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They say Paris, the couture city, is the true home of high fashion. New York is commercial – many a household name started out as a 7th Avenue rag trader. Milan is where the glamour lives (those Italians, they do so love the jet set). And London is the place for unbridled creativity; a little zany perhaps, but it’s where you go to find young talent.
Granted, these are cliches, but cliches become hackneyed through over-use because they ring true. London really is the place where designers can go fashion nuts, without worrying too much about how many units of that neon green blouse they’ll sell.
When the UK’s new prime minister Theresa May held the traditional London Fashion Week opening cocktail bash at Downing Street (Maggie Thatcher started it in 1984), she spoke of London being “open for business”, presumably trying to calm the international business jitters post-Brexit.
But while plenty of big brands do call the capital home, most obviously Burberry and Net-A-Porter, it was never really business that made London fashion week exciting. Nah. You don’t come to London for that. You come for the possibility of seeing something radical.
Like this morning, at 9am, when Dilara Findikoglu showed her creepy pink goth-punk vision in a strip club set. Gossip frontwoman Beth Ditto played art director, and there’s buzz about Findikoglu because Rihanna wore her gear on the cover of CR Fashion Book recently. Is it any good? I’m not sure, but it’s certainly not boring.
Nor was the work of the four next big things chosen to show on this season’s Fashion East runway. Matty Bovan, Mimi Wade, A.V. Robertson and Richard Malone presented a riot of ideas that sent heads spinning (but in a good way). In a stand-alone show Faustine Steinmetz proved herself another one to watch, especially if you like body paint and logos-as-prints.
That’s not to say the avant-garde can’t be commercial. As the high street knocks off the runway at ever faster speeds, more challenging designs gain currency among those who want to demonstrate they’re in the know.
Thus Simone Rocha has built a steady following for her oversized, darkly pretty pieces, while everyone is rightly obsessed with J. W. Anderson, the young modernist who was named creative director of Spanish luxury house Loewe two years ago, and still shows his own line in London.
Emilia Wickstead has no worries when it comes to selling her whimsical take on ladylike (this season, big on empire lines and caped backs) – the Duchess of Cambridge is a fan.
Henry Holland doesn’t need an actual royal; he’s got rock royalty – Pixie Geldof is his BFF. For his finale, Holland’s model army wore his eyewear and tees bearing slogans like: “I’m Yours For A Tenner, Kendall Jenner.” They been done before – Katharine Hamnett invented the slogan tee in the ’80s- but they were still tremendous fun, and guaranteed to sell.
I’m not sure who will be buying Gareth Pugh’s dramatic pieces, but it doesn’t really matter – they were brilliant, down to the last sunburst headdress. Pugh is a national treasure, much loved for his originality and visual wit, the house was packed (including Mario Testino front row) and the energy was major.
Gareth Pugh
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Gareth Pugh
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Versus
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That energy is surely one of the reasons why Donatella Versace chooses to show her Versus second line (above) in London rather than Milan. This season she is back in the design chair again, after the last bloke, Anthony Vaccarello, left to go head up Saint Laurent Paris.
And frankly she didn’t need him. Donatella killed it. Gigi Hadid and Zayn Malik sitting front row clearly thought so. When Donatella strutted out to take her bow in sleeveless silver glomesh, with arms as good as her friend Madonna’s, she knew she had a hit on her hands. London suits her.
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