There was a moment at the Thierry Mugler show, just as Lady Gaga took the stage smoking a cigarette, when the entire season seemed to splinter into two starkly different halves: grandstanding showmanship versus grandly elegant clothes. Onstage, the audience was treated to a stylist and a pop sensation’s purview of fashion—for them, a universe where looking interesting and avant requires extreme measures. Which stood in contrast to what we saw elsewhere, which was, to put it simply, everything that is right with fashion at the moment: the beauty and simplicity of elegance, done in a way that women can readily interpret.
Gaga’s fashion director, Nicola Formichetti, is the newly appointed creative director of Mugler, and he was determined to bring a little fantasy back to the catwalk with his first women’s wear show for the brand. But for all the buildup, the actual sight of Gaga on the runway in Formichetti’s creations—primarily bodysuits with sheer paneling and exaggerated shoulders—was a bit of a letdown. I mean, where were the clothes? It just reminds us how different “real” women and celebrities are when it comes to their relationship to fashion. Stars use it to build an image; the rest of us look for clothes that connect with some inner part of ourselves—we need self-expression, not a fan base.
In the end, Gaga at Mugler proved just an amuse-bouche in a season that would come to feel like a scene from The Tempest. Later in the week, Christophe Decarnin was a no-show at Balmain; he left the company because of “work differences” (widely speculated to be stress-related issues). John Galliano, as we all know now, had just brought his career to an end with a bigoted, drunken rant. His highly publicized fall from grace stunned the industry; editors played snippets of the now infamous YouTube exposé on their iPads in the front row. Dior CEO Sidney Toledano publicly and elegantly spoke of the difficult affair before the company’s subdued runway show in a tent at the gardens at Musée Rodin. The wrenching awkwardness gave way to heartfelt appreciation at the finale, when the entire atelier of “mains” (i.e., the skilled hands who create the clothes) was invited onstage to take a bow normally reserved for the theatrical Galliano. A few days later, at Galliano’s self-titled collection (in fashion, the show must go on, apparently) beautifully draped plaid silk jackets and elaborately embroidered robe dresses made the fall of one of fashion’s greatest showmen seem all the more senseless. The designer, said to have been struggling with addiction for some time, quickly offered a public apology and is rumored to have decamped to rehab.
Needless to say, the vacuum at Dior sparked endless speculation: Who would be Galliano’s replacement? That announcement might not be made until the fall. Riccardo Tisci of Givenchy is the most widely talked-about front-runner, although it is hard to imagine the house of Dior finding its full measure of elegance in the hands of someone whose dominant tropes are Catholicism and gothic themes. Certainly, other designers who haven’t worked in couture but who understand the complexities of running a giant company, such as Marc Jacobs, must be in the running as well. Haider Ackermann was also favored by those insiders who have always appreciated his moody, soulful sophistication—conjecture that was buoyed by one of his best shows to date. Ackermann’s low-slung silhouettes, exquisitely wrought in draped teal and plum silks, had an edgy, yet painterly, appeal. Dior, a house originally known for reshaping the body in excesses of fabric, could find a wellspring of ideas in someone so like-minded.
But for all of the industry’s current unease, even high-octane drama couldn’t overshadow the beauty of the clothes themselves. Once again, this season, American designers held their own against their European counterparts. Jack McCollough and Lazaro Hernandez of Proenza Schouler continued to shine, for fall exploring computerized jacquard prints in a renewed take on American Indian blankets and macramé skirts. Kate and Laura Mulleavy of Rodarte also used computers to reframe Americana, casting photorealistic images of wheat fields reminiscent of Willa Cather’s My Ántonia across their prairie dresses.
