10 hot stories, including steal VB’S style for £85, and the return of Nadine Coyle

Is New York Fashion week dead? That was certainly the fear coming into this week; the expectation was that the spring/summer 2018 shows would provide little more than a limping forerunner to the rest of the month, with the shadow of recent departures for Paris (Proenza Schouler, Rodarte, Altuzarra, Thom Browne) looming larger than the anticipation of what was to come. We needn’t have worried.

If you want someone to get a party started, Tom Ford is your man. Each invite for his show at the Park Avenue Armory came with a bottle of his new fragrance, Fucking Fabulous. More than just a canny marketing ploy, it was a fierce statement of intent. Ford was on fighting form: low-slung pants, precision-cut tuxedo jackets and bum-grazing embellished tunics were sassy and shamelessly sexy. The collection called to mind his era-defining tenure at Gucci in the ’90s and it was exactly what the bottle promised.

In many ways, Ford is the ultimate American designer – but what a strange time it is to be one of those. In Trump’s USA, even rolling CNN coverage of hurricane Irma could do little to deflect from the more pernicious dangers afoot in society. The dilemma facing New York’s designers is just how to address this. Do you pay homage to the American dream? Or satirise the cultural identity?

If you’re Raf Simons, you do both. Now on his second collection for that most American of houses, Calvin Klein, the Belgian designer presented one of the most highly anticipated collections of the week. His warped yet beautiful twist on Americana took its cue from horror films, dark references whose iconography is inscribed into the nation’s cultural history. According to the show notes, inspiration was mined ‘from the dream-factory of Hollywood and its depictions of both an American nightmare and the all-powerful American dream’. Sterling Ruby provided the set, which saw axes straight out of The Shining suspended from giant cheerleader pom-poms.

The clothes were equally unsettling. There were shoes that referenced Friday The 13th and dresses that appeared splattered in blood, Carrie- style. This nightmarish language was offset by the purity of all-american classics: satin rodeo-shirts (as seen on girl-of-themoment Kaia Gerber in her catwalk debut), cowboy boots, and 1950s couture silhouettes. The result? Captivating.

Simons also referenced Andy Warhol, using imagery from his Death And Disaster series to disrupt neat virginal lace dresses. Warhol, of course, said that everyone would get their 15 minutes of fame. This couldn’t ring truer than in the Instagram age and, for New York’s biggest institutions, this meant if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.

So, Ralph Lauren took his show on the road, to his country estate where he showed his 

collection – uptown clothes for uptown clients – among his billionaire’s car collection. Michael Kors, meanwhile, channelled something simpler but equally luxe. In a collection that was, ‘all about ease… barefoot glamour… catching the breeze’, his models walked along a boardwalk that slunk around the Tribeca venue to a live soundtrack of Sara Bareilles performing Sittin’ On The Dock Of The Bay and Natural Woman. It was some of the week’s most inspired casting. Alongside the Kendalls and Bellas, there was Carolyn Murphy, Kirsty Hume and Maggie Rizer, Ashley Graham and Sabina Karlsson, the plus-size redhead who got the crowd asking, ‘Who’s that girl?’

There was more Instagram gold from another US institution – Coach, the multibillion-dollar brand turned beacon of millennial cool under the creative direction of Brit Stuart Vevers. Against a backdrop of a glitter-covered New York street scene – a surreal tableau that appeared as if a black glitter snowfall had just settled in a parallel galaxy far, far away – models channelled a decadent, defiant, glam-rock insouciance in slinky slip dresses, cropped suede jackets and, yep, more Western boots.

Vevers had teamed up with the Keith Haring estate, emblazoning accessories, knits and leather jackets with the artist’s playful line drawings. Referencing the ’70s and ’80s felt right for now. The ’70s was a decade, after all, when economic insecurity fostered supreme creativity; when even if you had no money, you could look like you were going to Studio 54 every night (and probably were). The freedom of creativity is implicit in the era, a powerful message for today’s Millennials.

Coach is 76 years old. Other impressive anniversaries were also celebrated. Kate Spade New York rang in 25 years with a collection of pretty, prim dresses that should keep the label’s loyal clientele happy. Tibi’s Amy Smilovic notched up 20 years and gave her customer plenty of the easy-to-wear, cool-girl pieces they come to her for (note: expect to see plenty of short suits come spring). Also ringing in 20 years was French house Zadig & Voltaire, which marked the occasion with the Parisian rock-chick style it’s known and loved for.

Hard to believe that this season also marks Jeremy Scott’s 20th anniversary – so much does he have the youth vote on his side. Scott’s celebratory show – which finished with silver ticker tape fluttering down on to the runway as he took his bow – was loud, brash, bonkers and everything we love about him. There was camo, acid neons, deconstructed sweatshirts, cartoons, glitter-ball jumpsuits, jumbo gems. It was fun – on steroids. Scott’s was by no means the only bombastic show. Master showman Philipp Plein brought his own unique blend of

spectacle to an overcrowded Hammerstein Ballroom, while Alexander Wang hosted his #WANGFEST over in Brooklyn.

But the hype machine was in full force for the return of Helmut Lang, definitely the most anticipated show of the week. Relaunched with

Dazed & Confused’s 26-year-old editor Isabella Burley as the label’s editor-in-residence, Burley has hired Hood By Air’s Shayne Oliver as the first designer-in-residence. Anyone passing the lower Broadway show venue to see security attempting in vain to subdue an overexcited young crowd would have assumed there was a party going on in there – and in a way there was. Oliver’s fetishistic, deconstructed garments and slick tailoring paid tribute to Lang’s sensuality, amping it up with a hefty dose of kink. Exciting, raw, urgent, it provided something rare – an electric moment that wasn’t relivable on Instagram.

There were more intimate moments, however, that also deserve attention. Possibly the coolest woman in New York (or at least the Lower East Side), Maryam Nassir Zadeh took her blend of off-kilter, arty prettiness to the East River Park Track; guests sat on the bleachers, joggers continued working out, oblivious (this is New York, they’ve seen it all) while Solange performed. The Proenzas and Rodartes are missed, but their exodus has given brands like this a chance to shine a little brighter.

There was a softening and loosening up across the board. Victoria Beckham sought out strength in delicacy with sheer skirts and shirts with elongated arms, while unexpected whimsy came courtesy of sparkly, Harper-approved shoes. Sies Marjan’s Sander Lak showed off his eye for colour in a collection with a delicious palette of inky navy, saffron orange, peppermint and Pepto pink. Brandon Maxwell, the Texan designer renowned for his Dallas- approved cocktailwear, added denim and tailored blazers to his mix. And at The Row, the rich palette of expensive neutrals was disrupted with a draped lilac dress. This sweet, slightly peculiar shade was a recurring motif of the collections.

And so, to the final show of the week, and a return to the Park Avenue Armory, this time stripped bare for Marc Jacobs. Fold-out chairs lined the edge as models walked around the gymnasium-like space in silence, a thumping soundtrack replaced by the rustle of their sequin skirts, swishing fringes and beaded tops. Jacobs’ show notes described it as a ‘twisting of fantasy into reality through exaggerated, decadent and exotic silhouettes’. Like Ford, he was riffing on his own greatest hits. This meant turban-crowned models in wallpaper floral dresses and sequin gowns, accessorised with Patagonia-style windbreakers and bumbags, as if equipped for tackling the tricky terrain of modern America. It was a quiet moment of contemplation, and a loud and clear reminder that New York is alive and kicking.