Designing is Like Writing a Book

I heard last night that when David Koma was still studying at Central Saint Martins, his dream was to ultimately take over the house of Mugler. He’d spent his youth tearing out inspiration images from the wide historical archive of Mugler. He was appointed creative director in 2013. Yesterday, he showed his conception of Mugler for Fall 2015 and with its gradation from black to navy to green to white then back to black again, and the silhouettes, which never strayed far from a profoundly body conscious mini dress or skirt (there were just six pairs of pants on the runway), you knew what you were seeing — a proof of concept.

Sometimes I wonder how fashion design can be any different from writing. It is so personal that the notion that one designer could start something and then another could pick up where the previous left off seems ludicrous. You’d never expect, say, Zadie Smith to complete the unfinished anthologies of David Foster Wallace — so how could it be that when one designer takes over for another, he’s not only attempting to fill the shoes, he’s expected to fill the shoes while maintaining a sense of his own identity?

When Galliano puts a pinstripe on a model, is that him putting the stripe on her, or is that his fear-of-disappointing Margiela? When Alexander Wang eschews high heels for pointed, flat shoes and pearls, which, by the way are impressively Balenciaga-centric, what exactly are we meant to conclude?

But here’s the thing about David Koma — even while he was still just David Koma, man behind eponymous line, he was so fundamentally inspired by the house that built sex appeal that when you consider a show like yesterday’s, bonded in rose gold and silver hardware, featuring the kind of leg slits that will forever put Angelina Jolie’s on a back burner, it’s hard to divorce the place of naissance from the contemporary moment of growth. You barely realize the writer, so to speak, has changed. This, of course, presents the question of precisely what he has set out to say and whether that opinion is an original one, but when you’re considering a black double breast blazer with white lapels, pocket flaps and slits, does it really matter?

Guillaume Henry, the successor to the house of Nina Ricci probably thinks so. Last night, from the 5th floor of the Centre Pompidou, where you can see the most majestic view of Paris-from-the-sky, the beginning of a new chapter opened.

It was at best an emotional experience and at worst, some really good clothes to consider next fall. But where were all the gowns? Nina Ricci, a house that has been under the control of couture-extraordinaire Olivier Theyskens and most recently, Peter Copping — the new boss at Oscar de la Renta, has consistently spoken to the woman in pursuit of a quiet, refined and highly feminine counter to the black tie. But last night indicated that she might be in the process of growing down, taking far more cues from the menswear style wool, double breasted peacoats of her contemporaries to wear over the her familiar lace. Also on tap were some really nice fitting pants — three of the same pairs, in fact, possibly shown to underscore a point about Nina Ricci: that it has the salt to become a uniform.

Six very similar, entirely sequined looks, set on short sleeve t-shirt style blouses and mid-length skirts rolled out in intervals, rendered in navy or black or silver or one pop of the only color present — red, supported this notion, too. There were jean-jacket style silhouettes completed in fur and long sleeve, tea-length dresses in the delicate lace/chiffon combination that has heretofore defined Nina Ricci. Nothing looks quite as precious anymore, though, a conceivable coup in the era of give-me-clothes-that-make-me-feel-as-comfortable-as-I-want-to-look and the subtle shift not away from femininity, but not any deeper into it.

Just an hour earlier, across the same museum, Acne unveiled their perception of what Fall 2015 will look like. It was a peculiarly delightful experience to watch as high waist pants with slits at the ankle that would cover the entirety of your foot and shearling-lined vests and jackets (some skirts, too, actually) and think to yourself, without even really quite thinking, Ahhh, that’s good. The genius of a brand like Acne is that you’re so immersed in planning a shopping list, or figuring out why you haven’t considered extra long belts, or white, calf-length boots that you forget altogether that a book is being written.

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