This was one yummy-licious romp down on the docks. All Bettie Page pin-ups and sexy sailors emerging from a set straight out of Genet's Querelle by way of Fassbinder. What a treat to see a show the way it should be; all coy seduction and humor. Besides clothes that were impeccable the models strutted turned and posed for the cameras. There was no death march of expressionless skeletons. Instead it was a sexy parade of beauties loving the clothes, loving the moment. Every detail of this collection was pure joy. His shoes were sublime, a cross between ballet slippers and espadrilles suffused with color. Necklaces were garlands of flowers or gold coins and the hair was pure Bettie Page with blunt bangs and abundant locks. Even fingernails ran the gamut of the color wheel. Galliano's brand of androgyny in sailor pants, tunics tops and anoraks remained feminine in stark contrast to Ghesquierre's attempts to straddle the gender divide.
So many dresses were cut and draped in chiffon the color of a tropical jungle. Nothing was too fussy or labored. He sent out dresses in layers of ruffles or as sarongs with a tailored and abbreviated jacket. Whether things were short or long it was all playful. Macrame found its way into a few dresses and skirts that were wonders of construction. I say wonders because on the one hand they were technical feats but at the same time had an offhanded simplicity that only the finest ateliers of Paris can manage. The prints were fresh and amusing. None of this jarring mix of loud combatant graphics were at play here. It was just good old fashioned sexy great taste. Perhaps that is a stale dish to some but it felt like a feast hot out of the oven. Take a look and judge for yourselves. It seems that the most banal and reissued collections send Fashion directors and editors into a swoon. Raf Simons' collection for Jil Sander, for instance, has twisted every pair of knickers on the continent. A replay of retro couture shapes in a lite version may be earth shaking for some but let's see if they make the long haul from the pages of Vogue into the hearts and closets of real women. I'm all eyes.
I read somewhere that an editor questioned if it was Dior and if it was new. It was obviously Dior and since when does anyone care about new? I think the idea of new is an overrated one. I'm just happy if the thing looks good and this thing did.