The more ominous the storm clouds, the lighter fashion should be. That seemed to be Karl Lagerfeld’s thinking as he sent out his most daintily airy Chanel collection ever. “Fragility,” he said. “Everything is almost weightless.” From first to last, the clothes were an exquisite achievement, crafted with such deftness and sweetness of color that even the house tweed evaporated into sparkling nothingness at the edges.
The reinvention of the iconic Chanel suit began with fluted knee-length coats, worn, with ropes of glistening pearls at the neckline, over insubstantial, delicately frayed mousseline skirts. One suit, the color of frosted mint and pale coral, melted into chiffon at cuffs and hem. Then came ballerina skirts made of swingy puffs of spangled tulle, followed by a breathtaking sequence of slim dresses topped by sheer flower-embroidered layers.
The fondant colors—palest pink, peach and blue—the overlays of black lace and the scatterings of silver sequins made every piece a vision of femininity. This was a triumphant collection for Lagerfeld, as realistically wearable as it was dreamily desirable.
