Perhaps it was inevitable. “Succession,” the HBO series that defined the captivating, moment-defining drama between billionaire blood relatives and executives, has come to an end. Rupert Murdoch, the real-life media billionaire who provided some of the inspiration for the show, has officially retired and handed over the throne to his son Lachlan. Loro Piana’s baseball hat, which became the de facto symbol of good fortune existing in the shadows, was replaced in Milan by Loro Piana’s bucket his hat. Sun hats too!
And in Paris, a whole group of designers seems to have had enough of the stealth wealth movement. Maximalism is in rebellion.
Yes, this is the city that is home to the over-the-top absurdity of Netflix’s Emily. Where else would that happen?
Balmain’s Olivier Rousteing said backstage at the show: “We know that right now everyone is interested in quiet luxury. That’s obviously an important theme.” Backstage at the show, roses were practically scattered among polka dots, patent leather, latex, and jewels.
“But I think what people should focus on today is the strength of identity. I’m not trying to play a minimalist designer, because I’m not. I’m French. And you know, You can love Pompidou, but you can love Versailles.”
The important thing is that there is something for fans of both modern museums and ornate palaces, both inside and outside. Having both makes life richer. The padded hips and corsets of his collection Bloom thus incorporate exaggerated clichés of feminine artifice.
“There are things in the fashion world where happiness isn’t the right word, because everyone feels like you’re too superficial,” Rousteing said with her new long braids (maximum hair). ) he said while throwing. “But what’s wrong with being happy? What’s wrong with wanting to spread joy?” Fair question.
The word “joy” suddenly became popular, like a clear cry of rebellion against settling for basics. Due to his age (in his 20s), race, birthright, and pre-1980s trends, Mr. Rousteing often saw himself as an underdog when he was appointed creative director of Balmain. , this is not so unexpected.
But there was also Francesco Risso, who brought Marni’s touring show to Paris after stops in New York and Tokyo. It was the 18th-century Hôtel Particulier, Karl Lagerfeld’s former home, not just Paris, but the most Parisian fashion destination. This gilded baroque glory in the 7th arrondissement has its own private garden, perfect for displaying Mr. Risso’s own playful and whimsical baroque style. Because he said, “I kept thinking about this joy.” The work is hard, he continued. It requires commitment. Why not create clothes that are a celebration of rebellion against those feelings? Too much inhibition can be just as draining as too little inhibition.
So basic crop tops and muddy-colored hipster jeans quickly give way to mish-mash stripes and plaids (which look vintage but are later painstakingly pieced together piece by piece). The kind that turns out) was replaced by a riot, which was replaced by Marie. Antoinette’s book is covered with a storm of botanical decoupage flowers. There was also a piece with a swaying three-dimensional metal flower made from upcycled cans.
In one of those strange but edgy fusions of designer minds that sometimes occur, Mr. Rousteing made some of Balmain’s iridescent faux corsages out of recycled plastic. fun. Maximalism often comes with heaviness (such as overload), but this version feels light.
hand rebellion
As it happens, the floral fabrication is not just another richness, or a return to richness, or whatever you want to call it, but a small detail that explains part of its appeal.
These represent “the most intricate celebration of the hand, the ecstasy of the hand,” Risso said (each cotton flower in a decoupage piece must be cut out, waxed and applied to a dress). (There weren’t any, but when I asked him how many, all he could think of was “an insane number,” even if he had made them.)
At a time when there is a lot of anxiety about artificial intelligence, cunning is key. It emphasizes the humanity and eccentricity of creation. The strange, intuitive leaps and dreams that currently distinguish the artificial from the machine, or at least that we wish to distinguish.
Anyway, that’s what Julien Dossena was talking about before his show at Rabanne. The show was inspired by Jean Kremer’s 1960s photographs for the home of naked women in jeweled loincloths – like Spartan warriors. Yes, (if the Spartan warrior was a woman), said Mr. Dossena. Or, in this case, a not-so-Spartan warrior. Because the modern version had dripping chain mail, peacock feathers, and the desert goddess’s rich bangs. “It’s good to remember that there’s a person behind the clothes,” Dossena says.
As Daniel Rosebery said before Schiaparelli’s show, there’s a fine balance between “dressing freely and yet remaining in control.”
In his case, what a slimy little black dress really needs to convey that last bit of strength is a very large ceramic lobster painted gold at the neck, or the suffocation of a tailored jacket. Imagine that the way to reduce it is to spill something on it. I keep the fake equivalent of a handbag – cigarettes (this is France), lipstick, coins – to one side, reminding everyone of the glory that can be found in the clutter.
What’s more, the best way to finish off your white high-cuts is with a golden trompe l’oeil toe on the toe cap. In the end, this really turned out to be the best way.
The rise of monumentalism
However, there are alternatives that are not simply a rejection of minimalism or a full-throttle return to maximalism. Call it monumentalism, or minimalism that makes the most of simple lines and huge effects, think Rick Owens. Even he was gushing about the value of positivity this season.
“I thought that was a really good thing,” Owens said backstage (talking about going to a Björk concert and how impressed he was with her optimism). “I am conscious that I may have to contribute more than just destruction,” he continued, referring to his own reputation as fashion’s prince of darkness. “Fateful romance is a classic, but it may not be the most responsible thing I can do.”
To that end, his mist machine didn’t spit out clouds of gray mist, but pink and yellow (“positive” is relative). Diana Ross’ “I Still Believe in Love” played over and over again on the soundtrack. Then, rose petals rained down from the sky and covered the runway. Above it is etched Owens’ trademark otherworldly creature, whose silhouette features a fluted leather and denim skirt intricately sewn around the body and a high waist that contours to the skin. It was extremely attenuated by the pants. He wore a cropped motorcycle jacket on the floor atop a towering platform, showing off his pointy shoulders that reached the sky.
The leather dress was squished around the body like a little mound of meringue (Mr. Owens can drape the leather like Madame Gres’ draped jersey). The oversized jumpsuit was accompanied by a silk cape, trailing a deflated parachute. Mr. Owens’s “donut,” a giant circular tube resembling either a multi-purpose stall or a body-swallowing boa constrictor, depending on how you look at it, was made from stacks of silk organdy.
“We call it an orgasm in the studio,” Owens chuckles. The idea is to make the large tube look “like a candy confection, like a sugar donut, in the most satisfying crushable way.” No one will be able to buy it because it is labor intensive,” he said. “They’re nice and expensive.”
You might even say it’s too delicious. Even if it’s an acquired taste.