The chilly ancient cloisters in which this show was presented were specially carpeted with a thick layer of humus-fragrant, dead autumnal leaves—famiglia Missoni must have been keeping them in storage over Christmas. When the wind gusted they were thrown up in a dizzy, pretty, restless cloud. There was a dizzy cloud hanging over this collection too; a defining narrative about a rock star traveling to the Himalayan Indian region of Ladakh to find himself. Om.
Having just spent 30 seconds googling Ladakh, it’s true that the color story seems to have been faithfully informed by its vistas. The endless blue skies, the shivering sun-blanched wheat fields, the shimmering turquoise lakes framed by towering mountains, the eye-melting sunsets . . . all of these were writ in knit here. But the telltale sign that this was a total wardrobe proposition was the accessory that came with the first look, a suit carrier. The only thing a man holding a suit carrier is looking to find is a job or some action at a wedding reception. Despite being couched in the Missoni mood music, this was a clear-eyed portfolio of wearable knit psychedelia. There was hand-loomed knit suiting, flexible to touch and color-bomb static on the eye. There was fully fashioned wadding-stuffed, circular quilted Alpine athleisurewear, and some kaleidoscope piuminos and parkas.
The plain counterpoints were provided by suede trail jackets and utility pants. Yes, the coin- and fringe-fronted vests were a nod to distant Ladakh, but Ladakh was not the point of this—nor any—Missoni collection. If you are a wealthy bohemian with an eye for comfort and color and a strong sense of individuality, then walk this way, for you have summited.
