Arriving at a Yohji Yamamoto show stirs a sense of anticipation not experienced elsewhere. For all the familiar Yamamotifs, an element of the unexpected is inevitable. Post-show, the designer-cum-guru offered one word: “Subtraction.” So what did Yamamoto remove? Perhaps some volume; certainly all color, save for some errant strands of red thread; maybe also any overt stance on gender—particularly since several looks consisted of full-length base layers and a conceptual coat. The first two featured sleeves that appeared spaced from their body. Yamamoto likened the shape of others to a coffin. When asked if the collection read as masculine or feminine, he replied, “I don’t know. I prefer mannish. But if this collection is feminine, that’s all right. I don’t care.”
Despite the contained silhouettes and minimalist vibe (once again, Yamamoto recorded his own meandering guitar playing for the score), the clothes were meticulously engineered and artistically rendered. How else to describe the saw-toothed back vent of a coat, the needle-punched leather-wool hybrid pieces and the haphazard strokes and drips of high-gloss paint? Moreover, the blackened lips (by Pat McGrath) and hair extensions (by Eugene Souleiman) served as darkly animated enhancements that turned the models into Dali-esque goth girls. Rocks sprouted up from Oxfords. All those sailor collars nodded to Japanese school uniforms.
The show closed with coats plastered in random thoughts so that “I will be back soon” and “Stop me before I F—k again,” read as an unintentional riposte to the text sweatshirts that reverberated through the Vetements show one night earlier. Yamamoto remains a man of few words; but the collection added up.
