Touted as an "ode to postmodernity," this subtle Max Azria collection provided a stark counterpoint to the exhibitionistic sexuality of Max and Lubov Azria's Hervé Léger show. Here, the interest was in what lies beneath.
Minimalism from the Azrias? Believe it. Rather than binding the body, fabric fell around it, exposing bits of skin only in peekaboo fashion. Azria slashed dresses like Lucio Fontana piercing a canvas; metallic cages glimmered under semisheer knits. Some really smart tailored pieces—among them a mushroom-hued suit—added a balancing sense of soft structure. The best looks were the sparsest. The fussy beading that appeared with increasing frequency toward the finale distracted from the well-focused sense of purity…but that didn't seem to trouble Mickey Rourke (no angel), seated front-row and surrounded by a bevy of beauties.
