Second day in Paris, here’s the knitwear presentation of J.W. Anderson Menswear Spring/Summer 2020 Paris.
There was a homespun, crafty mood to this collection that emerged even before the first models came charging down the runway in their deconstructed outfits.
There was a homespun, crafty feel to this collection that emerged even before the first models came charging down the runway in their deconstructed outfits, patchwork, tassels, donut-like knit hats with a medieval feel and gnome-ish, felted tie-dye clogs.
Colored, ceramic wind chimes were strung around the space, tinkling every time a guest knocked into them crossing the room before and after the show, while frames filled with painted white shells were set on the floor of the sunny (and hot) stripped-back space, like a school art room.
Anderson’s clothes – colorful, conceptual, wacky and so much fun – were right at home here: The designer lopped the sleeves off tops and trenches and swapped them with butterfly wing-like flaps; he turned fistfuls of colored ribbons into cardigans; slashed up other knits with the skill of Zorro, and pieced together suits and dresses from mismatched, contrasting materials.
Some dresses (on women and men) came as two-tone skinny knits with fluffy tassels dotted down the front and back, while others were long slips made from big sweeps of pink or yellow crochet and accessorized with gossamer shawls. Suits had dual personalities, light gray wool with satiny pink or paisley patches shaped like jigsaw puzzle pieces. Demure skirts and tops had big, crystal-edged holes drilled into them.
Anderson was out to explore many an idea here, including silhouette, exploded proportion, and do-it-yourself dressing. He wanted something “that looks like it has been passed down, but has a sense of modernity in its ‘wrong-ness.’” Even the new bag of the season – roomy, metallic, shiny and crinkly like tinfoil – had a larger-than-life personality. No one’s leaving that baby behind on the Eurostar.
The designer also took a fresh look at an old favorite, the tuxedo, which he ripped apart, and magnified. He turned the stripe at the side of trousers into a fat, drooping ribbon that looked as if it were melting off the side of the leg, and stretched the jacket lapel into a long, fringed, flesh-flashing scarf that won’t be keeping any drafts at bay.
