There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Like a Henrik Vibskov runway show, for example. At the outset of yesterday's Fall presentation at a Parisian lycée in the 5th, two jumpsuited men in vintage aviator's glasses set about arranging a series of parachute balloons on racks. As the models began their march, those balloons inflated to form two allées of dangling curtains, which surrounded a long table. The catwalk procession continued around it as the two—officiants? whatever they were—sat and applied themselves to the task of melting down small pyramids of jellied goo with blow-dryers. Vibskov called it The Eat.
Where's the mastermind who wants to explain all that? Not here. But you wouldn't need him to appreciate the operative point of Vibksov's show, which is, of course, the clothes. The gangling Dane has long favored runway presentations as performance art—not many seasons ago, he used the forum to tell an imagined fable about the death of a farmer's donkey—but they tend to overstate the impossibility of the fashion. In fact, The Eat found Vibskov in quite wearable territory. His preferred silhouette of oversize, blousy tops and jackets and tapering, drop-crotch pants endures. But for Fall, he toned down his palette and used print sparingly. Jackets boasted irregular lapels, some migrating to the middle of the garment in geometric points, others rounded into soft curves. Coats were blown up to become billowing poncho capes. But one of the key—and finest—pieces was a multi-pocketed anorak that required no exegesis at all. Why ask why?
