A year ago, Betsey Johnson was in a reflective mood; she’d just turned 60 and, with a new vacation home in Mexico to tempt her, was hinting that she might be ready to step back from the day-to-day fashion grind. Yeah, right. In the intervening twelve months, Johnson has launched a secondary label called Betseyville; signed a deal to license her name for pajamas, loungewear, and lingerie; and continued full tilt with her schedule of raucous, fashion-show-as-entertainment presentations.
This season, the designer configured her show space as a cabaret, setting up tables and chairs and serving drinks to create the right giddy mood. The clothes showed her usual mix of influences: a little bubblegum, a little bondage, a little punk, and a lot of ruffles. There were baby-doll dresses, skinny jeans and cropped tops, tiny T-shirts, minis and slip dresses. But even by Johnson’s cheeky standards, items like a little nightie that said “Fluffer,” and T-shirts printed with the slogan “Guys love B.J.” ratcheted up the raunch factor just a little too high.
