PARIS — Formulas — blindly followed, stretched or bravely broken — were in the spotlight on the fourth day of Paris Fashion Week.
Chloé
In the two years since Chemena Kamali joined Chloé, a timely return to boho-chic has helped point the brand in the right direction: reviving the “Chloé girl” as envisioned by the likes of Phoebe Philo and Clare Waight Keller. It’s been a smart move. Clients were eager for that product, the moment was ripe for a comeback and even with luxury sales in a slump the brand has been gaining traction.
What was meant to be a jumping off point, however, soon became a formula. In terms of evolution, the new Chloé girl has taken a few steps forward, and as many steps back. With its heavy folk aroma, prairie dresses, boots and wedge clogs, Thursday’s show leaned towards the latter.
Speaking backstage, Kamali reflected on humanity, empathy and devotion; on the touch of the hand that makes everything unique; on fashion as connection, not escape. Compelling concepts which weren’t quite matched by a repetitive catwalk full of palatable but staid tropes.
Rabanne
Julien Dossena has been at Rabanne for over a decade now. He has moved past the obligation to be futuristic, instead using metal and unexpected materials in personal ways that feel less prescribed. He’s found his own version of Rabanne-ism, in a certain radical way of doing things, and in a sincere interest for youth culture.
In his latest collection for the brand — which, rumour has it, may be his last — this mindset enabled Dossena to work with 1940s tea dresses and vintage-y overcoats in ways that did not feel retro at all. There was an angular energy and a graphic spontaneity to the haphazard way looks were put together that felt engaging, even fresh.
Backstage the designer talked about real life, but this was clearly a fashion fantasy, which was fine. What was less welcome was the slight Prada flavour that’s been detectable in recent seasons — probably inevitable when cutting vintage imagery into a decorated collage, but which ought to be avoided in order to keep Rabanne’s unique radicalism afloat.
Schiaparelli
For a couple of seasons, Daniel Roseberry has set off in an interesting new direction with Schiaparelli’s ready-to-wear, steering it away from the couture house’s codes to test new ground: sexier, more openly womanly, somehow stricter in its seductive and surrealist bent. There was an air of the 1980s to the new collection, and not just because it was presented on a raised podium in the Carrousel du Louvre. The shapely tailoring, the hourglass silhouettes ending in svelte tails, the “dressing like a man” assertiveness, the slicked back hair and the stiletto heels pointed in that direction. The fit, however, was off; the effect at times costume-y.
The new direction Roseberry has taken is commendable — a good plan on paper. But he needs to focus more on the execution, as mere image-making is not worthy of a maison like Schiaparelli.
Rick Owens
The formula Rick Owens has devised along the years is entirely his own, and quite elastic in its scope and sense of possibility. Although it entails repetition, it isn’t repetitive. This was one of Owens’ quiet seasons: the ones that are devoid of ghoulish theatrics and which often read as his best. Shows where the theatrics are in service to the dressmaking, and allow it to be thoroughly appreciated rather than concealing it.
This collection was entitled Tower, and was an ode to verticality as expressed in both architectural constructions and the flow of draping. It was trademark Owens: as grunge as it was glamour, with a strong LA vibe, and an overflowing sense of cinematic drama. It came to life on otherworldly creatures standing on towering shoes. The hair and make-up were off-kilter masterpieces devised in collaboration with digital artist @figa.link. The message was both tough and frivolous: a response to a moment that requires strength and protection, but also confrontational beauty.
Uma Wang
Uma Wang, too, operates in her own unique bubble according to her own wabi-sabi rules. Her output is lyrical and elating, incredibly crafty in terms of materials and dyes, but seems forever stuck in a mid-1980s avant-garde bubble of wondrous shapes, flat shoes and neo-geo eyeglasses. It happened again this season: a wonderful “night at the opera” opus sung on displaced bows, trains and poetic draping. It was fantastic, but too much of the same. A bit of daring, some challenging of the formula, would help to move things forward in the future.
