Built to laugh last
It may be time to bring the red carpet to New York Fashion Week -- not to encourage more celebrity crashers but to act as a kind of crimson buffer where the ground rules of photo taking are understood and nobody can get hurt.
This season, the paparazzi are on their worst behavior, screaming, shoving and trampling to get shots of anyone in the front row with a sense of entitlement and a pulse, even so-called stars of straight-to-DVD films. The big names (Renee Zellweger, Beyonce, Uma Thurman) make things worse with their refrigerator-sized bodyguards flinging people out of the way like lifeless weeds. And for what? Celebrities come to fashion shows to be photographed and to push their brands (a.k.a. their names). So why make it so difficult for the professionals to oblige them and for the innocent bystanders to stay out of the way?
After an hour and a half of waiting for the Marc Jacobs show to start, one had to marvel at a designer who could out-ego Beyonce, who arrived amid a flurry of flashbulbs with boyfriend Jay-Z and spent at least 15 minutes warming the risers at the Lexington Avenue Armory with the best of them.
But as soon as the first look came out it became clear why Jacobs commands attention; he is the only American designer with the power to change the direction of fashion. Rebelling against several seasons of ladylike polish, he shifted the focus back to construction. Like the Japanese designers of the ‘90s, he ignored the notion that form must follow function, proposing salt-and-pepper tweed skirts in lopsided bell shapes, knit wool dresses with asymmetrical color blocking in gray, pink and black, and shapeless shrug jackets with oversized, covered buttons -- all worn with flats that seemed to sprout wings from the heels.
Exposed zippers and hooks evoked the kind of home-sewn, do-it-yourself aesthetic that’s popular with kids now. And crumpled raspberry or black velvet gowns with frayed ribbons or fabric rosebuds suggested that even the simplest embellishments can do the trick. The collection wasn’t conventionally pretty (a group of glorified muumuus in antique florals was downright ugly). But Jacobs, who will open a store on Melrose Avenue in March, succeeded in turning the current notion of luxury on its head.
It was a bold move, one that almost made it forgivable that at 10:30 p.m., the audience was still waiting for the clothes to be put together (not that anyone would have been able to tell whether they were finished or not).
And so Jacobs, building on Miuccia Prada’s pretty-ugly collection last season, made all of the other designers look dated.
Oscar de la Renta, the first lady’s designer du jour, knew he had a good thing going last season with his colorful Central Asian ikat print skirts and jackets, so he continued along the spice route for fall. But in this day and age, only Texas oil wives, Park Avenue socialites and freeloading celebs have a prayer of enjoying the level of opulence he delivered.
Gold coins turned crewneck cashmere sweaters and boiled wool jackets into works of art, paired with embroidered full tweed skirts and flat brown suede boots. The tie-dye ikat patterns returned, printed on sheared mink or velvet coats. A black wool shift was encrusted neck to knee in folkloric gold embroidery, and a black tulle ball gown was covered in ruffles plopped down like dollops of whipped cream.
Carolina Herrera dished up another serving of unfathomable luxury. (Broadtail trumpet dress, anyone?) Her palette of charcoal, mahogany, raspberry, violet and mimosa was inspired by the semiprecious stones she used as embellishment -- clustered around the hips of a gold tweed skirt and sprinkled at the top of a long print shirtdress. Herrera also used lame (yes, lame!) as piping on a skirt suit, then made a whole dress out of the stuff, with mink tucked between the pleats.
Full-legged pants and fur-trimmed jackets came in classic charcoal tweed or Prince of Wales check. For evening, the ball skirt made a reappearance in the unlikely shade of chocolate brown, paired with a white cotton shirt, while a fluted brown moire gown was festooned with triangle-point ribbons that brought to mind a prize thoroughbred. But for all the expensive details, the collection felt a bit safe.
Proenza Schouler’s Lazaro Hernandez and Jack McCollough channeled Edie Sedgwick. (An Edie revival is quietly building, with an exhibit of photographs of the Warhol party girl on view at a gallery here and Sienna Miller reportedly slated to play her in a film called “Factory Girl.”) Rather than falling into a time warp, the designers incorporated the body-conscious satin bustiers and corsets that have become their signatures into gray wool jumpers worn with green crocodile English bobby hats and flat boots.
Chain-mail tank tops and miniskirts paid homage to Paco Rabanne while managing to look young and fresh. Lavender tweed wide-leg trousers, paper-bag waist skirts and shrunken men’s vests were also on offer, though the nude spandex girdles layered on top were a silly distraction that brought to mind the body shapers women turn to in an eveningwear crisis wrought by a few unexpected pounds.
BCBG is rarely surprising. The L.A. label, which probably does more in sales than the above designers combined, is known for producing versions of the trends at mall-friendly prices. This season, Max Azria pushed the design envelope with an orange felt cropped jacket in the spirit of Junya Watanabe and funky black suede wedge boots. But the bulk of the show was Bloomsbury-meets-boho, a theme that’s in step with a lot of what’s happening here this week. Embroidered peasant skirts, tiered paisley silk chiffon dresses and gowns with crochet insets, all worn with wide studded suede belts, looked just right for the crowd of celebs-in-training.
