Even the more luxe people were thinking practical. Jack and Lazaro at Proenza Schouler are still on the Balenciaga binge, and who can blame them, shit’s mad-alluring, but with those cozy leg o’ mutton sleeves were two-tone Oxford shoes ready to hit the road. Their nubby tweeds recalled both marbled composition notebooks and maybe the universe if you can imagine everything that is black with specks of color of it as being the universe, which I often do. Prabal, too, threw a big overcoat over a turtleneck and skirt, in off-key shades of grey and wine and hunter green that were not exactly “forgotten” colors, but they didn’t feel shiny and new either. Even with the skirt cut up to there and the heels, his woman can still knock you out and knock down a few others. Even Francisco Costa at Calvin Klein turned off an unexpected road and came back with earthy clothes in open knits and colors that will surely be called moss and wet earth. The oversized sweater with bell sleeves worn with matching-but-not-matching knit trousers was probably the best look in the collection. anchored by knee-high combat boots, that recalled Daria and Jane, and will no doubt inspire countless revolution spreads (paired with pieces from Luella Bartley at Marc by Marc, the revolution jacket, in particular).
It was at Marc Jacobs where everything came together except he turned them into a story. The first looks were reminiscent of one of my favorite Calvin Klein dresses ever from spring 96′, but everything after that felt way more disco. Disco has died so many times I know, but this felt different. There was no shine, there was no glory, there were no sky high platforms, there was no cocaine. It still felt through to all the things I’d already seen during the week, minimal layering, the head-to-toe-knits, a sense of wrapping yourself under long layers, big layers for protection. Except you had found protection you needed to figure out a way to keep on living and you turned to dance (because if human movies have taught us anything, it is that dancing is freedom). There was a definite sense of freedom imbued in these clothes. Perhaps it’s there by osmosis; after all, Marc is no longer doing Vuitton in Paris and he gave reigns of Marc by Marc to Luella Bartley. Marc has survived it all and he’s ready to have fun now. Real fun.
…and I think I’m the same.
Come on 2014, show me what you’ve got.
(Photos courtesy of Style.com. Post syndicated from Geometric Sleep)