PARIS — I had a lost weekend, locked into another major obligation. But I went to shows, took notes, talked to designers, listened to stories. Maybe I’ll get a chance to leak that intel at some point. But first, a few thoughts.
Who doesn’t feel like weeping at the state of the world right now? Pieter Mulier honoured the depth of that emotion when he said he wanted “clothes that cry” for his new Alaïa collection. You wind up tight, then you have to let it rip. Tension was attenuated to elastic-bang-twang degrees with tubular cotton knits. Thigh-high stockings were densely fringed, every step causing a cascade of motion. Necklines were restrained but skirts fell away into asymmetrical points, a tail of chartreuse duchess, for instance. A body seemingly cocooned to immobility was backless, jeans’ clad. (Controversial, that look. It looked to me like maximising mobility was simply the wearer’s decision.)
Maybe the cocoon was something of a theme. The audience was immersed in Mulier’s women, floor and ceiling streaming with images with us parked in the middle. The crystal clarity of the presentation was impressive. It was intimate and grand at the same time. And then Mulier marched some 21st century infantas into his digital playground. He’d told his team he wanted “a dream of ball gowns, but sexy.” Azzedine’s ever-generous archives coughed up patterns shaped like balloons. In Mulier’s hands, they were airily grand because they were open at the sides. But they were paired with more of those taut tops. In a world that screws itself tighter every single day, it might be that Mulier has found a timely new fashion formula.
From A to B… a friend called me from New York to tell me that this must be the most exciting week ever to be a fashion writer. So much change. Pas du tout. It was designers we already knew well taking up positions at different houses. New places, not new faces, Pierpaolo Piccioli at Balenciaga being a case in point. The change probably mattered a lot more to him than it did to us. Because, frankly, I wasn’t feeling this change. For sure, it wasn’t Demna anymore, and Piccioli was correct when he claimed that the main DNA of Balenciaga was being right for its times. So what’s right? Cristobal or Demna or Piccioli’s own design aesthetic, shaped over years of epochal collections at Valentino? It felt like Piccioli was stuck between a rock and a hard place with his debut, especially because the stark staging in a massive venue stripped away any sense of engagement. (Even given Chanel’s presumably massive budgets, Matthieu Blazy’s enchantingly mounted debut in the much bigger Grand Palais drew us in.)
Nevertheless, my word for the week is EMPATHY, so I’m curious to see what Piccioli will do to claim for himself the most challenging, and potentially rewarding legacy in fashion. We know that Demna broke the mould. What happens when, or if, Pierpaolo puts it back together?
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