Ahead of her show, Sarah Burton told me, “I wanted to make it feel very personal; each woman is her own person, each silhouette is her own character.” Burton found her groove this season, putting brand codes aside and instead designing on instinct. No wonder so many of us left thinking that her Givenchy is exactly how we want to look now. Mona Tougaard’s embroidered flower evening dress was the talk of the weekend, but it was the arsenal of pantsuits that really got me.—Nicole Phelps
Prada was, without question, the season’s high point for me. Brilliant in concept, impeccable in execution, and gloriously, defiantly modern. Feminist, abrasive, and so very Miuccia. One couldn’t help but think of Miuccia’s great friend and style accomplice Manuela Pavesi; I’m certain she would’ve approved. The whole affair had the spirit of those early “ugly-chic” Prada shows she helped shape: provocative, perverse, and irresistible.
At the re-see, the clothes revealed their true magic. Up close, you could appreciate the maddening craftsmanship required to produce that “peeled-off,” lived-in, scraped-wall effect: a kind of pure-Prada luxurious decay—an oxymoron if ever there was one.
My personal favourite was look 37: a black silk-velvet slip whose artfully abraded surface allowed glimpses of what lay beneath: an authentic 1920s floral dress in weightless chiffon, floating like a ghost of elegance past. Heavenly. I’d happily make space for it in my wardrobe, if only I suspected the price wouldn’t rival the mortgage on a one-bedroom flat.—Tiziana Cardini
