Alexander Wang has been on a roll as of late. Not only has he lifted his collection to the level that it has taken over the conversation that has been strictly about Proenza Schouler, Altuzzara and Prabal Gurung. There is a singular message there that is at once original, youthful and knowing. His clothes are what women young and not so young actually wear. They spend the money and go out in it. I've even lingered at the racks in Scoop and thought that this looks good and so does that only to discover it was his work I was considering.
Then Balenciaga came along and I thought that there was no way he could add anything of substance to that chit chat. And then he did. I never felt it for Nicolas and shed not one tear when he left. But Alexander's Balenciaga has something I never expected. He's begun to absorb the language of the master and to filter it through his ripe imagination. His Balenciaga is sexy with just enough archness to make you stop and look, even think. He makes me excited to see what's coming next.
This season, back in NYC there was an absence of energy. It felt as though he left his mojo in the hotel in Paris. There was little cleverness in evidence beyond a handful of mischievous denim jackets and skirts at the very end of the collection. Exactly 32 exits into the show, the first truly interesting look appeared. It was followed by some great perforated and woven leather pieces. Still it was too little too late. The fetish pleated skirts with stiff tops that opened the show were rote naughtiness.
Lackluster. This is what I fear for all the burgeoning talent coming up; too much will be asked of them too soon. They may be willing, but ready and able is another thing altogether.