The men in black
A pair of newcomers to Paris men’s fashion week set out their stark vision of menswear, and they didn’t so much push the envelope as light it on fire and beat out the flames with a gilded elk horn.
Avant-garde London-based designer Gareth Pugh, known for his intricate geometric designs and out-there pieces, closed out the four days of Fall/Winter 2009-2010 shows in Paris on Sunday with the debut of his men’s line.
It was a collection full of black patent-leather trench coats, side-buttoning tuxedos that recalled goth matador costumes, and shredded and sliced jeans. Jackets were cropped, and there were silver, metallic fabrics looking like leather chain mail, as well as fur, and silver, shard-like epaulet details.
Some pieces were embellished with carpet tacks in a Pinhead-from-”Hellraiser”-meets-futuristic-porcupine sort of way. Heavy, black, multi-buckled boots rose nearly to the knee, and a plethora of intricate black and white triangle designs recurred in a motif that also cropped up on silver trousers and silver leather trenches. All of it seemed pulled from a sharp, imposing future, or sliced out of a double helix -- except when it came to the quilted puffer vests and long jackets (it’s nearly impossible to look ominous in a quilted nylon vest).
At press time, it was rumored that LVMH (which owns or has stakes in a stable of luxury men’s brands, including Louis Vuitton, Givenchy and Dior Homme) had taken an interest in Pugh, a 27-year-old who graduated from Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design in London in 2003 and mounted his first London Fashion Week solo show just three years ago.
Pugh’s aggressive goth severity was reminiscent of Rick Owens’ men’s runway debut in Paris two days earlier (not too surprising, as Owens mentored Pugh). With music from the opera “Salome” playing, models -- some with partially shaved heads and others with locks as long and flat as the designer’s -- strode forth, bundled in layers of skins, tunics and wraps atop a collection of boots so malevolent-looking that they could have clip-clopped out of the same shoe store of the damned where Gene Simmons gets his demon boots.
Belted black trench coats (some without sleeves) were cinched into wasp-waistedness. Floor-length shifts were open under the arms from shoulder to hip bone, and the only accessory in the entire show was a lone gilded elk horn worn as a necklace.
“I wanted it to be severe,” Owens said after the show, and you didn’t need a “Mission Accomplished” banner tacked up behind him to know he’d succeeded.
As he met with well-wishers and press backstage, the California native held up an all-access pass. It depicted his decapitated head on a serving platter, shoulder-length hair flowing off the plate like blood. It was a quirky, macabre moment, an inside joke as layered as the tunics on the runway, involving the opera soundtrack and the biblical story of Salome (she demanded the head of John the Baptist on a platter). And in a way, it’s a commentary on what could happen if his men’s show doesn’t inspire buyers.
But despite the dark overtones, Owens grinned from ear to ear, head still firmly attached to his neck.
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