PARIS FASHION WEEK: Lanvin
Alber Elbaz's show for Lanvin began, uncharacteristically, with an apology for lateness: unheard of in the fashion world. This note of politesse set the tone for the collection, a well-behaved, well-bred selection of basic satin skirts, trousersuits and cocktail dresses that carried on where his last outing left off. Decoration was restrained: a hint of ruffles, texture in cloque and silk boucle and a few touches of colour - French Navy, dark green and rich, buttery yellow - amongst many neutrals and of course the ever present black. Even jewellery was restrained: the sautoir and pauruve necklaces bouncing over a couple of knee-length trenches were self-coloured, adding texture without glitter. All very subtle, all very chic. But rather dull. The shoes offered a hint of glamour: multi-faceted, multi-coloured paste jewels applied to rich satin stilletos with a dagger-sharp heel and papery-flat front. These were what elicited murmurs of desire amongst the surrounding audience, raised eyebrows and covetous expressions. Well, as the saying goes, they ain't seen nothing yet. It's what Alber Elbaz did next that was the story - not only of this show, but of the week and perhaps even the season. He forgot his manners. He forgot those ideas of modern taste, class and refinement he has been instrumental in building. Instead, he decided it was time to party. And what he offered, appropriately enough, were party clothes: acid, acrid satins and silk gazars in shades of bottle green, fucshia and aquamarine encrusted with jewelled floral appliques, sequins, crusted layers of diamante, multicoloured gems at throat, wrist, ear, heels - anywhere that could be decorated. The point where I downed my cameraphone, closed my notebook and began to cheer and applaud until my hands stung was at the appearance of the first (but by no means last) neon leopard-print cocktail dress. That is, the first of this show, the first on a Lanvin catwalk, and the first in fashion for approximately fifteen years. The vulgarity, the unabashed bad taste, was more than a jolt to the senses: it was the aesthetic equivalent of the Heimlich manouvre. And god bless him, it was exactly what we needed. Alber Elbaz provided, finally, unabashed escapism - the silver screen references in the show were perhaps an echo of Hollywood's star system providing a cathartic fantasy to counter the dull reality of the depression. There was more than a touch of early Versace about these clothes, not to mention Lacroix's couture debut, ill-advisedly launched on the brink of the last big financial meltdown. However, its eventual form was distinctly Lanvin - and seeing Elbaz allow himself this indulgence was all part of the fun. The devil-may-care, caution-to-the-wind extravagance of Lanvin was exactly what we wanted, nay needed: a powerful, authoritive and most importantly new statement that showed us exactly how to dress on the brink of a recession. The best shows of this week have all been those that elicit and express emotion. We've seen anger, we've seen bravery, we've seen fear. This afternoon it was pure joy. Perhaps it's superficial to get that from fashion. But after Lanvin, the beauty is I really don't care anymore.