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WHAT DOES THE American Drema look like in 2018? A concept written into our collective conscience, it’s long promised that the keys to the kingdom are yours – if you just work hard enough for them. But does this concept even exist any more? It’s not white picket fences and apple pie, that’s for sure.

A sense of unease was the backdrop for last week’s rain-soaked New York Fashion Week, in a season that saw designers – New York-born and the ones who have made it their home – explore the very essence of what it means to be American.

Ralph Lauren hasn’t just lived the American Dream (the boy from the Bronx who today oversees a multibillion-dollar business), but been an architect of it. His preppy, polished aesthetic is synonymous not only with a wholesome, upper-crust lifestyle but with aspiration itself. And it’s this precise vision that last week saw him celebrate 50 years in the business – an extraordinary feat in this most fickle of industries.

Ralph rang in his half century in suitably spectacular style, with a black tie, moonlit celebration around the iconic Bethesda Fountain in Central Park. Family and friends of the house were joined on the front row by demigods of the American zeitgeist, a line-up so starry that even the most been-there-done-that attendees strained to 

take pics on their iphones: Robert De Niro, Tony Bennett, Martha Stewart, Hillary Clinton, Kanye West. Even Oprah!

Indeed, it was Oprah who captured the sentiment of the night, in a pre-dinner toast to Ralph. ‘Fifty years of designing our dreams… stimulating our ambitions… creating a sense of value,’ she said, adding that when she started out, her idea of success ‘wasn’t to go out and get a fancy car or jewellery. It was a closet full of Ralph Lauren towels… They represented a sense of comfort, warmth, luxury, aspiration. You inspire us to be elevated. Your designs define integrity, as do you, and that is why we are all here tonight.’

As for the clothes? No one wants a legendary band to perform new album tracks, as Ralph knows. His greatest hits, then: blanket cardigans and flannel jackets, varsity sweaters and sinuous velvet gowns of the kind his guests on the night turned up in. An epic show with more than 100 looks, it was also a feel-good tribute to the modern American family: cheekpinchingly cute children walked the runway alongside glossy grown-ups.

At Calvin Klein – the equally iconic all-american brand – designer Raf Simons served up his version of apple pie – with razor blades in it. Or rather, shark bites, he drawing Graduate inspirationn from aj. adnwdus h-nuh. Duh-nuh… went the music: something ominous this way comes. Models with wet hair wore scuba minis, clihteuranlky knits and pleated skirts with bites taken out of them. The show was a perfect metaphor for the general sense of uncertainty and unease. But the takeaway was not necessarily dark; more proof that creativity triumphs in uncomfortable times.

As does fashion’s new inclusive spirit. New York saw models of all shapes, sizes, ages and abilities enjoy their moment in the spotlight. Always a torchbearer for diversity, Prabal Gurung cast models from more than 35 nationalities to walk in a neon homage to his native Nepal. ‘I strongly believe that celebrating diversity and giving visible representation to minorities is more important than ever,’ he said.

Thinking about what it means to be American, designers also looked outside for the answers. Tory Burch turned to her parents’ vacations for inspiration, borrowing tunics, embellishment and fringing from far-flung (albeit first class) travels. Meanwhile, Michael Kors’ eclectic collection of zany prints, surf-ready pieces and cocktail colours was a shot of pure summer on a particularly gloomy morning. ‘I think everyone needs to unplug, not get knocked down with all the craziness on the planet and remember that joy and romance are everything,’ the designer said backstage. 

The criticism often levelled at New York Fashion Week is that it’s tired, but this season saw a host of new designers make their debut. At Carolina Herrera, 31-yearold Wes Gordon rewrote the dress-code aesthetic for a new generation. Ingo Wilts introduced Cali-inspired tailoring at Boss, Wsuiotrinkging Niall Sloan Girl toyedd with at Escada, and Sophie Delafontaine showed the first ever Longchamp ready-to-wear collection, complete with fringed tunics and souped-up gladiator sandals that had Kate Moss (who sat front row) written all over them. At Kate Spade, Brit designer Nicola Glass made her debut with peppy pink and lilac looks that will be sure to charm the brand’s core customer. ‘She left a little sparkle everywhere she went,’ said cards left on the seats, a tribute to the house’s founder, who passed away earlier this year. But the two major comebacks that proved New York’s still got its groove? First Rodarte’s Mulleavy sisters returning from Paris to an East Village cemetery for an al-fresco Rodarte show, which was poetic and so heart-flutteringly beautiful even torrential rain did nothing to dampen attendees’ spirits. You got the feeling that if the Mulleavys could have planned the downpour, they would have – because their extravagant ruffled and bow-bedecked gowns looked all the more beautiful for it.

Also back from Paris, Proenza Schouler’s Jack Mccollough and Lazaro Hernandez, the duo beloved by the arty set. They reworked that most American of fabrics: denim, in sweeping couture proportions and cuts that felt more grown up, a point enforced by the casting of Karen Elson and Amber Valletta.

Other odes to Americana included Coach’s Mad Max-meets-burning Man desert set, which Stuart Vevers populated with prairie dresses and patchwork-clad revellers in baggy hoodies printed with Disney motifs. Marc Jacobs, meanwhile, offered a beautiful, if slightly twisted, reimagining of bourgeois elegance. Candy-floss bouffants and debutant dresses in Park Avenue living room shades called to mind the Manhattan of Truman Capote’s Swans – but with the dial right up, Jacobs transformed a somewhat dated vernacular into something unexpectedly modern.

And so to the final stop of the week, hotfooting it amid the thick, humid air and pelting rain to Brooklyn’s Navy Yard and Rihanna’s Savage x Fenty lingerie show. Ostensibly the parade of girls (varied in body shape, united in unapologetic body confidence) dancing, twisting and grinding on stage couldn’t have been further away from the polite, preppy world of Ralph Lauren. And yet the crowd, iphones aloft, shouting ‘yasss queen’ when Rihanna strutted on-stage, would suggest otherwise. Could it be that she represents the same thing as Ralph: the unbridled potential in talent and tenacity? Quite possibly. A palpable optimism? Definitely. The American dream lives after all.