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Sharing some thoughts on this past men's fashion week.
Let me get something out of the way – though my writing is critical more often than not, I don’t particularly enjoy blasting fashion. So, it is with a certain elation I would like to report that this past men’s fashion week in Paris was one of the strongest I’ve seen in a while.
For me it began last Wednesday night when Haider Ackermann presented his most convincing collection yet. Everything seemed to coalesce – from the muted but rich color palette to lush fabrics to nonchalant styling. It was presented at the Galleria museum, and the presentation and the clothes were just the right shade of decadence, a fantasy world of the rich and idle whose saving grace is impeccable education and impeccable manners.
My dandyism is of a different sort, but I don’t mind watching from the sidelines, and Oscar Wilde is not only a favorite writer, but also a favorite personage. Love it or hate it, Ackermann has a vision, and that a talented designer makes.
And something else – when we walked into that luxurious, red-carpeted hall, the models were standing in half-light. To the dismay of the audience, they could not snap pictures for their Instagrams. Their narcissism unsatisfied, the editors grumbled. But I thought this was clever.
The problem with Instagram is not that it allows you to share information, but that it’s an enabler for unbounded narcissism. The only Instagram filter that really matters is the “me” filter. It is not so much what you document but that it’s you who documents it.
If you have ever taken pictures at a fashion show, as I have for this magazine, you know that you are not actually SEEING the clothes, as your attention is focused on taking the shot. Ackermann forced you to look at the clothes. The show was his, not yours.... (continue below)
Let me get something out of the way – though my writing is critical more often than not, I don’t particularly enjoy blasting fashion. So, it is with a certain elation I would like to report that this past men’s fashion week in Paris was one of the strongest I’ve seen in a while.
For me it began last Wednesday night when Haider Ackermann presented his most convincing collection yet. Everything seemed to coalesce – from the muted but rich color palette to lush fabrics to nonchalant styling. It was presented at the Galleria museum, and the presentation and the clothes were just the right shade of decadence, a fantasy world of the rich and idle whose saving grace is impeccable education and impeccable manners.
My dandyism is of a different sort, but I don’t mind watching from the sidelines, and Oscar Wilde is not only a favorite writer, but also a favorite personage. Love it or hate it, Ackermann has a vision, and that a talented designer makes.
And something else – when we walked into that luxurious, red-carpeted hall, the models were standing in half-light. To the dismay of the audience, they could not snap pictures for their Instagrams. Their narcissism unsatisfied, the editors grumbled. But I thought this was clever.
The problem with Instagram is not that it allows you to share information, but that it’s an enabler for unbounded narcissism. The only Instagram filter that really matters is the “me” filter. It is not so much what you document but that it’s you who documents it.
If you have ever taken pictures at a fashion show, as I have for this magazine, you know that you are not actually SEEING the clothes, as your attention is focused on taking the shot. Ackermann forced you to look at the clothes. The show was his, not yours.... (continue below)
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