Slightly overdue, this post is still going to happen. I simply could not skip the entire Paris fashion week just because I chose to be off the face of the universe for a few days.
Of course, I followed the shows and news (the Alaia exhibit at the Galliera Museum, premier of Mademoiselle C, Marc Jacobs’ departure from Louis Vuitton). Of course, I fell in love. And, of course, I faced a few disappointments, though predictable, but nevertheless hurtful (mainly to the eye rather than the well-bubble-wrapped mind, though – I was emotionally prepared as you can tell).
Everything that made it to todays post was about love, beauty, memories and dreams as well as a vigorous quality control for I truly believe that any form of fashion magic requires a perfect cut and fabrics otherwise all the eye is going to see is the garment, not a woman who is wearing it.
Chloe was by far my absolute favourite. After the show ended, I found myself dreaming of it, craving of it, waking up and going to bed thinking of it… It was all about the white dress, plisse fabric and the lightness and airiness of it all. Quietly gorgeous and incredibly liberating it brought back memories of a suit made of a similar textured fabric – as simple and basic as that wide-pant-long-sleeve-top set was, it made me feel beautiful… happy… summery… As soon as the dress appeared on the runway, those emotions returned as an endorphin rush.
The now-known-as-dream-dress was followed by a bouncy pearl blue oversized sweater worn over a pair of bow-tied shorts covered in tiny pink gold specks and, as the grand finale that completely seduced my weakened fashion-obsessed brain, a belted pleated olive and khaki dress. So ethereal, the collection was brought back to reality by the sensually smooth minimalistic bracelets and an array of bags that, despite their visual pliability, definitely had a masculine touch to them. The earthy tones were as calm as a sleepy olive garden and the blues were as striking as the sky and the sea. As far as the summer style goes, one cannot wish for more (may be the only wish I’d have is to wake up with legs like Bette’s)…
Guy Laroche was good, too. Not all of it, mind you, but there was enough to adore and desire. I didn’t think much of some jackets or a poisonous yellow hue that popped up in a form of a few very beautiful frocks, but I loved the mellow part made of pleated cocoon dresses (the shape was originally called "a sack", but I prefer the poetic form to the original), bouncy skirts, ingeniously pleated trousers and classic coats.
At Nina Ricci Peter Copping mixed the Yin and Yang creating a collection that embodied the brand's romance, but also included pieces with a modern, clean and sharp feel to them. The love thing happened again for I do have a soft spot for Peter Copping/Nina Ricci deliciousness.
So here are my top three collections that will be remembered as the beautiful part of Paris fashion week.
And then there were "the other shows" and events... The angry teens at Rick Owens and topless protestors at Nina Ricci, and the looks that killed, almost literally.
The cacophony of colours, sounds and claustrophobic space at Dior made me, once again, realise how confused Simons was about the brand. I admired the workmanship that went into each garment, but the overall collection felt harsh, dull and far, far, far from elegant. I am not sure what kind of woman Simons pictures as a Dior client, but, in my humble opinion, a woman of class would never want to go out in a dress covered in slogans, a skirt with a hole or, even worse, a fanciful concoction resembling a pair of shape wear knickers worn over pleated shorts.
As if realising that the initial collection wasn't up to the level required by Dior, Simons then sent out a completely new set of looks that resembled his previous designs.
The show that was confusing and painful to watch soon followed by the Ungaro one - a public spectacle where the brand has been slowly murdered by a string of so-so designers who, as it feels, don’t really care. What I don’t understand is why the owners can’t approach Galliano and ask him to revive the house? You’d have to be blind not to see a similarity in aesthetics of Ungaro and Galliano designs. Both were sensual, feminine, somewhat mysterious and teasing. They even favoured the same models! Oh, Galliano with his incredible talent could turn it into something so fabulous and legendary. Instead we got to see what we were presented. A murder on a catwalk floor.
Paris certainly delivered a lot to think about and made the provocative world of fashion feel exciting yet again. For all kinds of reasons, but that's a different story...
Photo source: wwd.com, stylebistro.com
