The Last Licks

One final report from the field at Paris Fashion Week


In slideshow: Alexander McQueen, Chanel, Hermes (see: fanny pack), Valentino, Louis Vuitton (see: no pants), and Miu Miu.

The big guns come out and then that’s a wrap.

I really enjoy the last couple of days at Paris Fashion Week because they provide pretty special intel into the accessories of the following season. Maybe I just feel that way because I pay closer attention. In a flurry of the highbrow labels indicative of the true spirit of Fashion Week and Paris, I know if I’m ever going to come close to proprietorship, it can only happen where the sun don’t shine (read: down by my ankles).

Trending here? Nothing in particular. Sara Burton continues marching to the beat of her phenomenally twisted, infused-by-McQueen drum. Karl Lagerfeld and Laurence Dacade follow suit and embrace the shoe slash boot slash pant et al–impregnating the trend with a discernible dash of Chanel. Who else can pull off that sort of chain work and a white brogue including black patent leather piping?

My Hermes note is less about the footwear and more a summoning to look past the ankle-length, three-tone outerwear for just one moment (I encourage a peek through this entire collection, it might be one of the only that never compromises its brand for the clothes or vice versa) and rejoice in favor of the fanny-pack’s return. I never stopped loving you. Guess what? My Valentino note isn’t about the accoutrements either–Maria Grazia Chiuri and Pierpaolo Piccioli, who have proven their worth as successful, monetizable designers, throw a pretty mean collection together. I know the show notes included apparent inspiration from dutch painter Vermeer, but I really prefer to call this: liberal nun-wear. Can I? Can I? Let me.

In the case of Louis Vuitton (and a general celebration of innerwear as outerwear), I have to hold up his New York collection against the Paris collection and wonder: should I wear my bare arms over my breasts as a blouse like he suggested at his eponymous show? Or finally take the plunge and pull my pants down, never to pull them back up, a la Paris? One other thing, though, in light of the Hedi Slimane controversy of this Fashion Week, it seems some much-deserved credit and respect should be allotted toward Marc Jacobs for successfully designing two collections each season and doing so in a way perfectly indigenous to the respective brands and still so emblematic of his point of view.

And in other creatures like Marc Jacobs: Miuccia Prada. The shoes at both her shows bear faint similarities and though the clothes are vastly different, it’s really nice to see her DNA permeating through both collections. You know, I used to think of Miu Miu as Prada’s younger sister but with the progressing seasons, she’s becoming quite the well-rounded lady — simultaneously intelligent but still invested in a good, clean(ish) dose of fun. What better combination exists?

I know, I know, rainbow sprinkles and frosting.

Okay, that’s it. That’s all I’ve got. Regular programming to resume tomorrow. Maybe.

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