Jonny Johansson has not achieved such consistent success with Acne Studios by turning out ordinary clothes season after season. Motivated by cultural constructs, social anthropology, and the way people present themselves in the world, he often mentions researching an idea in depth before arriving at the first designs. From a time-warped youth recreation center in Paris, where a herringbone floor and peeling turquoise paint accented an indoor basketball court, he explained his fascination with teens who break off into cliques and mirror each other in how they dress. From there, he introduced five groups of four girls; they represented slick academics, alt artists, neo-grunge musicians. Not your average schoolyard gals, they seemed exceedingly unapproachable; yet this setup permitted Johansson to hedge a handful of nonconformist themes without overcommitting to one.
In general, the collection favored elongated narrow silhouettes, expressive graphic color, and a revisionist spin on such grunge staples as the slip dress (especially in crushed velvet). A closer scan revealed how fabrics and shapes had been studied and developed: tailoring with subtle bouclé pinstripes, beading discreetly embedded alongside fringed embroidery, track pants in leather bonded to jersey, and pointed boot-pant hybrids extending to the mid-thigh. Sandals worn with heavy socks proved cool enough to be adopted by each group. But the queen bee piece was a fuzzy yellow plaid coat overpainted with a black-and-white grid, like an absurdist clash of Cher Horowitz and Mondrian.
Despite its experimentation, the collection held a strong point of view. Once it reaches stores, women will buy into individual items—the shearling coat or padded pylon orange denim jacket—because they want dynamic outerwear, not because they identify with a clique. Unless of course, the clique is Acne Studios itself.
