As you hurtle around Paris, there are a multitude of advertisements for Jonathan Anderson’s latest Loewe collection. I began to notice them – with their monumental Meisel images of Raquel Zimmermann awash with pastels – as soon as I left the Eurostar. I’m not sure what they cost, all those hoardings. But they’re doing their job. It made me think a lot about Loewe, about what Anderson is doing there, and how it’s making everything else look old.
When the models began to take their complex turns at the Givenchy show on Sunday night, whizzing around the venue as if ricocheting around a pinball machine (the hairpin bends, I must confess, made me feel a bit sick), the first thing I thought was: well. It’s been a while since we saw this.
This being sex. Or rather, sexy. or rather, a certain idea of sexiness. “I would be a very rich man if I could make sexy clothes,” said Gianni Versace in 1997, in one of his final interviews. Which, from the long-acknowledged Italian master of dressing to undress, speaks volumes. Namely it poses the question, what is sexy in clothing?
Last week, Linda Farrow fêted the official opening of their London flagship on Mayfair’s Mount Street with a swanky dinner at the seafood restaurant Scott’s. Scott’s – infamous as the crucible of Highella-gate, but also purveyor of posh nosh in fashionably undersized proportions – is situated directly across the street from Linda Farrow Gallery. Scott’s is flanked by Marc Jacobs, while the Linda Farrow boutique is adjacent to the expansive new Celine store and the double-frontage of Moynat, a 19th century luxury trunk manufacturer relaunched by LVMH in 2010. Down the street, a hoarding advertises the impending opening of a Roksanda Ilincic boutique. Christopher Kane is also set to open imminently. What is it that makes Mount Street so different, so appealing?
Visibility and viability: Rihanna does Comme des Garçons, Céline challenges superficially and Chloe clumps along
Rihanna was sat front-row at Comme des Garçons on Saturday afternoon. I’m uncertain why she was there – it isn’t something I would normally mention, but the incongruity of such a high-profile attendee at Comme des Garçons, hitherto the bastion of intellectualism, of substance over mere style, bears comment. What did Rihanna make of it all? I didn’t ask because, frankly, I don’t care. Comme des Garçons isn’t about the flashy, slightly trashy circus of celebrity dressing. Hence, perhaps Rihanna’s presence was some form of artistic statement, a kind of installation or performance piece? I wondered if someone, somewhere was laughing at her. Or maybe, if even Comme counts the column inches. Visibility, in today’s fashion game, seems next to godliness.
Paris Fashion Week Spring 2014: A soft Givenchy, a hard Chloe, a messy Céline, and the new Comme Des Garçons
A fashion week is an odd, fluid period of time. It can mean anything from five rammed days in London, the first hazed with jet lag, to the nine-day marathon of the Paris collections. We’re two thirds of the way through that, but there’s still much to see. Namely Miu Miu, Chanel, Marc Jacobs’ Louis Vuitton show, and the always-contentious Hedi Slimane at Saint Laurent. He closes the day’s proceedings tomorrow.
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