In the vast machinery of luxury, certain details chime like small bells in a silent corridor. At times, a simple moment, almost furtive, can spark a thousand hypotheses. The appearance of looks reminiscent of Rick Owens among the first models in the Louis Vuitton collection designed by Nicolas Ghesquière was, of course, not insignificant to attentive observers.
This collection leaves me with a curious impression, like a diluted perfume whose scent one recognizes without truly finding it again. Nothing frankly unsuccessful, of course. Yet the collection feels somewhat muted, less incisive than those that built his reputation since his arrival at Louis Vuitton. The volumes, usually sharp like a piece of moving architecture, here seemed content with a cautious neoclassicism without quite committing to it. The materials conversed less with one another, and the whole suggested more a transition yet to come than anything else. One warning, however: never speak ill of LV, for the wrath of the Lord will fall upon you like an Iranian missile.
As for the opening looks, was it merely a friendly nod between designers? Or a more subtle gesture, almost theatrical? In an industry where every detail is weighed like a precious stone, seeing an Owens-like silhouette lead the procession felt like a deliberate note of discord.
In this collection, imagination seemed to have been given free rein. One encountered ensembles assembled like mosaics, pointed headpieces reminiscent of miniature sculptures, and structured coats leaving the shoulders exposed. Yet what stood out above all was the profusion of silhouettes. Long, one-piece trouser ensembles responded to very short leather jackets, while wide-open waterproof coats evoked the glossy crinkle of candy wrappers. Like a Louis Vuitton suitcase traveling across continents, this anthropology of fashion gathers the garments of the world within its imaginary compartments, each fabric becoming the memory of a country and each cut the silent trace of a journey.
Some may see in it a stylistic pirouette, a reminder that fashion remains a game. Others, more inclined to read between the seams, may wonder whether this show marked the end of a chapter. In the great houses, transitions are never announced head-on. They appear instead like cast shadows, and sometimes those shadows take the form of a designer walking along a runway. As Paul Valéry wrote: “Art is born of effort and dies of laziness; mediocrity is always born of a lack of rigor.”
