What does it say about the economic state we're in that one of the world's
most extravagant indulgences is, if not exactly kicking, most certainly
alive? Maybe nothing: the super rich are now so rich that nothing can touch
them. And perhaps everything. This is not a neat, easy-to-graph economic
downturn.
Frustratingly, for those who like life to follow a more or less logical
trajectory, couture has turned out not to be a dinosaur after all. It has
adapted and survived. It has found a way to live in an age when denim,
velour and the £3 party dress seemed to be the future. Just as the
private-aircraft company NetJets has found a foothold in a world where 50p
flights to Klagenfurt became a reality. Actually, thanks to revelations
about £3 dresses, the kind of people who used to think that spending
thousands of pounds on an outfit was as bad as driving a 4x4 are having to
reconsider lifelong prejudices. At least the folk responsible for the fairy
stitches on a piece of French couture enjoy 35-hour weeks, a decent wage,
luncheon vouchers and maternity healthcare like you wouldn't believe.
The fairy stitchers had their work cut out at Dior. They always do. John
Galliano's diaphanous homage to Lisa Fonssagrives, the Swedish model who
became Mrs Irving Penn in 1950, featured wide, swooshing skirts, Fifties
prom dresses and wasp-waisted jackets with whooshy things - exuberant bows,
foulards and so forth - going on at the necklines. Galliano being Galliano,
the big skirts were vast - New Look by way of CGI. And the prom dresses - in
pistachio, blush pink, mauve - were boned, yet light as soufflés, sheer yet
structured and worn over underwear that was part leotard, part strapless
basque. One big paradox wrapped in frilly tulle clouds, worn with the by now
de rigueur clompy shoe-boot, although this, too, was pistachio, blush pink
and mauve. Perhaps the trend for counterpointing a pretty dress with the
kind of black footwear that looks as if it has been designed by an
orthopaedic surgeon with a weakness for S&M is over. Perhaps we're
witnessing the return of completely, unashamedly, full-blown,
no-irony-intended, saccharine prettiness, the like of which has not been
seen since the Fifties. If so, I blame Mad Men.
The point about shoes is not merely a detail, by the way. For shoes are
fashion. To be specific (as Lanvin's Alber Elbaz was when I asked him
whether he agreed): “Heels are fashion.” He's right. You can wear anything
from any decade of the last century and make it look contemporary, provided
that you have a now sort of heel. (I thought you should know that before you
rush off for three fittings at Dior in a pair of kitten mules).
Mind you, jewellery is giving footwear a run for its money as an It item. At
Anne Valérie Hash (worry not if she is not a household name chez vous,
despite being part of couture week since 2001; her shows are still low key
and she is determinedly niche, a sort of Joan Baez of fashion) dresses were
trimmed with glass cut to look like shards of coral, or clamped with black
enamel breastplates by Naomi Filmer. Pearls are going to be huge, too - to
prove the point Armani made an entire top out of them. At Chanel jewels
(both real and fake, just as Coco would have wished) were scattered across
necklines or woven in to straps. The signature tweeds looked sweltering.
Karl Lagerfeld was playing with three-piece skirt suits, which in tweed is
probably at least one piece too many. Admittedly, yesterday was baking hot
and we were in a very grand greenhouse (the Belle Epoque Grand Palais), but
I'm not sure anyone dresses like that any more. The eveningwear had a
glorious imperiousness to it: Grace Kelly in the early Sixties, formal but
very glamorous. No sheer wisps here, but thick silks and duchesse satins
chopped into puffy columns, some with vast funnel-shaped sleeves, or
necklines weighted down with silk roses that tumbled down the back into a
hood - all in black, white and shades of grey. The elasticated or ruched
waistlines were an excellent thought, making that glacial stiffness seem
much more modern.
Anne Valérie Hash clearly questions what modern elegance is to dresses. Hers
often seemed to be sliced from a single length of material. I like how she
manages to make a one-shouldered silk all-in-one look supremely elegant, and
the way that she worked a dirty flesh colour (a cross between camel and
pink: pamel perhaps?) into her collection. The occasional white gazar dress
looked oddly mother-of-the-bride, even if it did boast top-folded seams. And
oddly, the dresses don't photograph as well as they look in real life.
Perhaps that's why they aren't regulars on any red carpet.
Armani had that pinky beige, too. So did Dior. In fact, there were several
common threads between Armani Privé and Dior. Armani's jackets were
nipped-in and square-shouldered and had exotic necklines: ripple fronts,
bows, etc. The effect was much sharper, less heavy, than usual. As for the
trousers, peg-legged and high-waisted they looked strangely on the money,
now that the influential Stefano Pilati has revived them at YSL. I wouldn't
be surprised if Armani weren't about to have a bit of a moment again. There
were full skirts, too, including a strapless beaded full-length dress that
had front page of Hello! stamped all over it. “Sorry girls, that one's
mine,” mouthed a resplendent yet foxy Dame Helen Mirren to the rest of her
front-row compatriots, who included Claudia Cardinale, a Thai princess and
Lady Helen Taylor.
Since you ask, Dame Helen was wearing a shimmering bronze Armani jacket, black
Armani trousers and Zara gladiator/bondage platforms. (Remember what I said
about the shoes?)
