It's all over. That crazed time of the year where the world's fashion editors, photographers, bloggers and hungry wannabes fly around the world to sit in seats and watch typically slim ladies strut down a slab of concrete. There's more to Fashion Week than superficial brands, more than just rich eccentric designers most likely on drugs flaunting their equally eccentric designs. So what the heck is Fashion Week?
Feather-weight, enshrouding organza dresses graced the pale, glacial runways of Carolina Herrera's (left) collection. A confluence of feeble, flocculent fabrics against the palatial hues of lime green, rustic oranges and monochromatic displays. Maxi dresses contrasted the ballooning gowns that gently wafted around the feet of the viewers. The regal show highlighted that elegance is key. Marc Jacobs (right) sought to show the dirt and grit of New York, the thundered down underbelly of the city. With tattered bobs, the models clothing of darker tones resembled 16th century armies. Military influences of embroidered tailcoats, cropped jackets and tassels spilled all over the sombre fabrics.
In ye olde rainy England, Meadham Kirchhoff (left) was clearly drawn to London's quirky and kooky past. Kitchy bags resembling a grandma's embroidery matched the rather ditzy romanticist theme of the outfits. Victorian suits, chiffon dresses and smocks, corsets, lace and polka-dots; Kirchhoff was practically running a cartoonish nursery of Victorian fantasies. John Rocha (right) used varying appliqués to sew together a lacey picture of long column dresses that featured delicate floral patterns. The goal to seemingly accentuate the height of the models.
Moschino (left) decided to celebrate their 30 years in the industry with a catalogue of their most iconic iconography. The collection was tailored to be a celebration of Moschino, not a simple attempt to sell nice clothes. Monochrome continued to reverberate through the fashion stream in the form of ruffle-collared skirt suits. Tumultuous patterned dresses' clangour was matched with simple black jackets. Overall, gold as an accent colour was prevalent. A more summery look was that of Fausto Puglisi (right). With vibrant Hawaiian skirts mixed with kinky leather bikinis. The display was a sexual divergence into the primal nature of femininity, and it was to make women look pretty good too.
My favourite brand of all time, Alexander McQueen (left) did what it always does best; fashion. The collection captured a brutal beauty not unlike the Italian gladiators of Rome, their tiers of leather rippling down the Mondrian grid runway. Their fierce, leather buckles strapped them into a domineering picture of blasting reds and leather bra tops. The oscillating pleats of the laser-cut shirts conjured up an aggressive facade, helped by the rigid crochet dresses. What happens to be my second favorite brand, Comme des Garçons (right) saw a styling resembling deranged gothicism. Eerie hands clenched onto the heads of the models who wore hoop skirts and ruffles. It was... impractical to say the least. These were not meant to be worn, but to act as a push towards expression.
So what's Fashion Week then? To be honest, it undefinable. At the very least, it's a brief moment where rival companies and businesses come together in harmony, to watch the contemporary art form of fashion. A group of visionaries coming together to shift the boundaries of aesthetics and visualise radical directions with clothing. It is art.