After a couple of seasons raging against the machine in angst-y, punk-themed collections, Yohji Yamamoto relocated to a lighter, more romantic point on his spectrum. "He must be in love," remarked one critic, even before the bride and her boyish attendant-slash-groom closed the show with their bit of Chaplin-esque train-carrying theater. The show also opened with a floor-sweeping number: a simple royal blue jersey dress with an incongruous train nearly the length of the runway, worn with an outsize spiraling Mad Hatter's hat. There was clearly some fascination with trailing fabric; a pair of cutaway coats did the same.
Elsewhere, Yamamoto's pendulum swung wide. On the one side, there were looks so sporty—with channel drawstrings, zips of yellow stitching, and fab canvas tennis shoes—you might be forgiven for thinking you were seeing a Y-3 collection. The blocky, bright red, raised runway added to the game-day feel. And at the other extreme there was Yamamoto's familiar take on French Revolutionary romance, featuring full skirts in built-up layers with paper-bag pleats, corseted waists, and what looked to be padded busts. There was a time when Yohji took your breath away. That era has faded away. But he still has a pull on his faithful. They loved when the bride appeared; and she was a beauty indeed, shaped in twists and shirrs and layers of white silk and a hat that made it look like Frank Gehry had taken up millinery as a hobby. She too wore sneakers. A runaway bride? Nope, just a runway one.
