3/8/2016

Haute Expectations at Saint Laurent and Chanel ­ The New York Times

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FASHION & STYLE

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FASHI ON REVI EW

Haute Expectations at Saint Laurent and Chanel
By VANESSA FRIEDMAN

MARCH 8, 2016

PARIS — It didn’t feel like a wake — though it was, essentially, one long paean to the past. In fact, Hedi Slimane’s maybe­possibly­but­no­one­knows­could­ be last show for Saint Laurent resembled nothing so much as historically accurate immersive theater: a 1980s Helmut Newton photograph come to life.
What it did not resemble was the Saint Laurent ready­to­wear collections
Mr. Slimane has done before. There were no sound and light shows, no teenage haute guttersnipes, no thumbing his nose at the rules.
It was held in the painstakingly restored environs of the new YSL couture maison, which Mr. Slimane brought back to its original marble­floored, wrought iron glory over a period of one and a half years; set not to music but to silence punctuated by the exacting tones of Bénédicte de Ginestous, the woman who had announced the exits of all Yves Saint Laurent’s haute couture shows from 1977 to 2002 (“Exit One, Exit Two,” et cetera); and attended by the Saint
Laurent original Pierre Bergé. The models’ hair was slicked back, their lips glossy red, their eyes shadowed, the highest Mistress pumps on their feet, the

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3/8/2016

Haute Expectations at Saint Laurent and Chanel ­ The New York Times

tiniest, shiniest of clothes on their backs, with the biggest of shoulders. Plus a
Le Smoking to open, of course, with a sheer, ruffled blouse.
The basis of the show was an ultra­minidress just brushing the bottom, belted in at the waist, with a single soaring shoulder poof (occasionally two).
They were snakeskin, sequined, silver, frilled, feathered and leather.
Sometimes a bustier popped into a bubble skirt, sometimes a long, polka­dot tango skirt. A fur was big, red and curved to a heart­shaped point. There was not one day look in the 42, though in a pinch the star­spangled leather jackets and pleated jumpsuits might work. The house denied it was a couture collection, but it acknowledged it had been produced in the couture atelier.
Which meant what, exactly?
That Mr. Slimane was proving he was the rightful heir to Mr. Saint
Laurent, because he could do just what he did, down to the fuchsia sequins?
That everyone would be sad to see him go, because all that pseudo­rebellion was just that? That he could do couture, and so all the rumors that he might be leaving to join a different legendary couture house were justified?
We’ll find out, soon enough. A more relevant question is: Why does anyone think women want to dress like the ghost of parties past? Mr. Slimane has unquestionably shown he can do a better job at recreating a specific historical time period — one currently obsessing many of his peers — than possibly anyone else in his position. It may be competitive. But is it really worth applauding?
The first time around these clothes telegraphed nouveau riches and unabashed success; smashed glass ceilings and Champagne (and the advent of
MTV). They had the urgency of self­realization. Now, however, they have the whiff of costume. Fashion — the clothes that define you — should not be a way back; it should offer a way forward. Mr. Slimane is very good at making images. But a genuinely new identity for women seems to elude him.
Not that it’s so easy.

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3/8/2016

Haute Expectations at Saint Laurent and Chanel ­ The New York Times

How to speak to the present while maintaining a conversation with the past is a challenge Nadège Vanhee­Cybulski has struggled with at Hermès.
Now in her third season, she is still trying to translate the brand’s history as the ultimate in stealth luxury into clothes. This time around, her efforts took the shape of monklike cashmere and wool tabards, trousers and dresses, in a calming palette of dove gray, peach, burgundy, olive green and black, rising in a curve at the neck and falling to midcalf in what appears to be the length of the season. Though there was promise in a starburst­studded crepe and fluid silk scarf jacquards/silk knit mélange dress, the net effect was still neutered.
The hush lies heavy on her shoulders. She needs to shrug it off.
At Sonia Rykiel, the designer Julie de Libran decided to address the issue head­on, as it were, commissioning a friend, the artist Maggie Cardelús, to create a print for the house made up of the faces of the Rykiel women — the founder Sonia; her daughter Nathalie; her granddaughter, Lola; and Julie and
Maggie herself (“They are women I have platonic dialogues with,” Ms. Libran said backstage) — all gradually morphing together into something else.
Reproduced on an ankle­sweeping dress of gold silk, tiered and pleated in classic ’70s Rykiel style, or a cropped leather jacket and maxi­skirt, mixed in with marinière stripes and big Mongolian lamb chubbies, lingerie dresses and funky, faded denim, they dramatized the designer dilemma in a charming, but pointed, way.
(Also playing the Parisian coquette, albeit with a bit less frou and more pistons, was Vanessa Seward, who is handily carving out her own point of view. Though the only heritage she has to contend with is her own.)
But it was at Chanel that Karl Lagerfeld effectively looked back to go forward. Eschewing the over­the­top set extravaganzas of recent seasons (the supermarket, the airplane hangar, the casino), Mr. Lagerfeld instead reconstituted a salon of old, from the cream carpet to the gold ballroom chairs, mirrored pillars and beige walls. Like Mr. Slimane’s Saint Laurent
(coincidentally or not), the allusion was to a traditional couture show. But

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Haute Expectations at Saint Laurent and Chanel ­ The New York Times

instead of fetishizing it, Mr. Lagerfeld democratized it, supersizing the space and creating a maze that allowed his entire 2,000­person audience, one that included Pharrell Williams and Jada and Willow Smith (a new Chanel ambassador), a front­row seat.
The stripped­down and opened­up scenario showcased a (relatively) stripped­down collection, one that focused on classic Chanel­isms with the stuffing taken out and some streetwear sewn in. Denim mixed it up with blush pink bouclé, skirts were unzipped at the hem for movement, sweatshirts cropped and quilted in leather, and almost everything was paired with flat boots and had the relaxed, comforting air of a cardigan, despite giant ropes of faux pearls (and the under­the­chin boxy boaterlike hats, best forgotten).
There were the now omnipresent ’80s­isms (voluminous trenches, graphic zigzags), and nods to the bourgeois. But the finale of white tulle and lace frocks, finished in leather and selectively sliced and relaced with lanyards to show some skin, and a black chiffon strung together at the waist with pearls, had the low­key confidence of clothes that knew not just whence they came, but where they were going.
Their own way.
Check out our complete Paris Fashion Week coverage here.

© 2016 The New York Times Company

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