Marc Jacobs—For a couple of seasons now, I've found his work (here and in Paris) murky. The ruffles. Those grotesque bags. That tawdry Aughts-cum-30's (or 40's or 50's) satin underwear. The sheer and ill-fitting gowns and belted coats (not so much "belted coats" as coats and belts). I don't hate this list of elements. I've sported and celebrated each of them. But, though I almost never say this, a girl would be a fool to shop these looks anywhere but in a thrift shop or a Mama's closet.
Donna Karan—I had to glance over the collection a couple of times to stop decrying the hats. They began to recede, and I felt as if these were clothes that I had made (but for their delicacy and precision). I mean, they look like the product of some extraordinary home experiment in drapery. It is as if the models wrapped themselves with the finest fabrics, trimmed, sculpted, fastened with a sash. It's ancient! I love this lady.
Carolina Herrera and J. Mendel—My second and third favorite of this sort of fussy luxe (Oscar being the clear first). Herrera is doing print and sheen in a way that I am v. ready for. The critic who invokes a tired, "Uptown-Downtown" reading does her a great disservice. The gestalt of J. Mendel is a little too tasteful (without ease), for me, but the coats, set apart, are PERFECT.
Thakoon—Whatever.....is that mean? Maybe I'm just tired.
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