When John Galliano teased the word magical in a conversation ahead of the reveal of his film today, he wasn’t overpromising. Epic, explanatory, intimate, and dripping with suspense, it cuts between design sessions and rehearsals in the Maison Margiela studio and the acting out of a gothic South American wedding tragedy, danced out to the strains of the tango.

Demonstrating the nitty-gritty of making clothes while showing what they actually are and at the same time conjuring imagined scenes from a designer’s mind is a huge achievement. All the terms that John Galliano has been speaking about passionately for years—“creative process,” “teams,” “themes,” “inspirations,” “techniques”—are suddenly made visible and explicable, brought to life in this fashion-docu-fantasia of a film by Nick Knight. No wonder Galliano had said: “This is the best medium” and “I’m very happy to work this way.”

The glee and the seriousness he puts into his work are palpable throughout—as is the effect of the eye-opening participation of the Maison Margiela models on his creative process. Galliano vividly describes the memory of seeing the tango being danced in a dilapidated Buenos Aires warehouse. Then he hires a tango teacher, and the performances of the models, the way they move, actively start to shape the clothes. One thing leads to another, and soon it’s turned into a full-ensemble wedding scenario, with bride and groom and guests dancing toward a doomed, underwater destiny. The fevered action runs with a mysterious spoken script, written by Kier-La Janisse.

But we also see Galliano methodically dissecting the gauze wedding dresses, the 1940s suits, the tailored coats and bias-cut silk skirts. We see how each section fits into the numbered Maison Margiela lines. Understand, in detail, how the Recicla upcycled pieces are made into composite garments, and how each of these one-offs are “stringently tested,” ensuring that the materials meet safety standards for sale. Watch the expert skill Galliano applies to cutting away jacket shoulders and inserting tango-shirt frills into slits in classic coats.

He is at pains to elucidate how this Co-Ed ready-to-wear collection is a direct follow-on from the research for the Artisanal clothes he develops for the Maison Margiela equivalent of haute couture. Interspersed is footage of the manufacturing processes: the screen-printing of the wet-look patches on suits; how traditionally loomed Venetian brocades are made into the dancers’ mary jane shoes; the combination of laser-cut leather and hand-finishing behind the making of bags.

None of this could ever have been laid out in a runway show. It makes for a multilayered piece, capturing the drama and the depth of the collaborative work at Maison Margiela, for millions of online viewings and endless commentary and analysis. And the best thing? It’s not an event which is over and done with in the standard 20 minutes it takes for models to file out from behind a white screen, and back again. “Yes,” Galliano laconically mused, “ You can put your feet up, have a cup of tea, and watch it anytime.”

“Yes,” Galliano laconically mused, “ You can put your feet up, have a cup of tea, and watch it anytime.”

MAISON MARGIELA SPRING 2021 READY-TO-WEAR

The limitations caused by the pandemic have been tough on the youth. The physical group activities so vital to the formative years of tweens and teens and twenty-somethings have been disrupted: no sports, no school, no summer parties until sunrise. Zooms, FaceTimes, and livestreams can substitute a lot, but never the real thing. While the fangirls who fawn over Miu Miu did have to experience this season’s show without the atmosphere of an audience, Miuccia Prada gifted them with the communal spirit of girlhood. Livestreamed from Milan, the show set imagined a cyber-spacious sports arena covered in screens with the—also livestreamed—faces of Miu Miu poster girls watching the show, including Elle Fanning, Chloé Sevigny, and various influencers.

Opened by Lila Moss (the 18-year-old daughter of Kate)—whose English rose features could have been the subject of a Lord Byron poem on youth and beauty—the collection captured the accidental uniforms of young people. Too under-construction to have developed the dress codes that shape their wardrobes later in life, the youth’s uniforms materialize around the duties and pastimes that the pandemic took away from them this year. It’s a wardrobe suspended between the extremes of the hyper-casual and that stilted sense of formality you get from a prom photo. “Polarity. These are polar times,” as Prada said in a statement after the show.

“The reason why people dress is sometimes to please, sometimes to be sexy, sometimes to be socially relevant, sometimes for a job. The way you present yourself—the clothes are important because they define you in a second. Clothes are a tool for that message,” she continued. “The first spectator of yourself is you.” The Miu Miu show read like the Euphoria generation’s guide to effortless dressing: the things you wear through the process of learning the messages Prada wanted to convey about the role of clothes in life. Prim and pristine low-riding track pants, sharp track jackets, micro skirts, and kitten-heeled tennis shoes embodied the dress codes of sports activities. Sporty blazers, little bowling jackets, neat shirts and plaid skirts evoked school uniforms.

“Polarity. These are polar times,” as Prada said in a statement after the show.

Stealth luxury is trending. At retail and resale in this pandemic year shoppers have been turning to investment pieces and trading in their logos for more subtle fare. Of course, The Row has always been a go-to label for women who favor discretion over bold display. This season finds Ashley and Mary-Kate Olsen working within their minimalist framework, pushing new cuts and trying out unique materials.

The suit of the season is oversized and mannish, with a double-breasted jacket worn over full pleated pants. Emphasizing comfort, they did a similar silhouette in knit. A v-neck vest makes multiple appearances in the lookbook, worn solo with a midi skirt or teamed with a crisp white shirt and trousers. A snap closure blouson jacket is a novel shape for them.

The palette is mostly monochrome neutrals, though there were two flashes of color in the form of button-downs in teal and rust. In the showroom, a brand rep pointed out a handspun organic silk made in single batches in Japan that is exclusive to The Row this year. The goldish white and blue-black knit dresses they made with that silk are a sexy, body-limning counterpoint to the relaxed shapes of much of the rest of the collection.

There is news in accessories. A 105 mm French heel pump counts as The Row’s highest ever, and a new Massimo drawstring backpack comes in that raw silk, as well as leather and suede. Naturally, there’s no logoing or hardware in sight.

The Row has always been a go-to label for women who favor discretion over bold display.

With sheltering in place part of the new normal, Beautiful People designer Hidenori Kumakiri was struck by the idea that we’d eventually become one with the furniture. In a Zoom call, he explained that he had used his penchant for transformable garments to embody the protections now needed on a daily basis, be they stay-at-home orders or social distancing, creating outfits with compartments that could be filled with artificial beans to create solid volumes.

Empty, his silhouettes swung between simple lightweight blazers and shift dresses to dramatic floor-sweeping gowns. As a nod to the amount of time spent sitting these past few months, he’d focused on making his shapes look their best while seated — although once standing, they were nothing to sneeze at either.

To showcase this season’s transformation concept, Kumakiri was filmed filling their inner spaces, slowly transforming each shape into a human-furniture hybrid. A model wearing a black velvet dress ended up looking like she was reclining in an upmarket bean bag chair. Another, clad in a white cotton shift dress, looked like she had just slipped into her duvet to step out, using a pillow as a jaunty hat. Once filled, the bustle of another outfit doubled up as seating, making the model look as if she’d been swallowed by a plush armchair covered in smocked Toile de Jouy. A pile of lacy fabric and pillows revealed itself to be a model laying down while wearing a circle gown edged with small bolsters.

The beans also served as a metaphor in the film, with colorful ones representing a “comfort or fashion virus, a spreading sense of malaise,” he explained. “When [the virus is] all gone, the beans become white to express a very positive feeling. When we feel less need for protection, they could be removed.”

If this sounded a little arcane for ready-to-wear, a virtual tour of his showroom gave an insight into how his concept played out as more commercial designs. A puffer jacket filled with colorful beans was witty and wearable: Emptied of its filling, it was still a great looking parka. Frills taken from a pillowcase adorned tops and dresses in the same satin jacquard, while striped fabric nodded to bedding for easy cotton options. A top with an integrated mask felt convenient for those who tend to roll out of bed and go. Staying home as an excuse to dress sloppily? Not in this house.

If lockdown left you feeling like you’d become one with your bed or bean bag, designer Hidenori Kumakiri has you covered.

BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE SPRING 2021 READY-TO-WEAR

Fendi unveils a new campaign which finds a uniquely alluring balance of softness and power. The iconic Nick Knight handles photography and video for the Fall 2020 Women’s campaign.

Stylistically, many of this season’s womenswear collections and presentations have been characterized by explorations of femininity that combine traditionally feminine, “soft” codes with a more aggressive, typically masculine edge – Saint Laurent and R13 are other good examples of this trend. While it is up for debate whether this really is a new idea of dressing for women or just a confused rehashing of historical moments, and thus remains to be seen how much progressive mileage can come from it, this new campaign from Fendi manages to feel fresh and vital.

Much of this impact stems from Knight’s brilliant use of setting. He captures his models in what is probably a contemporary art installation. Its soft pink tufted floor seems like an endless comfy couch, while the back wall reminds us of one of Georgia O’Keeffe’s more abstract works – with all its floral suggestiveness. Standing before this abstractly sexual megaflora, these women seem to have blossomed out of it.

This background allows Knight to create simple harmonies or deep contrasts. Bedecked in prim chiffon or flowing pink velvet, our protagonists seem like just another delicate flower in this garden. Meanwhile, Anok Yai standing dominantly in a black leather trench coat that falls between 80’s power suiting and gestapo (the irony of this latter connection is not lost on us) creates a bold sense of tension. Knight smartly deploys a cohesive color scheme of pink, black, and gold to unify the energies of the individual images into a beautiful whole.

With its simultaneous sense of cohesion and dissonance, the campaign feels wordlessly conversational. None of its elements feel one-dimensional; it forces us to investigate our initial impressions of sexuality and femininity, and rethink what we recognize as elements of the history of fashion. The aesthetic unfurls itself like a thorny flower, yet seems to point to something beyond this duality of soft and hard, feminine and masculine – something transcendent. What does this look like? We are not there yet, but we’re happy to have Fendi with us along the way.

The iconic Nick Knight handles photography and video for the Fall 2020 Women’s campaign.

FENDI FALL 2020 AD CAMPAIGN LENSED BY NICK KNIGHT

When the clock struck midnight on January 1, ushering in not only a new year but a new decade, there was little reason to believe that 2020 wouldn’t be forward-looking. Ten months later we find ourselves living in a present that is informed, and sometimes haunted, by the past. It’s a time of reckoning and a time of reconnection.

It’s also a time to stay small and local while thinking big, which has always been XulyBët founder Lamine Badian Kouyaté’s way. Building on his African heritage, the designer works responsibly, collaging and patchworking existing garments and materials into new designs.

The phrase “it takes a village” came to mind while listening to Kouyaté and XulyBët CEO Rodrigo Martinez describe how their spring 2021 came together with the help of friends old and new. Honey Dijon, who did the music, belongs to the latter category; Michaela Angela Davis, the former. Kouyaté knows the activist poet from his days in New York when Davis was writing for Vibe magazine. He asked her to write a poem this season, and her recitation of that work, “Fire This Time,” played in the show venue (you can listen to it here, as well). Kouyaté dedicated this show to Amy Spindler, the late New York Times fashion critic, who donated her XulyBët collection to the Costume Institute, to which the designer has recently sent a piece for exhibition.

The Chanel show set, in Paris’s soaring Grand Palais, spelled the brand’s name in giant letters, evoking the iconic HOLLYWOOD sign in the Santa Monica mountains.

Did this suggest that creative director Virginie Viard was thinking of the movies? “Less movies than actresses,” Viard explained, and particularly the modern life of actresses, from the high production values of the red carpet, to a staged off-duty look whilst getting a Starbucks in the certain knowledge that a paparazzo might be lurking in the parking lot, “the whole process!”

Meanwhile, the accompanying movie teasers, produced by Inez and Vinoodh, literally brought Paris to Tinseltown, with the Sacre Coeur nestled proudly in those Hollywood Hills—symbolic of Viard’s marriage of Parisian cool with laid-back, #WFH LA style.

The house of Chanel of course has a century-old relationship with actresses, as the recently opened exhibition Gabrielle Chanel: Fashion Manifesto at Paris’s dedicated fashion museum the Palais Galliera (intelligently curated by Miren Arzalluz) revealed. The exhibition subtly integrates a number of Chanel garments worn in private life and on-screen by some of the 20th century’s fabled actresses—including Grace Kelly, Delphine Seyrig, and Jeanne Moreau—as well as the voice of Marilyn Monroe, who when asked what she wore in bed famously answered “Chanel No. 5.”

Coco Chanel, who began her career as a performer singing saucy music hall songs, later made over a handful of actresses in her own image, just as she did with such beloved models in her in-house cabine as Marie-Helene Arnaud and Jackie Rogers. The designer, for instance, transformed Romy Schneider into a baby faced version of herself, and Luchino Visconti immortalized Schneider’s new look in his 1962 short movie Boccaccio 70. Chanel herself is even said to have found the new stage name for the Nouvelle Vague actress Anna Karina (nee Hanne Karin Bayer). Viard, who has all these references at her fingertips, is also drawn to femme fatale Jeanne Moreau in Louis Malle’s 1958 Elevator to the Gallows, and she looked to some on-screen Chanel moments in her collection.

There was also whisper of Alain Resnais’s highly stylized 1962 opus Last Year at Marienbad starring Delphine Seyrig, evoked in some fluttering black chiffon 1920s skirts and capes, worn with bead-frosted singlets. And the world of Jean Renoir’s 1939 The Rules of the Game inspired some pretty 1930s evening dresses in a Chanel document print which Viard had discovered from the same year that scattered the famous linked Cs amongst a field of gray blossoms. But Viard also used that satin print for a jumpsuit, because she was essentially evoking the real life wardrobes of contemporary actresses using her own cabine of models including many new French faces and the sophisticated Louise de Chevigny, (who, alongside Mika and Rianne, features in the Inez and Vinoodh movie clips). All of them were encouraged to do their actressy best on the runway.

The separates-based mix felt very Parisian girl cool—the sort of clothes that would appeal to hipster actresses Marion Cotillard and Anna Mougalis, for instance, who were among the guests attending the in-person show, recognizable even behind the mandatory white masks that were distributed at the door.

This meant big-shouldered 1980s looking Chanel suit jackets worn with petal pushers or stone washed denim jeans or tiny mini-skirts in candy pink or sky blue. Or an overscaled pale pink cardigan—traced with black piping that seemed hand-drawn—worn as a coat dress with a necklace that seemed assembled from cherished charms (and one of the metal linked C motif tiara headbands). Alongside those romantic black and white movie prints were overscale fluoro patterns printed on scarf silk that resembled graffiti but turned out on closer inspection to suggest neon-lit billboards advertising the latest epic by Coco or Chanel. There were even t-shirts with the old-fashioned countdown to a movie permanently frozen at 5 seconds.

“It felt like watching your very cool aunt or an extremely sassy, confident teenager,” noted playwright Jeremy O. Harris, “and I love how disparate those polarities are—so cool and great—and two women I want to be friends with and … want to be. Like, who doesn’t want to be Regina George?!”

Faced with the white supremacist organization the Proud Boys adopting their black and yellow colorway, Fred Perry did something the President of the United States spectacularly failed to do: they released an unequivocal, unambiguous statement disavowing the group. 

‘Fred Perry does not support and is in no way affiliated with the Proud Boys,’ the brand announced via their website, going on to say it was ‘incredibly frustrating’ for them that the group had appropriated their design and ‘subverted our Laurel Wreath to their own ends’.

This is not the first time the brand has had to deal with the frustration of racist groups adopting their clothing – and perhaps their experience of dealing with such instances over the decades has helped to harden their response. To understand why cultural misappropriation has plagued the company for so long, we first need to look at the subtleties and shifting allegiances of British youth sub-genres of the late 20th century.

Having first put his name and laurel wreath logo to his own sweatband design in the 1940s, British Wimbledon champion Fred Perry soon found a market for his tennis attire, launching his first shirt in 1952. (An interesting footnote: he moved to the US and became a naturalized citizen in 1938, and was drafted into the USAF during World War II – in other words he literally fought against the Nazis and the idea of racial supremacy).

Perry’s shirts became popular with the mod scene of the 1960s – typically white Britons with a liking for black American soul music and Italian modernism. The distinct dress code of mod fed into other youth movements – notably the skinheads. Here, again, some historical context is needed. Skinheads are typically associated today with extremist right-wing politics and racist attitudes. For the original skinheads of the 1960s, however, this is the ultimate affront – given that they were followers of Jamaica’s emerging reggae stars. Indeed, their entire look – skinny jeans, Fred Perry shirts and close-cropped hair – was modeled on West Indian style. 

Kevin Rowland, founder of the 1980s pop group Dexys Midnight Runners, was one of those early adopters. ‘We used to chant “Skinhead, skinhead!” at school,’ he told me when we met in a café in London’s East End to discuss how fashion has shaped his life.

Back then it was a look inspired by reggae: it was inspired by the black kids. But that second generation of skinheads, who came around 1979 – they were numbskulls. They were without style, just awful. Even the way they dressed, they got it so wrong, whereas the original look came completely out of mod, it was a continuation of that.

— Kevin Rowland, founder of Dexys Midnight Runners

‘I’m not trying to sound cool, but it was a very sophisticated culture,’ Rowland continued. ‘You couldn’t buy the records, they weren’t in the charts; there were only two shops in London where you could buy the clothes. Remember this was 1969. We were listening to reggae in the youth clubs while the only black culture the middle classes knew was Jimi Hendrix.’

Fred Perry – as a man and as a brand – has always been visible in opposing racism and intolerance, accentuating instead its many positive associations with diversity and inclusivity throughout British popular culture.

It has long been the uniform of ska and 2 Tone, for instance: the genre spearheaded by groundbreaking multicultural acts of the 1980s including The Specials, The [English] Beat, and The Selector. Indeed, when The Specials reformed recently, Fred Perry was the lead sponsors of their tour, releasing an exclusive collection dedicated to the band.

In case the penny hasn’t dropped, Fred Perry elucidate further on their website: ‘The Fred Perry shirt is a piece of British subcultural uniform, adopted by various groups of people who recognise their own values in what it stands for. We are proud of its lineage and what the Laurel Wreath has represented for over 65 years: inclusivity, diversity and independence.’ 

In response to the Proud Boys (a group whose values are very different to those referred to above), Fred Perry has taken the unprecedented measure of discontinuing their black/yellow shirt across Northern America with immediate effect. Whilst this is a swift and bold move, there are some who feel it was a miss-step.

I was disappointed by the pulling (removal of the shirts in North America) to be honest. There was an opportunity to promote a positive message about the fundamental impact black culture has had on the brand – i.e. if it wasn’t for black/rudeboy culture, Fred Perry would probably not exist.

Whilst acknowledging the validity of that reaction, we feel Fred Perry still deserve praise for backing their words with actions – and making it crystal clear which side they stand with. We approached Fred Perry for a reaction, but understandably they preferred not to add fuel to the fire in any official capacity, other than reiterating one simple message, “Frankly, we can’t put our disapproval in better words than our Chairman did when questioned in 2017.” Going on to quote Fred Perry Chairman John Flynn, “Fred was the son of a working class socialist MP who became a world tennis champion at a time when tennis was an elitist sport. He started a business with a Jewish businessman from Eastern Europe. It’s a shame we even have to answer questions like this. No, we don’t support the ideals or the group that you speak of. It is counter to our beliefs and the people we work with”.

The real question – and this has been asked many times before – is how well-intentioned fans of the brand should respond.

Speaking personally, the black and yellow colorway has long been a favourite of mine. Should I ‘cease and desist’ – or should I wear it proudly (in the right sense of the word) as a symbol of solidarity with those targeted by right-wing groups? To paraphrase Kevin Rowland: thankfully, not living in Portland, it doesn’t apply. But it feels like a defeat to let them win. 

Perhaps the solution lies in a two-pronged strategy: in the short term, deny access to the wrong audience and sue anyone using your trademarks inappropriately (as Fred Perry is doing against the Proud Boys).

But, secondly, in the words of Janelle Monae – focus on ‘Liberation, elevation, education’…

‘Fred Perry does not support and is in no way affiliated with the Proud Boys,’ the brand announced via their website.

HOW FRED PERRY MANAGES PROUD BOYS TOXICITY

The London-based fashion house has been founded by Rok Hwang. He was born in Seoul, was raised in Austin, and later moved to London.

Before establishing his own aesthetic in 2017, Rok graduated from BA and MA at Central Saint Martins, soon after the success of his award-winning MA collection, Rok became a RTW designer for the eminent fashion house Céline under the head of Phoebe Philo, followed by Louis Vuitton and Chloe. 

In 2018, Rok received a prestigious LVMH award and soon after debuted with his first show at Paris Fashion Week in 2019.  

Since its first collection, Rokh has obtained over 100 stockists internationally along with high-creditable stores and departments.

Rokh is a conceptual art form of fashion with a focus on youth cultures, mixing masculine elements with those raw and avant-garde of women’s wardrobe. Mixing these elements with constant research on shapes, materials, fabric with an understanding of modern wardrobe expands the language of fashion through the individual take on cultures surrounding us. 

Rokh studies the youth elements elevating them into an art form of fashion by mixing music, craft, performance, and photography.

Miuccia Prada and Raf Simons’s new partnership is unprecedented in fashion. When it was announced last February, the industry reacted with surprise and delight. In the seven months since, nothing about it has proceeded according to formula. The coronavirus prevented the designers from setting to work on Simons’s appointed start day of April 1, which condensed the time they had to produce their debut. And ongoing regulations limiting group size and concerns about safety meant a splashy show at the Prada Fondazione was out of the question. Instead we all gathered in front of our screens today and watched a collection of 40 looks unfold on Prada.com. The usual backstage scrum afterward was replaced by “a conversation”—a sort of open-source interview in which Miuccia and Simons thoughtfully answered handpicked questions solicited on Instagram and submitted online. (IRL shows may return, but these two will never go back to reporters pressing iPhones in their faces again.)

“It’s a beginning,” Miuccia declared when Duscher Tang from Shanghai asked, “Are you doing subtraction or addition?” However, the collection that preceded the interview was indeed a distillation of the new Prada as Miuccia and Simons see it, a paring back and streamlining of excesses to get at what’s essential. The show began with a sort of new Prada uniform, the building blocks of which are long, narrow, ’90s-ish trousers; a sleeveless, tunic-length tee with the famous triangle logo supersized and implanted below the neckline; and pointy-toed slingback kitten heels in a contrasting color. “How Miuccia dresses is very often a kind of uniform one way or another, and that was direct inspiration for me for the show,” Simons said in the interview.

The collaborators both have a big thing for statement outerwear, and the many clutch coats peppered throughout the lineup in solids and florals nodded in both of their directions: The gesture looked simultaneously like Miuccia—see: any number of bow shots over the years—and like Simons’s moving swan song at Jil Sander circa 2012. Prada and Simons devotees will pore over this collection in search of references and callbacks. They were certainly there if you looked: The “ugly prints” of Prada’s era-defining spring 1996 show reemerged on hoodies and matching full skirts (another new uniform, this one tailored to our new WFH reality), while the words and graphics silk-screened on pastel satin shift dresses linked this collection with two-plus decades of Simons’s personal work. The holey turtlenecks used as layering pieces throughout were a good idea lifted from his brief Calvin Klein foray.

This was always going to be the show of the season. Two of fashion’s most respected and beloved auteurs uniting in a single mission: to reaffirm the primacy of creativity in high fashion. “At this moment, lots of creatives feel troubled, feel the fashion industry is [becoming] an industry where it might move to excluding creatives,” Simons said at their joint press conference in February. “We do believe that collaborating could reposition that aspect of the business.” But COVID-19 has changed the industry in yet new ways.

In a quote provided by the house, Miuccia explained their thinking: “In a time of incredible complexity: What matters? What is meaningful? That is a question we asked ourselves. We wanted to create something that makes sense to people, something that is useful. Everything we do should allow people to live better.” In another provided quote, Simons elaborated: “The show is about emphasizing humanity. It is about women, and everything around them supports them, showcases their characters.” Certainly as we move into 2021, creativity and pragmatism must be in balance. At the very least, the two instincts can’t be at odds with each other. In that sense, this collection is an important foundation to build upon, one with a cool sense of efficiency and the personality to make it distinctive.

“It’s a beginning,” Miuccia declared when Duscher Tang from Shanghai asked, “Are you doing subtraction or addition?”

It wasn’t long ago that Isabel Marant didn’t want to put on a show this week. Impacted by the alarming atmosphere, like everyone else in Paris—where Fashion Week currently resembles a poorly attended wedding, with rain—she thought she’d record a video and call it a season. “Then, I started to get used to the fact that this is going to be our new life,” she smiled, the bearer of bad news. “I’m afraid this is going to last for a little bit. So, I thought it was a good opportunity to start showing in a different way.” Going from zero to Donna Summer, Marant held on to her traditional Thursday-evening slot and staged within the Palais Royal what can best be described as a club night for happier times.

There, to the beat of a techno remix of “I Feel Love” (a track Rick Owens also sampled for his soundtrack earlier in the day), the dance collective (La)Horde went wild as Marant’s top girls advocated an upbeat evening-into-daywear wardrobe for an era when this amount of touching probably isn’t advisable off the runway. As she was the first to admit, our turbulent times hadn’t done much to cramp her style. “My silhouette is very recognizable. I cannot design another way. I don’t have to force myself because times are difficult.” That shape remained 1980s-centric, suspended somewhere between Saint-Germain and Manhattan, with extra sheen and shine.

The super casual was color-blocked with sporty Cindy Lauper clubwear. With every color segment of the show, the dancers’ outfits miraculously changed to the same color scheme. Marant said the wardrobe was occasion-less, perhaps a theme in our supposedly changing approach to dressing, what with the lack of anywhere to go other than where your laptop is. “It’s about giving confidence to women, making them feel good in what they’re wearing—that it’s easy and comfortable and doesn’t disguise you in something you’re not,” Marant said, echoing values borne out of our confinement closets. “The clothes have to become your personality.” Until now, though, those outfits haven’t exactly been synonymous with the skimpy hemlines and mutton sleeves that materialized on Marant’s runway.

Why tease the dance floor at this point in time? “For me, fashion is about enjoying life,” she explained. “It has to be positive. It’s a release of energy to people, putting bad vibes behind.” Her decision to stage a fashion show came with similar intentions. “We are all like, ‘Let’s bring down the tents!’” Marant said, emphasizing a desire to change the exclusivity of fashion shows. “We won’t have any seating [allocations]. People can just come and find their place.” Although the show was outside, that wasn’t a very good idea in the middle of a pandemic. Guests plonked themselves down next to you with zero respect for social distancing, not that this was Marant’s fault. “I want to open fashion to other worlds,” she continued. “I think it’s very sad that we designers have such energy and are doing such great things, but it’s only shown to fashion people.”

“The clothes have to become your personality.”

In his year and a half at Schiaparelli, Daniel Roseberry has staked a strong claim for himself as a red carpet designer. The short-in-front, long-in-back sapphire gown from his spring 2020 couture collection, chosen by Regina King for the Emmys, was the biggest coup of that night, a star-making moment even if the step-and-repeat was set up in her own backyard. (The broadcast was completely digital, due to COVID-19 restrictions.) When King accepted her lead actress award for her role in Watchmen, she was wearing a T-shirt honoring Breonna Taylor with a shocking pink Schiap pantsuit. “I get goosebumps thinking about it; it was such an honor,” Roseberry said, remembering her speech. “It’s a rare moment when fashion takes on bigger meaning.” 

Roseberry’s flair for the fantastic absolutely jibes with Schiaparelli’s aesthetic. His job with ready-to-wear is to negotiate the balance between the Surrealism that was the legendary designer’s signature and the everyday. Let’s just say that this season he didn’t skimp on what he’s previously called “psycho chic” daywear. Speaking over Zoom, he said he approached the new collection with “a renewed energy to focus on what I want to say here, to capture the irony and what Schiap was about. Her legacy still lives really large, and it feels really true to this moment.” The pandemic has upended fashion. Some designers and brands are sitting this season out or playing it extra safe, counting on pajama sets and tracksuits to carry them through. Not Roseberry.

In the look book photos he took, and in the behind-the-scenes video the brand produced, that extroversion comes across most distinctly in Roseberry’s fabulous gilded bijoux: eyeglasses with enamel eyes in the center, masks that cover nose and mouth, fingertip talons, and even nipple buttons. But the clothes are nearly as provocative. See: the white button-down with hand-painted breasts on the front, the odalisque prints on a shocking pink and white pantsuit (studies of Manet and Degas that Roseberry did himself), and the broderie anglaise with Surrealist faces picked out. There’s also a pair of minidresses, one ivory, the other black, with big inverted volumes à la Regina King. Roseberry took no half measures with this collection, and in this time of uncertainty and anxiety, that kind of conviction is a real turn-on.

Eyeglasses with enamel eyes in the center, masks that cover nose and mouth, fingertip talons, and even nipple buttons.

At the beginning of September, Elie Saab became a grandfather. The birth of baby Sophia after such a tumultuous year in Saab’s native Lebanon, during which the harrowing impact of the pandemic was exacerbated by an explosion in Beirut, coincided with a determination to base his ready-to-wear collection, titled “a new dawn,” on new beginnings. “We want to celebrate life, and quality of life,” he said, speaking over the phone from Beirut.

Saab’s atelier and home were destroyed in the August blast in Beirut’s port, an explosion of ammonium nitrate that ripped through the city, killing 200 people and injuring thousands. His early-20th-century home, one of the few remaining examples of traditional architecture left in Beirut after the civil war, was wrecked, its Ottoman-era chandeliers smashed and windows blown out. His atelier was similarly reduced to rubble. His team worked night and day and, remarkably, the haute couture atelier of 200 people was up and running again just 15 days later. It’s emblematic of the Lebanese mindset, he says. “The Lebanese people are always looking forward, we live for tomorrow and plan for everything to be better and more beautiful.”

In lieu of a runway show in Paris, where he also has a small atelier, Saab debuted a vaguely unsettling film that drew on elements of ritual and ceremony. Captured in the Faqra mountains, filled with girls in his signature embellished, ethereal gowns, it was made to capture the ritual of dancing and moving together “celebrating life,” and to emphasize the vast surrounding landscape, to “give a sensation of liberty.” He conceived of the collection in a series of color capsules. “There is pink from the bougainvillea, acid green like beautiful leaves, a lot of white, because we are dreaming of peace and serenity, but also blood red, for when you lose someone,” he says. His favorite is the turquoise section comprising a Grecian gown reminiscent of the style Grace Kelly wears in To Catch a Thief, as well as a series of beaded sheer numbers worn belted at the waist.

Asked if the Lebanese predilection for partying has been curtailed by the pandemic, and therefore had an effect on his business (he is the designer of choice for discerning Lebanese brides) he shrugged: “The parties are smaller, but life continues.” His one nod to daywear, other than some colorful tailoring, was a capsule of handbags, including cross-body styles and large totes in jolly hues. He predicts the future will be about personalization and personality. “Joy and simplicity,” he said, to sum it up.

This season, Galvan’s designer-director Anna-Christin Haas and creative director Sola Harrison drew inspiration from the work of German artist Katharina Grosse and her vibrant use of color. Bright jewel tones and a kaleidoscopic print punctuated this nicely edited offering from the Galvan ladies, who explained over Zoom that, overall, they’re recalibrating the way that they produce from season to season.

Beginning with this spring offering, they’ll be showing two collections instead of the traditional four a year, with a focus on a new knitwear category and their signature evening dresses and ready-to-wear. The idea is to scale back a tad in order to put more focus on their best sellers and classics.

They introduced easy silhouettes like a tie bodice top and matching wide-leg trousers, as well as soft, easy-to-move-in jumpsuits and gowns. Haas and Harrison’s sexy slips and dresses are still in the mix, but overall, this season feels a bit more focused and versatile than their previous offerings. Though we are all marching into the unknown for spring 2021, Galvan’s approach is one of optimism and approachability, two things we can all get behind.

Haas and Harrison’s sexy slips and dresses are still in the mix, but overall, this season feels a bit more focused and versatile than their previous offerings.

Shirtless and tattooed, the pictures of Matthew M. Williams that Givenchy released on his first day on the new job this June set social media on fire. “Yeah, I don’t really look at the internet that much,” he said at a preview of his first collection for the couture house. His new employers reportedly didn’t mind the strong reactions. Williams is a 34-year-old American urban-wear designer joining a luxury house in a new age of creative director stardom. Givenchy relies on his personal image to make this union a bankable one. And his debut proposal reflected that in so many ways.

Williams, who was dressed in a sharp black suit and a bleached techno haircut, had stocked an antechamber with Givenchy-labeled black lemonade from Wild and the Moon, the go-to place for any health (and brand) conscious millennial in Paris. Placed front and center was his new lock jewelry inspired by those hung on the bridges of Paris by tourist lovebirds, who throw the key in the Seine. (Williams confessed to having done that once, too.) “It’s no secret that I’m really into hardware, and that’s what I lay the foundation with when I start a new project. It comes into shoes, bags, clothing,” he said. Williams is also obsessed with texture—from the reptilian to the volcanic and the densely embellished—as fervently illustrated at his own label Alyx.

His Givenchy debut read entirely like a morph between those codes and the black-clad elegance of the house he now inhabits. Suspended between the formal and the super casual, the devil was in the fabric treatments. Dressy garments were practically bathed in conditioner and money and champagne, while industrial garments looked as if they’d been washed in paint and acid and run over by trucks on the freeway, again and again and again. If it sounds like the costume department from the Hostel films, it’s not far off. There’s a twisted expensiveness about Williams’s clothes that feels clinical and dirty all at once.

It’s a dense and rich aesthetic loved by the Kardashian-Jenner clan, who’ll surely be wearing this collection on their Instagram accounts in a matter of days. (See: the red trouser and backless body styled tone-on-tone, the sculpted torso snoods, or any of the sci-fi armor-sleeved tailoring.) Williams, of course, earned his stripes working on creative things with Kanye West, and has been grouped with designers like Louis Vuitton’s Virgil Abloh and Christian Dior’s Kim Jones. (He even made buckles for the latter’s first collection there). When he got the Givenchy gig, some wondered how Williams’s output would differ from their territory of savoir-faire fused with streetwear.

His debut did tie common threads to Abloh and Jones’s twists and turns of established dress codes: a cummerbund interpreted as a tonal sci-fi mid-layer, a very normal jean jacket made very special with reflective embroideries, or a tank top skewed into a draped blouse for men. Those things are bankable. At Givenchy’s headquarters, the designer’s predecessor Clare Waight Keller’s midnight glamour had been washed away by crystallizing lights, the salons illuminated like a shop floor. In every way, that’s where the collection was headed. Williams hadn’t worked with a particular inspiration. “I’m not a person who designs in themes. It’s very much product-focused. A lot of it is what I would wear personally,” he explained, adding he did take a trip to the archives that birthed some horn heels informed by Lee McQueen’s era, and nods to Hubert de Givenchy evident in some rigorous tailoring.

The focus on product was seemingly an unemotional process that paid off in the precision of design clearly made to be instantly coveted: mushroomed slides, politely stompy black leather boots, magnified takes on existing bags (some adorned with giant locks), and all the embossed croc leather the phone cover generation could want. Perhaps surprisingly, given the circumstances, there weren’t many logos around. Williams isn’t mad about them. “It’s funny that I get lumped into people expecting that I do that, which I don’t really understand because at Alyx we don’t do that either,” he noted. Instead, he wants his hardware to replace the role of logos.

The notion that a fashion tribe would display its allegiance to a luxury house through crafty embellishment rather than logos is nice, and appropriate for a couture house. Exercised as all-over ring and crystal embellishment on a sporty mesh floor-length dress, it made for a rather bold statement. In fact, Williams’s vision for the Givenchy woman—“very elegant and powerful and chic”—was remarkably graphic and decorative. A transparent white coat covered in fuzzy tinsel, worn over a white laser-cut top that looked like a bustier made from ribbon, with cream trousers, was simply gagging for a scene in an early 2000s music video. At this rate, the ritzy nightclubs of the world better get back in action soon.

“It’s no secret that I’m really into hardware, and that’s what I lay the foundation with when I start a new project. It comes into shoes, bags, clothing.”

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