You heard this collection coming long before you saw it: a gutsy roar that grew to a crescendo as the models rode around the block from backstage into the courtyard of the Faculté de Médecine Paris Descartes. They were riding pillion on a 25-strong lineup of muscle bikes—Harleys and Triumphs. This was because, as An Vandevorst explained pre-show: “It’s a road trip by a woman who lives in the East and has traveled to the West.” Hence the mirrored Indian beading of lean biker-touched separates and fabulous goth-influenced saris, and the silver-shot Chinese brocade on cheongsam-biker hybrids. None of these souvenir details was especially literal; a studded, textured, and collarless burgundy jacket looked Chanel-meets-Mongolia (via Antwerp) and made a fine cupola to the elaborately tented blue plissé skirt below.
Vandevorst tics—frogging, tailoring, leanness, sculpted volume for effect—recurred, most strongly on a set of white looks near the finale that achieved malleable stiffness and an otherworldly glow thanks to the aluminum shot through the fabrics. Also starring here was a pedal-to-the-metal judo suit. Crocheted face masks with sequined lips were de-sinisterized balaclavas, and the footwear, naturally, was all biker boots—although sometimes it featured high heels. Road signs were enlarged and broken up into the print used on one long, flowing coat worn tied around the waist by its sleeves—and once the show was done, the bikers outside willfully ignored local traffic regulations and roared off en masse. One of them broke down, but that was the only glitch in this delightful little riot of a collection.
