The coupling of great clothes and a great show, where neither one outshines the other, is very rare. It’s all the more remarkable, then, that Raf Simons’ formula for his eponymous label seems such a sure-fire hit. I tried to think back to a Simons show that hasn’t worked, gloriously. Then I realised this was his business’ twentieth anniversary. I couldn’t think of a single instance.
Follow Kevin Carr’s extraordinary ultramarathon as he runs the Australian Nullarbor Plain
Given that shows, by and large, have scaled back from the flashy theatrics and set pieces of past fashion spectaculars, the quarterly reinvention of the Prada show space on Via Foggazarro is hotly anticipated by the fashion world. That’s because everything Miuccia Prada does about, around, before and after a collection is rabidly unpicked, scoured for hidden meaning. This season, Rem Koolhaas’ AMO created a space reminiscent of either a grand ocean liner or a suburban leisure centre, with a suspiciously cobalt-blue pool shimmering bedside thick, chocolate-brown shag carpeting and around the central pillars that are the only constant (they’re supporting, presumably).
Donatella Versace wanted her show to be a celebration of the Versace World. Sounds like a grand statement, but you got it. Versace’s Cuban-tinged collezioni not only felt like a distinct entity from Dolce and Gabbana’s Caprice Espagnole, Neil Barrett’s slick sportswear tinged with Roman classicism, or Stefano Pilati’s serene Ermenegildo Zegna show: it felt a world apart, as did they.
My Dad, who is also an allotmenteer, said to me the other week: “The thing is about plants, they want to live.” I had been staring downcast at my asparagus beds, in their first season, where nothing was growing. It was the end of May, a time when asparagus – even in the first season [...]
JW Anderson’s pre-collections always bear further examination. That’s because he puts so much into them, these interim collections that have often been confined to pure commerce but which have recently expanded into fully-fledged designer statements. he puts a lot in, and reaps the rewards.
Fashioning freedom and ignoring the hyperbole: Craig Green, Sibling, Burberry Prorsum and Nasir Mazhar menswear, in London
A lot of patriotic conjecture gets thrown around about British fashion. That’s probably because middle England, as a whole, doesn’t really like it, and hence fashion folk seem desperately keen to emphasise just how incredibly important it all is. It is important, of course. Fashion is the second largest employer in the United Kingdom. It’s an industry similar in size to the food and beverages or telecommunications industries, and is bigger than automotives and advertising. Burberry is one of the UK’s most valuable brands, according to the FTSE 100. It rubs shoulders with Barclays and BP.
Schools need to teach austerity cooking and turn out a generation who can make good choices in the supermarket, create affordable, decent meals and keep themselves and their own families in good health. God knows, we can’t afford the medical bill otherwise.
The good, the bad, the ugly – fashion shows are sometimes all three, and frequently that’s their strength. That’s because fashion isn’t about just looking pretty, particularly when it’s elevated by a catwalk showcase. Those shows are also not purely about product. They’re aspirational aesthetic proposals, about shifting the goalposts and introducing something fresh and new. A fashion show should question, and provoke, as well as try to hawk us something new off the back of it.
The media’s current favourite portmanteau is “Spornosexual.” Its current favourite garment is the c-string manikini, a cutaway one-sided posing pouch that barely adheres to the pelvis. Modern masculinity, it seems, is in a period of flux and upheaval, where societal norms are shifting and suddenly what men are willing to put on their backs (or, perhaps, around their crotches) seems more malleable than ever before. Ideologically, if not physically.
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