Forget personalization, Fendi has spearheaded the personification of luxury product. And it’s cute and yes, please. This evening, there were plenty more faces on stuff that inspired instant anthropomorphized affection. There were eyes on a black shearling bomber whose nose was partially defined by its zipper. Faces on totes and faces on backpacks and half a face on a furry disc sticking out of the breast pocket of an olive overcoat. It’s not a particularly sophisticated idea—there was a picture of a pair of Mr. Potato Head Toy Story slippers on the Fendi mood board—but it works. The features of this post-Monster show were hollow, expressionless, and knowingly primitive. They captured your attention.
Vibewise, the main thrust of this collection was ironically bump and grindy: luxury lounge. On the soundtrack the Walrus of Love bassooned of his passion for Baby Blues as the models came down a fur-clad spiral staircase in a series of grandpa robe coats in check or gray wool. The pants were thick and had the slightest kick. There were slippers: fur. Two checked robe coats were fashioned from shearling strips. Our love god got ready to leave his temple by elevating his look, but not far. He slipped on Jamiroquai-reminiscent elongated bucket hats and some candy-accented outerwear—a black hide jacket with a pink fleece collar or a chambray coat lined in yellow fluffed shearling. There were pajama suits under layered leathers, a sweater that bonded tartan wool and black shearling, some great wooly suits. It was a pretty gorgeous collection full of wild impracticalities—and lots of clever accessories.
