The Marc Jacobs show was scheduled for nine o’clock, which most of the invitees took to mean that around nine, you might want to think about finishing dinner and heading over to Lex. But instead, at nine o’clock, KCD publicists started working the phones: The show would be even later than usual, don’t bother turning up before 10:30. It would start at eleven was the promise, which wound up meaning that lots of people turned up drunk.
As we’ve written before, Marc Jacobs shows late not because he can’t get organized on time: No one has the funds and the staff and the resources of MJ. Marc Jacobs shows late because he can.
He is the most important designer we’ve got, and the tardiness is his passive-aggressive reminder that he can, and will, keep us waiting.
The show was not his strongest, but still, it was great. It was nice to see that Jacobs — long a champion of the frumpy, awkward, and unexpected — has not let his shiny new personal aesthetic (hard body, big diamonds) affect his designs.
He showed the collection backward, jogging out for a bow before the first wobbly-footed step was placed. Next came the grand finale, a succession of mad hair, mad shoes, kooky glasses and zany clothes. While a video showed the models marching about in their shiny satin underpants, the collection itself was all wasted, batty church secretary in 1953, the kind of lady whose handbag might feature a bottle of bourbon and a dead raccoon. There were bicycle wheels embedded in elaborate bouffants, heels perched crazily on the edges of too small shoes. This is fashion that rejoices, if not more, in the weird and wonderful moments that make dressing unique. —Amy Larocca