By CATHY HORYN
Published: September 17, 2010
Fashion writers and professionals have been complaining about the motley nature of the shows since the mid-1970s, when designers moved their presentations to hotel ballrooms and, through the use of theatrical lighting and choreographed models, introduced performance to their shows.
Commenting on a Ralph Lauren show, in 1977, the critic Kennedy Fraser noted “the absurdity of staring solemnly at a pair of jeans with the aid of searchlights,” and in the case of an Anne Klein show at the Plaza, wished that the models would just act naturally instead of like “figures on a Grecian vase.”
So in a way nothing has changed. Despite a trend in the ’90s for low-key presentations in lofts and galleries, designers came back to extravagant shows and beefed up the celebrities. The chief attribute of the new space at Lincoln Center seemed to be to get people in and out as fast as possible, so that the area could be cleared for the next paying occupant. If there was a chance to create an exceptional atmosphere — say, on the high-tech level of Alexander McQueen’s last runway show, with robotic cameras and giant video screens — it wasn’t evident this season. Most of the shows, apart from a change in backdrop, looked pretty much identical.
Isaac Mizrahi as much as acknowledged this reality with a show called IM Xerox. At first I read this to mean I Am Xerox, or Instant Message, and maybe the double meaning was intentional. For grainy rose prints on glossy white cotton, he used what were presumably Xeroxed images. The collection highlighted his friendly tailoring, with the jackets of white trouser suits snipped open in the back, and there were classic Mizrahi touches like smocking and Peter Pan collars in a trompe l’oeil of crystals.
Like many designers, though, Mr. Mizrahi was taken with the idea of veiling a dress with a longer duplicate in nylon-shaded chiffon or beaded black chiffon, an obvious trick that made me wonder how we reached a point in fashion where pantyhose now demand attention.
L’Wren Scott, who began her fashion career as a Paris model and then became a stylist for photographers like Herb Ritts, founded her label about five years ago on the unradical notion of a slowly evolving wardrobe. New additions to her glamorous style, based on her own life and long frame, could work with existing pieces. Stores demand more and more deliveries from designers — 10 per year is not uncommon — and Ms. Scott, to her credit, resists the idea of duplicating herself pointlessly. She shows her clothes in a small setting, to about 70 journalists and retailers, who are fed lunch, because she is pragmatic about how they would be perceived in a big, bland space.
Among her additions this season is a sheer, loose jacket with an attached belt that she showed over a matching cream camisole and wide-leg trousers. She sort of jokingly called it her safari look. A variation came in gold lace, worn with a knit tank top and creamy satin pajama pants with a strip of lace down the sides. The sheer jackets didn’t scream transparency and could be worn over just about anything. And the relaxed silhouette was a nice departure from Ms. Scott’s fitted style.
Indeed, if there was a demerit to the collection, it was that she did not offer a similar looseness in her evening looks. The embroidered dresses, as well as a ruffled gown in navy velvet, were beautiful, but you wanted to see how she would have handled light volumes. She did have a number of soft, below-the-knee dresses in peach and sunflower, and a smoky, abstract print rendered from a photo of wind-blown palms.
Were the cardigan sweaters that Oscar de la Renta showed on Thursday — the end of the New York spring shows — a bid for Michelle Obama’s attention? There sure were a lot of them, often scattered with appliquéd flowers. Some of the dresses, like one in white cotton voile and embroidered lace with a black ribbon sash, would look great on her.
In recent seasons, Mr. de la Renta has sought to make his clothes more distinctive and rich, without necessarily looking materialistic, and the palette has been full of interesting, hard-to-find colors. That approach hasn’t changed. A loose-back silk crepe dress in a shibori print of azalea-red stripes, worn with a wide belt, looked fresh; he used the same Japanese tie-dye method for a green sleeveless dress and a white silk faille coat with a tattersall print. The day clothes, some of them weirdly accessorized with sheer gloves that looked (from a distance) like the disposable latex kind, spoke knowingly to women who follow Mr. de la Renta, rather than fashion.
When it came to the evening clothes, though, a different signal bleeped through the yards of embroidered gazar and taffeta, as well as a strapless dress of pure white swan’s down. Mr. de la Renta, one of the last of the big-time Seventh Avenue dressmakers, who has built a following in Europe, seemed to be saying the rich are spending more. More interesting, they are tilling an old-fashioned garden of conservative tastes.
Calvin Klein used to have very big, noisy shows, but for several years the company has been holding them in its headquarters off Seventh Avenue. This has allowed Francisco Costa to do subtle, experimental things that demand to be seen at close range. Sometimes those gestures have been tedious.
But on Thursday, Mr. Costa presented a superb collection of modern, self-contained clothes. Done mostly in tones of black and white, with a flash of cobalt or orange-red, the shapes seemed to hover between firm structure and airy volumes. And most of the fabrics were conventional stuff like silk crepe and cotton twill, so the pattern-making and the cutting had to be precise.
Mr. Costa used panels and simple vents to give a sense of dimension to the clothes — without feeling that something needed to be added — and large, flat pockets were integral to the design as well as practical. Some of the long dresses had a panel of pleats and most were tied (shades of the American designer Valentina?) with a simple cord. No effort showed. In fact, he made it appear with his spare shapes that he got a lot out of very little.
(Source: A version of this review appeared in print on September 18, 2010, on page A22 of the New York edition.)