The show started just after 8:00 p.m., but it may as well have been after midnight. Magenta light enhanced by a disco-ball aura bathed the upper gallery of the Grand Palais, and the zigzagging runway felt more like a path to the dance floor. Then Bella Hadid (and her barely sheathed boobs) made an entrance as though she were a militant seductress ready to discipline anyone unwilling to have fun. With this collection, Alexandre Vauthier gave every indication that he enjoyed the process of reviving the excellence and exuberance of ’80s haute couture. “The idea is take the best from the past to advance forward,” he explained of his throwback glamour. So he toyed with asymmetric nipped-and-tucked volumes; treated draped colorful lamé like liquid metal; and turned necklines into grand canyons. But it wasn’t just about sexy special effects; the tuxedo jacket paired with city shorts, polka dot silk organza minidresses, and gauzy white shirts ruffled with extra flourish were simple ideas executed to peak Parisian panache and topped with a stylized fez. Vauthier put it best: “Excessivement chic.”
Not to mention unique, as in, no two models looked alike despite the repetition of visibly shoulder-padded base layers and leather glitzed out with Lesage embroidery. Given how frequently his designs get photographed off the catwalk, Vauthier delivered enough to tide over all the PYTs—so long as he ensures slits don’t reach quite as high as the one in Hadid’s second outfit (she actively guarded what little modesty remained). But clients scanning this show for looks less soiree-specific may have found a narrower range; gone were last season’s couture jeans and tweed motorcycle jackets, for instance. In general, though, the little black jackets in alpaca, cashmere, and silk might qualify as his best yet. And because the lamé was foil heat–transferred to jersey, women will likely benefit from both maximum impact and maximum comfort. When these latest ideas trickle down—and they will—the customers who place orders for his clothes can feel smug that their laced Perfecto is the supplest alligator, not just stamped leather, or that their feathery boots and stoles contain strands of cassette tape. Rewinds don’t come splashier than this.
