Imagination on holiday
The fleet of fashion editor-filled sedans moves from one show to another every hour on the hour -- stilettos out of the car, stilettos in the car, bubble skirts out, bubble skirts in. And the yawning spreads.
Japanese photographers snap Anna Wintour’s picture here and there, runway lights go down and up, cigarettes are lighted and stubbed out. And still the yawning spreads. If there’s a spare moment for an espresso, it had better be a double because what’s come down the runway here so far isn’t jolting anyone out of jet lag.
Milan Fashion Week is just beginning but one can’t help feeling despondent. Fashion is in the midst of great change, with color and embellishment taking a back seat to Minimalist design for the first time in years. But the gravity has shifted to Paris and New York, and the first few days of shows here have done little more than highlight the divide between those who steer fashion and those who merely keep the motor running.
Italy is full of designers and labels with a signature style. Dolce & Gabbana and Roberto Cavalli cater to the sex pot; Marni’s Consuelo Castiglioni to the artsy gallerista; Giorgio Armani to the career woman; Alberta Ferretti to the sweetie pie; and Emilio Pucci to the print-loving peacock. These brands are dependable (need a black suit, go to Armani, need a pretty party dress, head to Ferretti, need to make some cash on the street corner, well .... But they don’t offer many surprises and there is no mechanism to support new talent and regenerate the industry.
For direction in fashion these days, one looks to New York’s Marc Jacobs and Francisco Costa at Calvin Klein, and to Paris’ Stefano Pilati at Yves Saint Laurent, Olivier Theyskens at Rochas, Alber Elbaz at Lanvin and Nicolas Ghesquiere at Balenciaga. At the moment, Milan does not have the same creative spark.
Miuccia Prada is an exception. Always provocative, her collection was presented in a hall of mirrors that played tricks on the eye. When the first white dresses came out, they looked simple. But the surprise was in the details -- canvas stained the color of aged parchment, scored with calligraphy strokes or appliqued with fabric flowers making them resemble old tablecloths. The collection contained a few Asian references, such as bamboo wedge shoes. There was also an off-kilter girlishness to it, with puffed sleeves, empire waists, apron tops, schoolgirl pleats and thick, bunched gray stockings.
Judging from the runways, women will be hard-pressed to find a pair of pants come spring. The foundation here, as in many other shows, was the dress -- in a rich shade of peach silk with Creamsicle-colored pleats cascading down one side, or cut loose with pinafore straps and tromp l’oeil wrinkles lending a hint of history. The most accessible piece, however, may have been a skirt, in black leather with a paper bag waist.
For evening, dresses with short puffy sleeves slipping off the shoulders appeared from afar to be done in a flat speckled print. But upon closer inspection, caviar-sized allover wood and diamante beading was revealed.
One couldn’t help but think of Rene Magritte’s painting “The Betrayal of Images.” The caption under the artist’s image of a pipe reads “Ceci n’est pas une pipe,” just as the caption under Prada’s collection might read “This is not a white dress.” There were some interesting ideas here, but more often than not it felt as if canvas studies were coming down the runway rather than real clothes. And Prada is still sketching out her next move.
CONSUELO Castiglioni’s clothes for Marni can sometimes look as if they have been put together in the dark. But this collection was more wearable than ever. She lost the lopsided hems, instead, offering bubble skirts that were puffed up enough to satisfy the volume trend, but slim enough to be flattering. In a cheery leafy-green print, one style had a stiff latticework hem, giving it some serious swing.
A rounded, bell-sleeved jacket came in a kind of modern art floral that brought to mind birds of paradise, while a coat in a stiff allover black-and-white geometric pattern resembled a crossword puzzle. A pleated silk sundress tied loose around the waist was a beguiling shade of electric blue silk. But long, apron styles were hit or miss; some had chunky beaded bibs, others had saucer sized resin discs suspended from beaded strands, making the models resemble grandfather clocks. Belts were embellished with the same discs in horsehair or patent leather, complimented by flat shoes -- double-strapped sandals or sling-back loafers.
This Fashion Week unofficially belongs to Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana, who are celebrating 20 years in business. The designers, famous for their molto sexy, rock ‘n’ roll style, kicked off the festivities with the closest thing to Minimalism they could muster -- a nearly all-white, lingerie-inspired collection of frilly dresses and tops for their lower-priced D&G; label. The celebration will continue later in the week with the Dolce & Gabbana show and party, where Donna Summer is rumored to be performing.
While saucy, stretch-lace, thong-revealing mini-dresses, baby-doll tops with bras fastened outside, and eyelet trimmed jeans should send a teenage heart racing, the collection lacked the designers’ usual street savvy. Inspiration came from the ethereal-looking work of 1970s-era photographer Sarah Moon, but she was way before most D&G; customers’ time.
Ferretti presented a parade of fragile gowns and cocktail frocks in neutral shades of taupe, cream and black chiffon and satin. Some were pieced together, others had grosgrain bows tied under the bust, waterfalls of pleats down the sides or sheer cowl backs. All were lovely, but there was nothing here that we haven’t seen before. And what was with the rat’s nest hair? It’s everywhere this week.
Armani is never short on ideas, strange as they may be. For his Emporio line, he concocted shorts made from overlapping petals of pleated chiffon, and peg-leg satin trousers with an overgrown flower bloom over each hip -- just where a woman wants to draw attention. As usual, jackets were the highlight, one in a pretty tropical pink floral nipped at the waist, and another in a soft brown suede with ruffled edges.
Christian Lacroix, who designs the Emilio Pucci line, announced after the show on Tuesday that he is stepping down. Since taking over three years ago, Lacroix has attempted to reinvigorate the house. One past collection put a tribal spin on the signature prints by blowing them up on quilted circle skirts, another incorporated them into menswear tweeds. But more often than not Lacroix’s efforts at reinvention were overwrought. Pucci prints are reason enough to buy Pucci, and the designer’s Louis Vuitton Moet Hennessy bosses seem to know that.
So the spring outing was a thoroughly salable, if not predictable, array of simple shift dresses in a vibrant blue print that resembled faceted diamonds, bathing suits with scooped out backs and goddess gowns that recalled Capri in the 1960s, the house’s heyday. The models’ hair was tied in high ponytails with ribbon-like scarves, which should fly off shelves, along with studded gladiator sandals with kitten heels.
FOR his spinoff Just Cavalli collection, Roberto Cavalli built a wood-plank runway and decorated his stage with tropical drinks the size of VW buses. The clothes were a strange mix of South-of-the-Border style and 1960s Flower Power, with puff-sleeve boleros in a Mayan zig-zag, baby doll dresses in psychedelic prints, neon patent leather platform shoes and more.
The best of the lot were gowns with embroidered Empire bodices and skirts in a patchwork of snakeskin, floral and zebra prints. But even they were forgotten during the cheesier than Cheez Whiz finale, featuring tanned and greased male models in skimpy Speedos bumping and grinding to the refrain of “Love Generation.”
Forget the espresso, pass the Pina Colada.
