We Went To Paris Fashion Week, So You Didn't Have To.
Next Time, We'll Skip It
After several days of watching beautiful people march down runways wearing everything from spectacular clothes to upholstered headgear, enormous T-shirts, exposed bras, cone-shaped breasts and shoes that appear to require a building permit, we can confidently report one thing: Fashion may have finally lost its fucking mind.
To be fair, there were some genuinely beautiful clothes. Hermès reminded everyone that luxury doesn't need to be loud. Their looks were classic, well colored and the show moved you to want more.
Celine looked polished and sophisticated and Chanel showed that creativity and wearability can occupy the same runway. Albeit somewhat repetitive, it was pure Chanel.
Then there was the rest of Paris.
At Balenciaga, we got an enormous pale-pink T-shirt masquerading as a ballgown over jeans. Fashion people will explain that this is about proportion, couture construction and challenging traditional ideas of evening wear. We call it a giant T-shirt over jeans.
Comme des Garçons (remember them?) sent models down the runway wearing enormous padded and wired creations on their heads. Some resembled sculptures. Others looked like a sofa and a chandelier had sex and said, “lets show off!”
Over at Jean Paul Gaultier (coming off his embarrassing Met Gala Flop Invite) cone bras and wrapped leather returned along with distorted tailoring and split-toe shoes. At some point we need to acknowledge that if your breasts enter the restaurant before you do, perhaps we've taken tailoring far enough.
Dior delivered exposed bras, unbuttoned shirts, pajama influences and deliberately disheveled styling. Beautifully constructed, but occasionally it looked less like Paris Fashion Week and more like someone overslept at the Ritz and had four minutes to get downstairs. For a brief moment, Dior sent down the runway some simple 'very Dior" staples...Skirts with flounce, Garden Tops with covered buttons and tutu's trimmed in silver sequins.
Then there was Schiaparelli with peekaboo fabrics, gold body detailing and gold-foiled nipples. All the men paid close attention.
Here's what makes all this particularly amusing. The luxury industry is struggling. Consumers are questioning absurd prices. Aspirational customers are pulling back. Fashion houses desperately need people to buy clothes.
So naturally, fashion's response is: Make the T-shirt twelve feet wide and put a chandelier on her head.
There is a difference between creativity and costume. Fashion should provoke. Designers should experiment. Runways shouldn't look like the men's department at Nordstrom.
Can somebody please ask the horribly unfashionable question:
Who the hell is actually going to wear this?
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