Minutes before the early morning show commenced, Comme des Garçons' president, Adrian Joffe, offhandedly teased at what was to come. "It's more punky," he said. "Lots of holes." Tempting as it was to end right there—the two observations amount to half a haiku—that would be leaving out a whole lot of fun stuff, represented by both the Boy and the Shirt lines. The former kicked off with V-neck pullovers and caps bearing the label's three letters, rendered blocky or puffy. Now that gender politics has once again become a hot topic, Boy either signals a logo or an open-ended idea. There was no ambiguity to the regimental stripes, applied selectively to side panels on shirts and jacket lapels or as narrow piping. Altogether, something about these prep school looks felt imprecisely fetish-y; here were wardrobe basics—overalls notwithstanding—and yet the cropped khakis turned bare ankles into an erogenous zone.
Once Shirt took over, the subversion continued, albeit in different ways. For starters, the models now sported frizzled, scouring-pad-like wigs. Hints of Joffe's punk vibe also began to emerge, whether as small cutouts in the landscape-front tops (who else detects Peter Doig's influence?) or as buckles on the knees. Further on, shirts that looked like paper snowflakes were actually made from several arrow-shaped pieces directed toward the belly. The cutouts came to a compelling climax when they addressed negative space—precisely tracing palm trees, hibiscus, and camo blobs. In some cases, they were patched over with contrasting shirt fabric; in others, they revealed another shirt underneath. As with all things Comme des Garçons, the lack of descriptive detail is not much aided by conjecture. The clothes were simultaneously wearable and whimsically executed. The holes don't need filling in.
