Yohji Yamamoto doesn’t mind letting you know the emotional toll of creating clothes. “Sometimes, it can be a bit heavy, a bit hard, a bit sad,” he said following tonight’s show. Sad in what sense? “Lack of talent,” he replied with a laugh. As usual, you wonder to what degree he means this and to whom he is referring—and were you not backstage postshow with people breathing down your neck, you would have pressed on. Then later, the thought occurs: How does someone of Yamamoto’s talent actually measure talent?
Being undecipherable is, in fact, among his talents. It takes considerable resolve and strength of character to arrive at designs that defy logic but look commanding. This time, the mood began mellow, with the generous volumes and layers of the opening looks giving way to belted jackets and shirtdresses positioned on the left shoulder only so that they recalled the robes of ordained Buddhist monks. Then came a grouping of extra-long white shirts patched with black pattern pieces, essentially creating a pattern of patterns. This was followed by a series of coats tailored in precisely erratic ways that featured collaged prints, including a young portrait of Yamamoto now crying a single turquoise tear. A representative later confirmed the photo was taken by Kazumi Kurigami, with the adjacent Japanese wording translating as “God help.” A comparatively androgynous message ensued, the result of semi-sheer underpinnings layered with coatdresses. The designer then pivoted dramatically to brilliant red draped tailoring, with faint photo prints giving the impression of a darkroom session disrupted. Finally, accompanied by John Lennon’s “Imagine,” there came a procession of elongated and unstructured black silhouettes delineated by tracks of traditional knot buttons.
Why itemize all this? Because even within Yamamoto’s admittedly limited repertoire, he finds infinite ways to wrap, warp, break down, and recombine, never letting on that he worries about running out of ideas or getting too old. Otherwise, how else to explain the sketches of young female backsides, outlined with underpants, on the backsides of various jackets than as a bid at virility (he laughed it off as “a joke”). As for the striking injection of red, Yamamoto confessed, “Sometimes, I feel I am lazy about using color . . . but every effort without black pushes the black more strongly.” You get the sense he will keep pushing himself whichever way he can.