Milan in a Sequence of Run-on Sentences
The irony in what appears to look like an Italian show deeply rooted in historic American cultural stereotypes set on an acid trip while boasting the kind of hip-galvanizing cargo harem pants you may have thought were dead but are proving to be very much alive and creatively structured jeans capable of fruition only at the hand of DSquared2 is maybe not ironic at all.
All hail the moms! At Dolce and Gabbana, models with fetal balls attached to their stomachs were not the only talking point; some had actual offspring that stood, short and delicate, next to their rose-adorned, frock-covered mothers; others among the 88-look collection wore illustrations of houses and garments and stick figures and sunshine, ostensibly drawn by particularly precocious children, set on silk skirts and dresses in the typical Dolce silhouettes — so think full and pencil skirts alike, party dresses and a little something sheer.
Marni stood as a salient reminder that the 70s run deep through the veins of Italy, too, splashed over a reminder that the 80s came next, displaying flare legs, turtlenecks, power shoulders, the indigenous lush fur accents and nostalgic floral prints, which, frankly, just make you want to shop.
Meanwhile, Jil Sander, with its take on the turtleneck (show them bright or don’t show them at all) and geometric prints to counter its perennial case-making for the quiet uniform, showed respect for its old house tradition without compromising an urge to set the wheel of reinvention in motion; there was a tri-colored white furry ankle-length coat fit for a street-style princess, rendered with the same gusto that a white spaghetti-strap slip dress later commanded.
Pucci did its part to keep you fastened to your seat, showing a set of optical illusions to ease the eye into another look at the 70s with fabric neck-huggers and athletic stripes, shown in various shades of red and blue and then again in green, where a coat ostensibly modeled after The Muppets‘ own Kermit almost shared a moment with a why-didn’t-I-think-of-that bravura set in precious white chiffon dresses and blouses countered by harder details like a black fringe jacket or a soft, thick choker.
What’s the opposite of groundbreaking? Awesome? Prada doesn’t need to reinvent her wheel and this season, she didn’t, with pastel tweed double breasts, interspersed bows that were both coy and unassuming, contrast color collars, cropped flare legs and the kind of sweetheart necklines that remind you why women get women best.
The fur fiend Fendi proved its salt once again but not without first demonstrating sheer dexterity elsewhere, among the leather-smiths, where the lumber jumpers (I know you know what I mean) flow like wine at happy hour and the skirts like snakes in a desert; of course, though, you couldn’t appreciate that without also paying attention the Chihuahuas that engulfed The Feet.
Of note at Alessandro dell’Acqua’s No. 21 were the layers upon layers of story shown in white and blush pink as though human curtains far less interested in concealing than they are in simply being — allowing the sun to shine as it may and then to drape as they’re wont to.
On par with DSquared2’s wild trip through place and time, Stella Jean showed an explosion of tribal prints off set by plaid, stripes and some pom-poms that marveled in the fun of fashion without compromising its ability to do what it must: elicit curiosity, compel you to try and arguably most importantly, escape.
Of course, though, the most prominent collection of Milan’s round of shows burst its own bubble before the season even really started on day one with an opening set of nipples countered by a neck ruffle and a high waist, mid-length red leather skirt shown at the hand of Gucci‘s new creative wunderkind: Alessandro Michele, who spectacularly blurred the kind of gender lines we no longer consider with some pant suits shown with confetti (and pussy) bows and the kind of dresses that make you wonder why you fought against them to start.
Off to Paris we go.
