Artist, poet, singer, jilted lover—depending on the collection, Yohji Yamamoto will portray himself in any number of personal guises through the progression of runway looks. The ornamental military grouping that made up the latter part of his Fall show would suggest he had imagined himself on an imaginary battlefield. “Fashion designers are always inspired by army clothing; we study it a lot,” he explained backstage. “This time, I wanted to show the highest class of soldier.” So in lieu of his usual deconstructed wizardry, he outfitted them in proper jackets and combat boots—except that the footwear was dipped in gold and the matching buttons were applied overzealously or off-kilter. Up close, these buttons boasted predatory animals (scorpions, lions, eagles), skulls, and . . . the profile of Yamamoto smoking. Proof, should it be needed, that he was not making a political statement.
If anything, and partly because of the music, there was something hopeful to the clothes, which he confirmed. “The world seems hopeless, so I wanted to send a message,” he said. Overall, looks seemed less palpably melancholic, with less emphasis on his signature draping with all its complicated, indecipherable overtones. Instead, a front jacket corner would appear buttoned to the back as a volume trick, or a hem would be misaligned but within reason. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine guys who dress to express in one of the velvet jackets or coats covered in drawings of animal faces or women’s silhouettes (maybe less so the ankle-length velvet skirt). The cords bundled into bows like duffle coat closures, and the wispy silken threads that floated from garments felt like poetic gestures, only softer instead of somber. Yamamoto, bless him, offered a more playful explanation: “I forgot to cut.”
