There are few more compelling storytellers in fashion than Antonio Marras, and this morning he spun another richly tapestried tale. The once upon a time began with John—originally Jean—Marras, who was born in France in 1772. Very much a peripheral figure in history, records show that he emigrated to the U.S. and worked as a miniaturist in New York before eventually moving on to ply his trade in Constantinople.
That’s where fact and fiction diverge. For this collection Patrizia Marras, wife and co-creative dynamo within the Marras family, penned an imaginary life of John. A copy of this was placed on our benches—it was quite long—and backstage, Antonio summarized.
The story had John as the 18th-century paterfamilias of Antonio’s Marrases. Before leaving Europe, he’d headed to Sardinia for a passionate affair with a local beauty.
Their farewell was the first of three theatrical interludes that punctuated this show. Couples clad in patchwork jackets belted in twine and pants in wool (the hims) or pleated pink lace skirts (the hers), came out and danced tortured tearful tableaux of farewell.
This show was titanic—not in that it sunk, but in that it was very, very big—so to describe more than a sliver of its looks would require a book as lengthy as Patrizia’s. However, the first section of around 30 looks prior to Interlude One opened with a red silk twill topcoat and some fine rose-heaped dresses underpinned with piled layers of asymmetrically draped tulle. Men’s looks featured bomber jackets with black pin embellishments running down their arms and rose-printed silk sleeves. There was a hint of the destination to come in a rose-embroidered semi-sheer dress worn over a scarlet and black buffalo check shirt and the at-full-sail schooners depicted on brooches pinned to the lapel of a full black coat.
After Interlude One (with those sadly parting lovers), there was a greater emphasis on tailoring both for women and men. This came spliced into panels of different fabrics and heaped with clusters of embellishment. Sometimes it was roughly torn at the shoulder. There was a great mixed-material men’s parka and sweatshirts for men and women fronted with a collage of swatches and collegiate lettering—Americana on the horizon.
Interlude Two was a literal(ish) expression of John’s emigration to the U.S. The same dancers came out in a group, this time wearing Marras collegiate sweats and tighty-whities (the hims) or black underwear (the hers). They were discombobulated. Drunk? No, rocking side to side with the pitch of the ocean as they crossed the Atlantic. The runway was their deck and, quite amusingly, they fell into the front row as they were thrown side to side by the imagined swell.
Part Three of the collection as the alternative Marras founding father story rolled on: Topcoats in mixed materials were matched with wide pleated pants, down coats came in dévoré velvet strafed by abstract pattern and accessorized with matching scarves. More buffalo check was layered under tulle and over fishnets. There was a tulle-encased fur sweater with integrated paste diamonds flashing from within. Macs for men and women came with cut-and-pasted arms, velvet duster jackets were gently inlaid with mountain scenes, peasant dresses in monochrome with flashes of red featured shivering layers of fringing, and a series of lovely evening dresses near the end jiggled with bibs from which hung grids of pearl beading.
John Marras may have been a miniaturist, but his perhaps-descendant Antonio is most definitely a maximalist for whom clothes in shows are props in stories told in a unique and immersively romantic voice. As for today’s epilogue, those dancers emerged for one last joyful turn around the floor as Marras and his mob of models—plus a dog—rushed out en masse to declare the final page turned.
