Chanel Spring2012: The Pearl Fisher

85 looks.That's a lot a looks. If the big pebble beach set is a metaphor for the multiplicity of ideas to be found in a split second of fashion's beached consciousness, then why not a collection that is more like 4 rolled into one? Now I feel like Cathy; more scientist/analyst than mere fashion journalist/blogger. Still there was everything in this collection including the kitchen sink. How do you say that in French?
It all looked seductively simple with tweed reduced to a relaxed game of warp and weft on net with a mysterious embroidery of a thin black line squaring off in opposition to itself. I liked the off handedness of it. Luxury can be as simple as a dot or a dash. Models appeared to stroll along this phantasmic beach clutching conch shells or pearl encrusted tiny bags. The bubbles that are left when the tide recedes formed the backdrop of the scene. The suits were so clean in white and putty almost like he took a hint from Ralph Rucci's recent spring collection, with curved cardigan and bolero shaped bodies and round full articulated sleeves over deluxe white jeans or sheared and shirred chiffon minis. With all the recent biographies out on Coco, her lovers, supposed Nazi sympathies and more newly uncovered tidbits Karl perhaps is busy keeping all eyes on himself. The dresses that came early on after the suits in beautifully pleated chiffon prints had a very post-Poiret feel like the tea dresses Coco wore as a young kept woman in the house of Boy Capel. Still he seems to have sworn off of decoration relying on a line of black to underscore an idea. No jeweled buttons and nary a single strand of pearls to be found. My impression was one of luxe sport almost like exercise gear in suits and separates. The models had a freshly showered look to them without makeup or coiffed hair as though they had just come from this futuristic beach. Then the collection began again with another lineup of day suits and tweed jackets over puffed, teased and poufed organza skirts and beautiful pale printed abstractions on pleated chiffon, only pleated horizontally instead of the regulation vertical pleats awash on so many other runways in Paris. Some dresses in this segment had rather odd proportions that he delivers now and again. They propose a new shape but rarely go further than just a suggestion. Still they make you think and they also show Lagerfeld as a unique wanderer on the beach, digging away at some possible buried treasure that we've all yet to consider. The tweeds were more laden with decorative touches by way of fringed strips of the same dividing the planes of the jackets and skirts. The colors like a pale tobacco were so soothing that you felt this overwhelming calm like the center of a vast storm. Then another collection took up where the previous dissipated with fantastic bathing suits like delicious minimally draped cocktail dresses minus the skirt. Then, just like Ralph Rucci and his glorious collection of a couple of weeks ago, he shifted back to white in knit and lighter than air tweed suits, an array of pale pastel short evening dresses and ending with white and black. They looked more like forms from beneath the ocean's surface in random threads twisting over grounds of tulle. Nothing had the look of man-made.
As familiar as the Lagerfeld/Chanel lexicon has become he never stops pushing the boundaries of shape and uses of decoration. He always talks about being unsentimental and leaving behind the past to find the future. This show felt very personal in a way. Almost like he's racing to say in design as much as he does with the spoken word. I think he's aware of the passage of time and perhaps wishes he could control it like he does his various and vast empires. Its ok to value today and yesterday. Tomorrow is not a given.

Chado Ralph Rucci S2012 : ∞ and beyond....

Let's start at the bottom and work our way up. If God is in the details, then this experience was like hanging out in heaven for a few moments. The floor was covered as the hordes massed. When all were seated the guys who run the show peeled away the plastic covering the runway to reveal a plexi-glass surface with the shade of nude emanating from below its surface. I can't speak for others but from that moment I sensed I was in for something special. Had there been seat belts I'd have buckled myself in and pulled the strap tight. The lights dimmed and from the far end where the models emerged was a wall of mirror fractured into squares. It didn't so much distort as it presented different elements of the room, the models and clothes with a simultaneity. The room, the runway and the crowd was huge. I almost wondered how one could command a space so vast and then remembered which show I was about to see. The sound system started and Bolero filled the air. Anyone with two eyes, 2 ears and a heartbeat knows that that music takes you from point A to Z and beyond. Knowing that he would in essence play with this audience of devotees by sending out a parade of ideas one building on the other, creating a tension through complexity, easing up on that tension through color, shape, detail and then build an even greater tension. It was not lost on me that the palette was almost all white in the opening with shards of silver in python and crystal embroideries. White is the black of the heavens. The collection was a study in light. From the weight of things, to the shapes and their movement, the surfaces and the overall intention behind them he seemed to be at ease. Ralph Rucci may struggle like many of us to keep the business grounded, viable and alive. At his level it must be very stressful, but you'd never know it to look at this collection. A work this profound must be born in a certain degree of anguish but the result was nothing short of joyous. Here is a man who has discovered many secrets to beauty. His signature techniques with double faced wool, the seaming and insertions that were for the most part clear plastic and tulle were bravura displays of technique. Where they had once been little tension points they now are curving, roaming lines that define shapes, reveal expanses of skin making planes of fabric, exquisite matelasse in particular, appear to be held together by air. The embroideries in crystal were so minute that they were almost microscopic. The surface of things in the world of Chado is misleading. What appears to be solid or sheer is more than likely a combination of thousands of smaller worlds joined together to create positive and negative space. There was magic to the experience with clothes that presented one picture as they approached and a completely different one as they passed by receding into the void. A column of wool in white revealed a cerise paillette gown enfolded from behind. There was as much or more interest in many of the looks from the back view. His Infanta gowns which are heady numbers on the best of days were almost stripped of all of their structure. They were beautiful examples of intricate dress making with none of the stuffing or stuffy about them. In all of the collection's intensity and complex techniques Ralph Rucci made it all look easy. The audience paid close attention to everything that passed in front of them. From his wealthy clients, to the editors and the rest of us, there was an atmosphere of intense interest and appreciation. The chatter was all about the incredible things he shared with us with pointing and audible sighs all around. The music grew to its climax and just like a precision instrument the clothes built to their inevitable crescendo. The lights came up over a room full of dazed and delighted pilgrims. Then the roar of a standing ovation 1000 strong. Pretty heady stuff. I would imagine when one has gone the distance season after season blood and sweat is no longer the issue. Going from A to Z is his warm-up and infinity, his destiny.

* check out Style.com, but better go to YouTube. there you see front and back views and the movement is everything.

Victoria Beckham S2012: Season to taste.

I'm reminded of that sure-to-be-a snooze film about to open, "I don't know how does she do it." with Sarah Jessica Parker looking at these clothes. Last season Ms. Beckham had a very singular vision that really, for me, was startling and beautiful. Posh Spice, the bad girl, soccer mom, international clothes horse got serious about her new found vocation as leader. Her days of making a spectacle of herself in every over the top look from the best collections were calmly put aside. These clothes are serious and so is she. I had little faith that she could so effectively change horses so late in the race, and then she did. The accessories are as refined as her taste in fashion. The tarty almost trashy aesthetic she once promoted is now an exercise in restraint. A tit show with hems climbing up her tiny butt is a thing of the past and not just because she's spent the last year in a state of with-childom. She's embraced the mysteries of cut, grown-up fabrics like double faced wool, razimir, grain de poudre and shapes that suggest. So with that said, I was a tiny bit disappointed with this collection. It is again beautifully made, in wonderful rich fabrics with details like luggage straps and accompanying hardware that tells a story of her jet setting life. The colors are cool, clear and fresh. The shapes are at times oblique and at others almost coy. It has the look of a collection for the world stage which is something when you consider that she's only been at this for a handful of years. Today felt a bit like Allspice, a touch of this and a pinch of that. Things felt a bit familiar like her go to looks that have filled her closets over the years. There were some jackets that felt like Versace. Chanel was brought into rotation with those sexy, lithe leather leggings. Gucci and Saint Laurent made an appearance lending some moral support. That isn't to say that they were literally employed only that it felt like she was a little overwhelmed with other things to make the sort of statement of last season. The bags continue to delight as does the general high standard of the make and fit of the clothes. They are clean, clean, clean with little or no distracting details. The satin faced organza bubble jacket, like a sexed up Zoran, in dreamy oyster looks like something she probably wore in the final days of her pregnancy. A number of looks would be ideal for a super model on maternity leave. Now that the baby is baked the nannies can take over and she can resume her role as the world weary, Super Spicy, Soccer Mom. For the life of me, I don't know how she does it.

Altuzarra S2012: A question of taste

It's never good when even the biggest girls on the runway can't make the clothes look like, well, great clothes. In this instance they (the big girls) didn't even look like they could muster the interest to try. They looked bored. Last season it was the winter coat I wore to high school with the nasty road kill trimmed hood, or at least a very exact replica of that coat which I can't seem to locate and this spring it's tired windbreakers, anoraks and poorly cut coats over depressing bits of this and that. The python, leather and stretch collages of 2 seasons ago have developed into Hawaiian printed cotton, poplin and silk collages for this season. It looks like a lateral move to me and one that's headed perilously away from center stage. These sartorial statements land like cannonballs in the shallow end of the pool. Big splashes as far as the press goes and we the audience just get soaked on the sidelines. I looked closely at the clothes, especially the coats and outerwear that everyone makes so much fuss over. The construction is perfunctory, the leather mixed with cloth looks like a battle lost on both sides and the silhouette is like the artistry of a sloper without nuance, forget poetry. Its a lot of hard doing all it can to appear soft. Knowing that much of what he makes including these samples is done off site it's not surprising that it all looks so vague. This is a feast cooked up by a committee of technicians. What good is a made in Italy label when you had little or nothing to do with the process beyond a sketch and some specs? Fitting the clothes on models a day before the show is not the same as making the samples in your own studio and working out the kinks. I will cool my jets and leave the decision up to you. To me, at the end of the day it's a question of taste.

Prabal Gurung S2012: Command Performance

This collection is a major step forward. For the past two years Prabal Gurung has been lauded as one of the most promising new designers on the scene. Unfortunately, so much of that noise has been a distraction. Experiments in the past with tricky cuts and even trickier construction have overshadowed an aesthetic that is more sophisticated and salable than his contemporaries. Unlike many of these young designer conscripts, Prabal seems to be one who genuinely loves the work as much or more than the annoying pose. This collection shows that he, more than most, has what it takes to command attention. His Rorschach print is a welcome departure from the stock digital rose prints that have spread like weeds throughout many collections. He echoes it with abstract embroideries that snake and mirror across surfaces of dresses and trousers. His tailored pieces are every bit as strong as his dresses and gowns that are divided by wedges of tulle inlaid in silk crepe and satin. He uses tough fabrics which can only be tamed by precise cut, fit and workmanship. Unlike outings in the past where the fit was sometimes less than precise, he has gotten that pesky detail firmly in hand. The tricks of his cut now create wonderful shapes that flirt with the body. You see traces of Beene and Rucci in these cuts but they remain his own. The mix of elements is exciting to see as though he is at ease with the complex as much as with the straight forward. What satisfies the most is his maturity and singular message. Luxury doesn't depend on rote messages from old masters and is also not the exclusive domain of the French. I think the heir to the old guard here is Prabal. It isn't who you dress but what you make that matters. The ultimate test is the selling floor and not the cover of a magazine. I wish him luck. He deserves it.

Jason Wu S2012: Wu Who?

Yes, I know. Obnoxious title. Well, I would argue the same for this collection. Billed as "modern" and "couture" it is for me another long winded line up of his expected fare; a raid on the Oscar de la Renta oldies collection you can buy at a Palm Beach resale shop mixed with items that scream modern like anoraks, shorts and gladiator shoes. The sleeveless, peter pan-collared blouses, pencil skirts, beaded tops over tiered evening skirts and gowns with short lengths in front and trailing behind are all shapes we've come to associate with O de la R. Even the little ostrich feathered cocktails he keeps hauling out season after season are still vain attempts at the originals. I would imagine that his copious use of peplums on jackets and cocktail dresses is his ode to the couture. What I see in this collection and in many collections by "young designers" is this idea that covers are the new originals. It appears that Wu has bought into the murmurings in the past that he is the heir to Oscar's business, the next Bill Blass, the Carolina Herrera of tomorrow. If that were the case, it should act as inspiration to work hard, create an identity (his own) and become worthy of that honor. Not to sit back and copy every line of a handful of tepid shapes over and over again until you start to believe they're your own ideas. The press encourages this sort of stunted growth. It takes much more than tricky runways in gilded hotel salons to make good clothes. The St. Regis should be spanked for making him their style ambassador world wide. What has happened? His program notes indicate his collaboration with a hot shot graffiti artist who came up with his falling leaves motif and another meeting of the minds with Tom Binns for jewelry. If the product of those collaborations is any sort of indication of the fireworks to come, the St. Regis needs to think about what sort of image they want to project: a 5 star luxury hotel or a Days Inn.

Duckie Brown S2012: War of the Roses

Steven Cox and Daniel Silver held a gang meeting at Industria the other day. These boys appear to do battle by means of much style flexing and disaffection. It's no longer who's the meanest, toughest kid on the block. Now, it's who's the leanest, most androgynous man on the runway. Clothing that used to act as armor has melted into something more akin to skin. Bombers, hoodies, puffers and trousers with many pleats are cut in nylon so weightless that it all but disappears on the body. The closest thing to a banal denim or leather were a few pieces cut in waxed cotton and tweed. The effect was compelling like so much of what these guys do season after season. They have an uncanny way of altering ones view of what is, nudging you to embrace what could be. I've never left one of their shows without feeling the urge to try something new. The dated romance of garish logos and cumbersome hardware has been shelved and traded for moody shaded cabbage roses digitally printed on silk satin faced organza in matching anoraks over boyfriend shorts, t-shirts, shirts and trousers. Whatever aggression these roving packs of testosterone pumping warriors project or the fear they inspire, we are disarmed by their beauty. We stand and stare and no longer run and hide. What was once a threat is now pure seduction. Fay is the new butch.