Vogue Runway’s writers are making their way to Paris today for the fourth leg of the Fall 2018 menswear shows, but they’ve weighed in with their opinions on Milan’s best (and worst) shows, here.
Luke Leitch
The hot new stupid trend at the shows is not going to the shows. I rather lost count this Milan (and London too) of the number of editors and others who grandly announced they were “just here for this,” usually out of commercial considerations. At the same time, this Milan (and London too) have seen shorter schedules, mostly driven by the coed tilt to womenswear, but also the withdrawal from the show system by a fair few tailoring specialists. So, what was left? Well, for those able to drag themselves out the door, quite a lot.
Prada was a super-commercial greatest hits wrapped in black nylon and philosophy; Fendi was (again) heavy luxe with a light touch that feels unforcedly in tune (if financially way out of the league) of the cool guy on the street; and Neil Barrett was an inter-gender exploration of the territory between military and couture that produced an incredible hit rate of great garments. Both Dolce & Gabbana and Versace delivered maximalist collections saturated in house codes that will be easy for their fans to wear and love.
My only regrets were either certain shows that were missing or the shows missed because of being stuck in a car or a bar writing about other shows; Marcelo Burlon continues to grow his empire, Missoni menswear is so beautiful it deserves a platform beyond the showroom, and Brunello Cucinelli makes the greatest conventional luxury menswear there is (but I sneaked a look at that at Pitti). I’m staying in my lane, review-wise, but it looked like there was a lot of good—and a fair few duds—beyond my column in the Vogue Runway spreadsheet. How was it for you, Amy and Tiziana?
Amy Verner
It’s funny, Luke, how this posturing trend you mention might have applied to a number of other brands but certainly not to Prada, where the FOMO factor and unwavering devotion will always reign supreme. There was much that made this collection more than an exercise in nostalgia; all that black nylon looked sturdier than usual—perhaps outerwear needs to be more impermeable today than in the early ’90s? Or maybe this had something to do with the four big-name designers and architects enlisted to rethink the fabric. (I look forward to seeing the portfolio attaché from Ronan and Erwan Bouroullec under the arms of actual and wannabe creatives alike—quite the artist status symbol!)
The sense of protection seemed also on the minds of other designers by way of black masks: fetish latex at Moschino; spiky balaclavas at Palm Angels. There were identity issues at play here; it’s just hard to tell whether the point was to intimidate and shock others, to shield us from contact, or to give us anonymity in the boldest way possible. And even if this was just a styling trick, they reflected a subversive, uneasy mood that struck me as uncharacteristic for Milan. In contrast, the collections from Marni’s Francesco Risso and Sulvam’s Teppei Fujita unraveled men’s dress—the latter deliberately exposing his linings like underpinnings—in ways that felt vulnerable yet more expressive. I imagine it might be daunting for guys to figure out how to make those Marni looks their own, but I hope they rise to the challenge.
Kiton, meanwhile, eliminates much of the risk-taking and rewards you with the most superlative fabrics—newly applied to the sleek KNT range that gets you from private plane to private museum visit. The catch, of course, is the barrier to entry. That’s why my money is on the guys from Sunnei who continue to rethink commonplace fabrics such as fleece and corduroy with conceptual yet accessible cool. Or else there’s Marcelo Burlon who remains sensitive to how clothes need not be terribly directional to excite and inspire a diverse array of people. He dedicated the show to Nabile Quenum, the young street style photographer who died just days earlier, and rounded up a cast of non-models who epitomized individuality. The nonconformity message, in all its guises, left me feeling that designers here are questioning why they do what they—and that felt like a good thing. Tiziana, did you get this impression from what you saw?
Tiziana Cardini
Yes, definitely, Amy, I had a very similar feel. Actually, I confess, I was a bit envious of you, because you’re the one who got the chance to see many of the young designers showing here this season. Not complaining! Just glad you could experience the Milan fashion scene from a different perspective. I had my share of interesting moments, though. Florence’s Pitti Uomo and Milan this season made for a long, and in my opinion, pretty strong and consistent Italian men’s Fashion Week. I really think that going forward, it’d be ideal to combine the strengths of both locations in a more organic way; it would make for a quite unbeatable, hard-to-miss appointment on the international fashion calendar.
The absolute standout for me was the combined show by Undercover and Takahiromiyashita The Soloist in Florence, a fashion moment so powerful and creatively undiluted it reminded me why I love fashion. It was visually extraordinary and emotionally intense; its meaning totally mysterious and enigmatic and impenetrable, but also absolutely transporting, as only true artistic expression can be. Quite unforgettable. Talking about the power of transporting the viewer on a different perceptive level, both visual and (why not?) sentimental, Marni for me did the trick. I think that Francesco Risso has guts. Seating people on vacuum cleaners, gigantic toy giraffes, discarded television sets, or rusty vintage scales requires a real childish depravity that cannot be faked. He’s naturally, powerfully bonkers, and he doesn’t hold back! The sight of Renzo Rosso (founder of Marni parent company OTB) perched on an old bumper car was another unforgettable fashion moment.
As for the disappointments . . . Well, being a well-known Prada addict, I must admit that the show left me quite puzzled. It’s almost impossible not to love a Prada show; yet despite the grandeur of the location, the mighty Gods of Design appointed to corroborate the message this season, and the undoubtedly hyper-brainy charm of Miuccia’s philosophizing, I had a feeling of not being visually and conceptually captured. On the other hand, I was really happy, because my wardrobe bursts with Prada archival pieces, and I’ve collected all the possible prints from the very beginning. So, I will save big-time on my spending budget next season; I’ll just have to open my closet and fish for a good Prada mix of vintage prints, and I’ll be perfectly on trend.
My biggest regret of the season was not being able to be at Rick Owens’s party for his Triennale show, “Subhuman, Inhuman, Superhuman.” It started too late (midnight!) and I was still on duty and honestly quite exhausted. I’ve heard it was epic. Rick, please, can you come back to Milan next season (I know you like the city) with another party with a more reasonable timing? And I also wouldn’t mind seeing an expanded version of your fabulous exhibition.
