Admittedly it feels like the kind of
honesty children give you in the instant
ater you’ve caught them in a lie, a sort
of profligate baring of the beating
heart. It’s apt to get you bloody and
leave you feeling rather less satisfied
than if you just allowed the lie to
envelop you. But it’s sort of enjoyable
in its transparency if nothing else. It
looks pretentious, but in fact it’s
evidence of an astonishing lack of
pretension.
And that’s the overarching sensation of
London Collections: Men this season.
Both the venue and the collections are
bare and honest and transparent in a
disarming way. One rather expects
there to be more to it, but in a sense
one feels calmed and sotly elated that
there isn’t.
Sleeves Magazine