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by Eugene Rabkin
"Paris was its usual gray and cold, a kind of weather for which “discomforting” is the best word. They are still short on comfort in Paris, 21st Century be damned, and maybe there is a kind of purpose in that, lest we humans get too self-satisfied. “When Verlaine wrote that rain fell into his heart as it did upon the city, he wasn’t exaggerating a bit. Parisian gloom is not simply climatic; it is a spiritual force that acts not only on building materials, on walls and rooftops, but also on character, opinion, and judgement,” said the writer Saul Bellow, who has spent some very uncomfortable months in postwar Paris seventy years ago. But the Haider Ackermann show, my first of the season as per usual, was so uplifting that it erased all negative thoughts. It was a carefully curated exercise in precision and focus – the lushness of fabrics and complexity of cuts gratified the eye. Ackermann toned down the boudoir vibe in favor of more structured pieces. The stunning gold and white vine embroidery on black pieces that Ackermann developed together with his Italian fabric manufacturer took center stage, with canary yellow added to his signature olive, further enriching the overall outing. Backstage, Ackermann said that he wanted to dispense with the notion that the man wears the clothes and not the other way around. Why not the other way around, indeed? When comfort is king and everyone seems to want only the latest hoodie, Ackermann’s vision was a welcome way to celebrate fashion.
Next day I was back at Palais de Tokyo for the Rick Owens show. His collection was called Sisyphus, and perhaps the harsh lighting and the massage-giving hardcore techno was meant to give this mythological creature newfound energy in his eternal struggle. Or a seizure. The voluminous outerwear and pants had a touch of softness though, in materials, colors, and cuts, some coats toughened up a bit with metal studs. It was a touching contrast, and the buyers moaned a sigh of collective relief at the more approachable display by Owens compared to the several previous seasons. Indeed, their struggle with Owens’s work has been Sisyphian, while we critics continually admire his creative push.
Who was the Sisyphus in this particular story I will never find out, because I did not get any press notes, and I was refused an interview request backstage by the KCD Cerberuses (or is it Cerberi?). Just as well – the job of the critic is first and foremost to comment on the work itself. My vote goes to the buyers, though it could have been the journalists, Owens himself, or the fashion designers at large who continue to push that stylish boulder up the mountain every six months. But, as Alber Camus said, we must imagine Sisyphus happy.
A few hours later Boris Bidjan Saberi proved again that he is the last man standing in the hard-hitting, unapologetically masculine corner of fashion. Saberi takes no prisoners when it comes to construction – and here was further proof. His idea was paganism, going back to the most basic roots of humanity. This needed new garments, and these were tubelike and padded, meant to be layered with more familiar things like jackets and pants. The result was fresh and it certainly held my attention as I was trying to mentally take apart the complexly styled outfits."
Read the full article on SZ-MAG
"Paris was its usual gray and cold, a kind of weather for which “discomforting” is the best word. They are still short on comfort in Paris, 21st Century be damned, and maybe there is a kind of purpose in that, lest we humans get too self-satisfied. “When Verlaine wrote that rain fell into his heart as it did upon the city, he wasn’t exaggerating a bit. Parisian gloom is not simply climatic; it is a spiritual force that acts not only on building materials, on walls and rooftops, but also on character, opinion, and judgement,” said the writer Saul Bellow, who has spent some very uncomfortable months in postwar Paris seventy years ago. But the Haider Ackermann show, my first of the season as per usual, was so uplifting that it erased all negative thoughts. It was a carefully curated exercise in precision and focus – the lushness of fabrics and complexity of cuts gratified the eye. Ackermann toned down the boudoir vibe in favor of more structured pieces. The stunning gold and white vine embroidery on black pieces that Ackermann developed together with his Italian fabric manufacturer took center stage, with canary yellow added to his signature olive, further enriching the overall outing. Backstage, Ackermann said that he wanted to dispense with the notion that the man wears the clothes and not the other way around. Why not the other way around, indeed? When comfort is king and everyone seems to want only the latest hoodie, Ackermann’s vision was a welcome way to celebrate fashion.
Next day I was back at Palais de Tokyo for the Rick Owens show. His collection was called Sisyphus, and perhaps the harsh lighting and the massage-giving hardcore techno was meant to give this mythological creature newfound energy in his eternal struggle. Or a seizure. The voluminous outerwear and pants had a touch of softness though, in materials, colors, and cuts, some coats toughened up a bit with metal studs. It was a touching contrast, and the buyers moaned a sigh of collective relief at the more approachable display by Owens compared to the several previous seasons. Indeed, their struggle with Owens’s work has been Sisyphian, while we critics continually admire his creative push.
Who was the Sisyphus in this particular story I will never find out, because I did not get any press notes, and I was refused an interview request backstage by the KCD Cerberuses (or is it Cerberi?). Just as well – the job of the critic is first and foremost to comment on the work itself. My vote goes to the buyers, though it could have been the journalists, Owens himself, or the fashion designers at large who continue to push that stylish boulder up the mountain every six months. But, as Alber Camus said, we must imagine Sisyphus happy.
A few hours later Boris Bidjan Saberi proved again that he is the last man standing in the hard-hitting, unapologetically masculine corner of fashion. Saberi takes no prisoners when it comes to construction – and here was further proof. His idea was paganism, going back to the most basic roots of humanity. This needed new garments, and these were tubelike and padded, meant to be layered with more familiar things like jackets and pants. The result was fresh and it certainly held my attention as I was trying to mentally take apart the complexly styled outfits."
Read the full article on SZ-MAG
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