Marc Jacobs’ show, which closed New York fashion week, was a riot of
glamour and sophistication, and a far cry from the street-style looks
outside
This
New York fashion week has been characterised by near-identical looks on
the catwalk and front row: polo necks, a 1970s skirt or trouser shape
and long lean layering in muted colours: the synergy between haute
street-style and next season’s designer looks has never been stronger.
Naturally, Marc Jacobs,
whose show closed the week, did the exact opposite. “What I see in the
street now doesn’t interest me,” he told reporters backstage after the
show at the Park Avenue Armory, dressed as for an uptown dinner in a
black suit and white shirt. “I am so tired of street-style looks.”
Instead, his muse for the season was the late, legendary Vogue editor
Diana Vreeland. Huge canvasses painted with swagged curtains, grand
fireplaces and urns of flowers transformed the catwalk set into
Vreeland’s apartment.
“She was passionate in her tastes, but never afraid to totally change
her mind,” said Jacobs. “And that is what fashion is about. You
absolutely have to have it – right up till the day you can’t stand the
sight of it anymore.”
The British model Erin O’Connor opened the show. “I saw a photo of
Erin in X-Ray [a Francois Nars photography book] and there was something
about her profile – the way it looks kind of important – that felt
right for this show,” said Jacobs. The models wore severe, dark, matte
lipstick, their hair in top knots. There was an echo, in spirit, of the
Geisha-esque severity of Vreeland’s own look.
But no single reference ever ruled a Marc Jacobs catwalk, and the
clothes themselves were too eclectic to pin on any one muse or era.
Charcoal wool shift dresses came with thick bands of jet bugle-beading,
bound around the hips, shiny as gaffer tape. Cruella de Vil domino furs
had the prettiest of flowers embroidered into silk linings. Sumptuous
skirts, richly beaded, fell to the floor in knife sharp pleats.
This was a collection for character actresses, not starlets: a note
of individuality in an industry where youthfulness is next to godliness.
But there was box office appeal, still: a wool coat whose hem had been
dipped into glittering jet embroidery was the very height of chic.
Vreeland herself would surely have approved.
