AFTER four weeks of East European models, who were pale, blank-eyed and thin to the point of translucency, John Galliano’s decision to use — gasp — differently sized people for his show seemed novel. A 7ft black man here, a size 12-ish (an average sort of size in the real world, but one that has never knowingly been put on a catwalk before) black woman there, served to underline the dearth of ethnic variety elsewhere in fashion nowadays.

Next out was a tiny 5ft 50-year-old, accompanied by a normal, freakily tall model. Two elaborate set changes that would not have shamed a West End performance of Carmen Jones, a Quentin Crisp lookalike, a couple of dwarfs, bearded male twins in dresses, divas with proportions of the old-fashioned operatic variety and a man who looked remarkably like God, decked out in a chinoiserie-embroidered coat with the immortal message “Don’t Cry For me Fashionistas”, added to the carnival atmosphere.

All this elicited rapturous applause from an audience which, only minutes before, had been happily ripping apart anyone not in the season’s correct accessories and weight range. The show featured tango music, and — don’t knock literalism — some fabulous tango clothes. The women looked magnificent in their bias-cut chiffon dresses and silk skirts, proving that elegance does not have to come in a size 6 package. And if God doesn’t really have a yellow and blue coat like the one Galliano designed, then He should slap His name on the waiting list. Now.

If the models are skinnying down to do justice to the plague of baby-doll dresses, a rational adult should explain to them that some designs are beyond redemption, no matter how often they are recycled.

But baby dolls were even trotted out at Louis Vuitton, whose winter collection was all dark, moody and long. Vuitton’s new vibe is about as dark as Herbie Rides Again.

Marc Jacobs, Vuitton’s creative director, has tapped into next summer’s vogue for ladylike clothes that look as though they have been run up in silk by a 1950s dressmaker — and taken shears to them all. Teeny jackets with flared backs, teenier skirts with curved hems, all in colours from a packet of Liquorice Allsorts. These are clothes for the young at heart and, please God, the young of flesh.

To celebrate the brand’s 150th anniversary a Vuitton store was opened last night that brought the Champs Elysées to a standstill. Screaming crowds, Uma Thurman, Salma Hayak, Sharon Stone in a hat the size of Notre Dame. Truly, shopping is the new religion. Let us pay.

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