Kenya Hunt, fashion director
‘From Storm Dennis to Richard Quinn’s rousing show, London Fashion Week was a whirlwind of big talking points and even bigger fashion.’
IT’S HARD TO remember a time in recent history when the simple act of getting dressed has felt as complicated as it does now. Do you know the origins of your denim? The carbon footprint of your T-shirt? Whether or not the faux fur on your back really is cruelty free? It can be difficult to figure out how best to approach one’s wardrobe – the meaning of it on a personal level, but also its impact on a larger societal one.
Even if your interest in fashion is casual at best, you’ll no doubt have noticed the fashion world has been grappling with big, existential conundrums in recent years. And they carried right over into the new decade and ran an undercurrent from the men’s and couture shows that took place in January to the Big Four women’s fashion weeks unfolding at the moment. And all of this against a backdrop of world events that are as unpredictable as ever.
Despite its prescriptive nature (beige is back, hemlines are high, trousers wide, etc), fashion has, of late, been consumed with more questions than answers. And after a decade of debates about digital disruption, #Metoo, inclusivity and sustainability, one would think the groundswell would lead to some sort of climax as we lean into a new decade – one that significantly also begins the UK’S new independence from the EU. But during London Fashion Week, the sociopolitical statements that dominated the runways in recent seasons were largely absent.
Instead, designers looked to the past to make sense of the present. The end result? A mixed bag of wildly varying ideas that added up to a fairly compelling case for optimism in all its forms, from rashly wishful to something more cautious. There was this overriding sense of hoping for the best, while also being prepared for the storms that inevitably roll through. (And one did!)
If one were to distil the overarching mood of London Fashion Week down to a single look, it might be the pragmatic optimism of the closing outfit in JW Anderson’s show: a sensible, grey ribbed knit, out of which an explosion of cellophane fringing spilled out at the neck. It was the most dramatic of statement collars (trending this year) on the most ordinary staple. One elevated the other; one kept the other grounded in reality.
Throughout Jonathan Anderson’s show, flights of fancy mixed with the tropes of everyday dressing. There was the beige coat writ large, very large, with an enormous trapeze shape and equally dramatic, equally wide lapels. Fantastically bulbous, tactile dresses followed sensible knit ones; jazzy, silvery fringe dressed up otherwise modest shapes. Backstage, Jonathan explained that the new decade inspired him to look back at the 1920s, a period known for its roaring, feelgood style. And the clothes proved the power of fashion on a visceral level, to make you excited about trying something new, even if it’s just a different colour or silhouette.
Erdem also looked back to the ’20s, specifically Cecil Beaton’s Bright Young Things, the subject of an new exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery, where Erdem staged the show. The designer identified with Beaton’s personal story (‘not born into the class he would spend his life photographing… a young man with a big vision’) but also recognised the parallels between the ’20s of then and now. ‘The frivolity of the Bright Young Things often obscures the interesting social developments of the time: royalty mixed with bohemia; high society embraced the avant-garde; men dressed as women and women as men,’ his press notes explained. What that meant for the clothes was an intelligent mix of crisp tailoring, shimmery embellishment and soft frills and quilting – many of the looks lifted with sky-high, feathered headdresses.
It was a standout moment in a week big on optimism and drama, from Molly Goddard’s mock dinner gathering (editors sat at banquet tables with bottles of wine and bread baskets) featuring her popular tulle dresses, to Preen’s gilded, frilled dresses and skirts, inspired by Venice’s Renaissance landmarks and Richard Quinn’s immersive love-fest of a show. It’s no small feat to get a room full of editors and buyers to smile at the end of a long day in the cold and rain. Quinn succeeded. Set against a sprawling backdrop that he described as a ‘fashion dream house’, filled with violinists, ‘glamour, extravagance and optimism,’ men and women walked out, some hand-in-hand, in his trademark floral leg-of-mutton-sleeved dresses and looks that pushed his vision forward, such as bejewelled jackets, trousers and nipped-waist generously skirted frocks. ‘God Save the Quinn’ crystals on the back of a jacket declared. The clothes, which Quinn wanted to be a ‘glorification of working-class couture’ had a sense of historical drama and an even more powerful sense of uplift.
A similar spark defined Victoria Beckham’s wholly desirable daywear, a welcome sight for the woman who is allergic to extravagant volume and high glamour. Victoria, after all, has made a career banking on wardrobing. She understands what other working women want to wear, and that’s usually intelligent tailoring with just the right amount of fashion nous – a coat that is special enough to go from the office to evening, a skirt with a unique twist to liven up a suit. Petar Petrov, in his London debut, also showed wantable fashion that was free of subtext. His easy, fluid coats, dresses and trousers have made him a favourite among fashion editors and influencers alike. And judging by the gushing comments overheard in the audience, Petrov’s popularity won’t be dying down anytime soon.
If the above sounds like a mash-up of contradictory ideas, that’s because LFW largely was. What ultimately united the shows was the feeling that fashion is still figuring itself out and forging a new path in a changing world. How will we be dressing for it? If London’s designers have a say in the matter, it will be with hope.