Thanks to the scrambling of the London Fashion Week calendar, Julien Macdonald found himself with an evening time slot this season, scheduling perfectly suited to the night crawler vibe of his brand. There was a real clubby atmosphere at Macdonald’s show—indeed, what with the standing-room crowd packed shoulder-to-shoulder by the entrance, drinking cocktails and bathed in blue light, it was fair to wonder if Macdonald was even having a fashion show, or if he had decided to just host a party. That turned out to be the right question to ask, even though there were, in fact, bleacher-style seats inside, facing a runway. It’s just that what Macdonald sent down that runway wasn’t fashion so much as it was “fashion”—the same way the Victoria’s Secret show is “fashion,” or an episode of Bachelor in Paradise is “reality.”
You can’t really engage with Macdonald’s collections at the level of aesthetics anymore. Best case scenario, you’re a person who revels in his ability to innovate new ways of simultaneously clothing and exposing the female body, the more toned and pneumatic the better. The neutral response is to accept that there’s a market for his super-spangly confections, with their depthless, recherché take on “sexy,” and reserve judgment. Any more critical reaction to these looks takes you far afield from a reviewer’s main remit, which is to determine whether a collection suits the current moment, and if it does, whether its execution is up to par. Macdonald is an excellent craftsman, but his garments force you into headspace where, as a critic, you’re engaging in social critique: Are these clothes good or bad for women? Is there a way to wear them that feels empowering to the target customer, or do they merely underline the degree to which society still insists on seeing women as objects? And if a woman does feel empowered by these clothes. . . well, in what way, exactly? And what does that mean? Et cetera. These are questions too fraught and complex to be answered in a review of a fashion show that, in its heart of hearts, really just wants to be a party. There was fringe. There were bathing suit–like pieces with printed cape attachments. There were many, many sequins. Julien Macdonald was doing his thing, and most of his guests tonight reveled in it. What more is there to say?
