Sometimes they did it through geopolitics: See Ulyana Sergeenko’s nod to the folklore of her husband’s native Armenia and Georgia, with peacocks and pomegranates embroidered on midcalf skirts and the edges of neatly proportioned jumpsuits, not to mention a black lace gown, because “every other woman
in the Caucasus is a widow.”
Or see Elie Saab’s ode to the Beirut of his youth — an effort, said Elie Saab Jr., “to remind the world that the Middle East is about more than war — it is about beauty.” At least as expressed in an Arabian Nights fantasia of feathers, sequins, lace, and tulle. Or Giorgio Armani’s 10th anniversary Armani Privé, a graceful meditation on bamboo and the soft power of Asia. (Also known as one of the world’s most powerful global markets.)
Stalks were printed on whisper-thin silk gazar jackets and culottes, often tied with a karate-kid belt; woven into floor-sweeping organza cardigans and sparkling beaded tees; and embroidered in jet and silver onto cobalt blue slithers for evening. They gave new meaning to the idea of international relations. Elsewhere, personal politics came into play, as Bouchra Jarrar continued her mission to combine the street and the atelier in metallic houndstooth tweed cut by gold motorcycle zips and the use of bristling paillettes on draped satin. And Jean Paul Gaultier chose to issue a treatise on the definition of marriage in 61 looks.
They came asymmetric, masculine, feminine; combined with denim, snakeskin, and tulle; in the form of “le smoking” and leotards bedecked in flowers. Relationships exist in many forms, was the message. Should we not embrace them all? Well, yes, but only if they seem genuinely committed, which some of the more jokey combinations (beekeeper bride?) did not. To wear your heart on your sleeve demands some nuance when it comes in the form of clothes. Or at least some unabashed optimism. Witness Valentino, where Mr. Piccioli and Ms. Chiuri sent out a love poem in many stanzas (read: styles) because “we believe in the future. You need hope.”
Combining references from the life of Marc Chagall (who, apropos of the situation today, was a Jewish- Russian immigrant who emigrated to France), Dante’s “Paradiso,” “Romeo and Juliet” and Virgil, they wove words and phrases, the sun and stars, into tulle; cross- stitched chiffon and shearling and linen; and otherwise put their argument where their atelier was.
Combining references from the life of Marc Chagall (who, apropos of the situation today, was a Jewish- Russian immigrant who emigrated to France), Dante’s “Paradiso,” “Romeo and Juliet” and Virgil, they wove words and phrases, the sun and stars, into tulle; cross-stitched chiffon and shearling and linen; and otherwise put their argument where their atelier was.
There was not a cynical piece in the collection. And though some of the haute peasant layers veered close to the realm of costume, a black velvet gown, the bodice formed of two angels' wings, truly took flight. It was one way to address the post-Charlie Hebdo, free-floating anxiety that has become part of the pedestrian atmosphere: Rise above! Donatella Versace, however, proposed another
.
“The world is such a difficult place right now that I think women need clothes that are very precise, and focused, and let her be herself,” she said. In her hands, that translated as a restricted, almost patriotic, color palette (red, white and blue — and black and silver) and a play on the idea of curves, as originating from the female body itself.
Suit jackets were seamed to slide off the shoulder; dresses surgically sliced out to create peekaboo streams and rivulets (and occasionally overexposed oceans) of flesh on hips and backs; trousers flared to a triangular extreme; and skirts given a bias swirl at the hem — the whole decorated with custominvented embroidered emojis symbolizing “freedom” and “finding a new path.”
The latter sentiment being a nice idea if you can do it, as Raf Simons demonstrated at Christian Dior, where the entire show served as an exploration of how we got here from there — which is to say, from the “romance of the ’50s, the experimentation of the ’60s, the liberation of the ’70s.”
Full-skirted 1950s volumes in ribbon-trimmed pleats were topped by neat ’60s wool shells; sequin- encrusted minidresses appeared under transparent plastic coats printed with floral branches; graphic knit bodysuits were covered, barely, by wrap skirts and tanks; and traditional lace tea frocks came cut away at the sides and fastened by a silver ring.
21