that 1960s Courreges coats, A-line jumpers and miniskirts worn with colored hose would somehow rekindle the youthful optimism of a time long gone. There were also those who reasoned that power dressing in a powerless time would best be achieved with armor-like details or a top-heavy silhouette, putting a voluminous or strong-shouldered jacket over skinny leather leggings or a satin pencil skirt, for example.
But in one of the best collections of the season, YSL designer Tom Ford bucked all the trends with soft, body-conscious styles recalling the carefree spirit of Saint Laurent’s heyday, when a girl’s only concern was getting past the velvet rope at Studio 54 so she could dance till dawn. And really, is there anything better than a Motown soundtrack of “Baby Love” and “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” to drown out worries about war and 10-year stock market lows?
Ford straddled the line between refinement and raunchiness with an emerald-green velvet jacket tied with a satin ribbon at the waist, worn over a lighter-colored green chiffon dress with a dollop of ruffles down the front, and a neckline low enough to reveal a triangle-top bra. Lacy black camisoles were paired with tight satin skirts, thin enough to hint at fishnets underneath, or leather leggings with oval lace cut-outs at the hips, and glitter-filled Lucite heels with metallic leather ankle straps.
The consensus on the way out among press and buyers was that YSL would probably be selling a mountain of clothes this fall, as well as a few Supremes CDs.
For his Hollywood moment, John Galliano took an unironic tour through 1940s wartime camp. Cartoonish dames with plastic eyebrows and beauty marks the size of nickels hammed it up to the toot-toot of “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.” They were dressed in curve-cuddling silk dresses with sweetheart necklines in cheery cherry prints, peek-a-boo pumps, and enough seamed stockings and garters to make a whole army swoon. Galliano reined in the wonton-like silhouette he showed at Dior earlier in the week only slightly, dressing models in satin skirts that dropped to the knee in soft waves, like a curtain in an old movie house, and wool jackets with sharp Joan Crawford-style shoulders that occasionally exploded into poufs or prints. For his runway bow, the designer emerged wearing a pinstripe suit, a fedora and a fox fur stole. “Who does he think he is?” one audience member was overheard saying. “Bette Davis?”
At Louis Vuitton, Marc Jacobs continued to mine the 1960s theme that inspired his signature collection in New York, only this time he wasn’t so literal, adding armor-like details to the mostly black and blue mix. The strongest pieces were bell-shaped coats and A-line mini dresses embellished with horizontal pleats or silver metal discs and accessorized with knee socks, square-toed crocodile pumps and LV monogram bags in oil-slick black patent. Jacobs probably should have stopped short, though, of the strange-looking flaps reminiscent of medieval tunics that extended past the hems in the back of some of the coats.
Armor seemed even more modern at Paco Rabanne, where designer Rosemary Rodriguez created a silver mesh tunic that looked as soft as cashmere and paired it with fall’s must-have leather leggings. The house’s famous chain mail was also crafted into a chic corset belt and worn over a simple black turtleneck sweater or combined with leather on hot little jackets and jumpers.
It’s interesting to see how Karl Lagerfeld manages to speak with a new voice each season at Chanel even as he uses the same vocabulary. This time, he played tough, creating a collection of club-ready clothes reminiscent of the sexy style of actress Drea De Matteo, who plays Adriana on “The Sopranos.” Micro miniskirts in wool boucle, sometimes with lace underskirts peeking out, were worn with shrunken leather jackets; outfits were accessorized with chunky chain belts, visors with camellias pinned to them, studded biker boots and curious leather leg warmers. But op-art prints splashed on a couple of sweaters and boxy jackets seemed like a strange hiccup.
There was also a dash of le sportif from last season, when a Chanel surfboard made waves. Fake foam snow rained down as 1980s model Pat Cleveland returned to the runway, dressed in a white parka and pearls, and toting a pair of snow blades (which look like abbreviated skis). “I put a little of it in because it was so popular,” Lagerfeld said of the nod to sportiness. “But in the winter, sports end at 5 p.m., so the girls have to do other things.”
It’s too bad Jean-Paul Gaultier doesn’t have the same intuition about youth. His collection, presented on a glass runway supported by hundreds of plastic dolls, had enough puffy-sleeve blouses and baby-doll dresses to clothe an entire kindergarten class. The trouble is, most women don’t want to dress like babies.
Stella McCartney understands that the future of fashion is entwined with athletic wear. She combined cotton jersey and nylon mesh with satins and silks to create a collection that was one of her most sophisticated yet. Blousy, cropped jackets, some almost like windbreakers, and tight, ribbed sweaters with corset styling were paired with liquidy silk skirts in luscious shades, such as iced plum, blush pink and cappuccino, and satin trenches were studded with sporty zippers. The “Sound of Music” ditty “My Favorite Things” was remixed for the show by British rappers Big Brovaz, with “whiskers on kittens” and other things from the original replaced with “rubies and diamonds and Stella’s dresses.” A presumptuous suggestion? Not really.
In McCartney’s old post at Chloe, designer Pheobe Philo anchored her streetwise show with black leather parkas and blue jeans with flowers embroidered on the inner thigh, worn tucked into high boots, 1970s style. Soft, two-tiered chiffon dresses in solid black or an abstract poppy print were accessorized with removable peacock feather collars or hobo bags with chunky chain handles. And a halter dress made from a mess of gold coins seemed to cover the body in buried treasure.
Flash and dash are not the name of the game for Valentino, whose understated elegance is the gold standard for ladies who wake up before lunch. This season, mink fur was used to edge the cuffs of wide-legged gray flannel trousers and to form scroll patterns on the sleeves of jackets. But the real excitement came at night. Valentino is a man who must dream in dresses. Between a tulle-skirted gown with a jet bead necklace incorporated into the bodice and a feather-flecked confection with a sharp pleated chiffon skirt fanning out from the waist like a parasol, the permanently bronzed designer offered plenty for Oscar consideration. And why shouldn’t he? Because, let’s be honest, the fashion season doesn’t really end here; it ends in 11 days on the red carpet runway in Hollywood.
