I don’t remember when I first fell for fashion. I do, however, remember the first time fashion made me feel something. I was a freshman in high school when I discovered Alexander McQueen, specifically his Spring 2001 collection. A theatrical masterpiece that still stands the test of time. Until this point, I viewed fashion as merely clothes. This was an awakening. And after this couture week, instead of McQueen, all roads lead to Maison Margiela.
The collection by John Galliano, (who has yet to show couture since 2022), closed this year’s couture week on a misty Paris evening, and it opened my eyes as to what fashion has always been and could become. Show notes give us the inspiration: Brassai’s nightlife portraits in 1920s Paris. A mix of these nostalgic images with Galliano’s innovative style. A beautiful underbelly of a future long forgotten.
The show opened with an eerie short film, starring a masterclass performance by runway opener Leon Dame, a Margiela staple. He runs out of frame and onto the catwalk, and so it begins. For less than half an hour, the runway is transfixed with a glorious renaissance. Models are something out of yesteryear’s gothic tales, a long-forgotten form of dress. As they walked, like ballerinas or coal miners, I witnessed an unfolding. A thickening.
The inclusivity was apparent, but it never once felt like a check box. Galliano made clothes for people; Simple as that. The silhouettes were simple, in a sense. Big bell sleeves and mesh overalls laced the runway. I saw the bride of a modern monster, reminiscent of Yorgos Lanthimos’s Bella Baxter, including that same sense of wonder and sexual freedom.
It was a drama (he played Adele for Christ’s sake). A character charade with the typical Tabi. Each model told a story: a thief, a lady, or a man of the night. The devil may wear Prada but the rat catcher wears Margiela. It was apparent they had been carefully cast for a long while, working with Galiano to develop these garments that fit them like latex gloves. The shows closer, Gwendoline Christie, looks like she was born in her garment. And I would go as far to say it was her best role yet. The end to a monumental triumph.
There was a vulnerability on display. Naked chests covered with a single-ply layer of mesh, barren to the world. Several models had on spandex like merkins (look it up). The corsetry was tight, unreal even. But there was nothing sexual about it. The men’s looks weren’t an afterthought (which I will always have a soft spot for.) They were equally developed and show-stopping.
In recent years Haute Couture has been abandoned for evening wear. Shows with out-of-the-box ideas translated into red-carpet-ready dresses. There is couture for people, and couture for the sake of art. Nothing about Galliano’s collection can be replicated in a simple silhouette. Nor should it be separated from the other looks. It’s a barren expression of the story, it’s capital C Collection.
The makeup, done by Pat McGrath was an innovation of the industry. She has had her fingers into almost every show that becomes something more. If Galliano can tell a story through pure garment, Mcgrath can tell one with the glare of an eye.(Face card checkmate). Models’ faces were glazed in what looked like liquid glass, which peeled off their skin after the show. (We later found out it was just a facemask mixed with water.) Necks were covered in mannequin pieces that appeared porcelain but were one hundred percent leather.
It was Galliano at his best, reminiscent of his early work at Dior, within the house rules of Margiela. It was dark, a twisted fantasy of every outcast who littered the Paris streets centuries earlier. It was an homage to them. It’s these outcasts, in this broken bar, that make our cities. They are the legacy. Fashion is fleeting, Couture is forever.
Fashion has always been rooted in this. Subculture, queer artists, radicals. It is these people that create the future of fashion. And Galliano gathered them in a room. Showcasing history while simultaneously making it. Fashion is who you are, whether you conform or not. It is the image of you, and you have no choice but to live by it.
Words and Graphic by Evan Skovronsky