There's some unfinished business at Lanvin. Lucas Ossendrijver and Alber Elbaz's new collection contained half-made pieces that looked like they were falling apart - jackets-cum-toiles, raw cut vests with frayed edging, outwear with unravelling topstitching, white coats that almost looked like they were made from the kind of fabric found around the studio and bags with multiple threads hanging off. What was the meaning? Well you could take it as a comment on how men actually wear clothes. Traditionally, they're not known for being as fickle as women when it comes to fashion - they don't buy things one season to throw them away the next, but live in the same garments for years and years until they break, purchasing replacer items or 'uniform' pieces when they do make a trip to the shops. That attitude has been the driving force behind the broader ode to ordinary that's happening across the board - rather ironically when you think about it, given that high fashion's meal ticket is its focus on immediacy and seasonality.
Before and especially under Elbaz, Lanvin is a brand that's designed to be worn, so the focus on showing 'well-loved' new pieces did feel authentic (especially when coupled with a set that featured two doors that models walked in and out of when entering and exiting the runway, mimicking the routine and monotony of everyday life - leave home, go to work, return home). But the ease and approachability of these well-worn pieces was contrasted and perhaps undermined by the focus on styling. The meticulous way that each look has been edited, polished, tweaked and matched - there was so much going on on each model, from long threads of string that decorated their wrists, to layers of different hued clothing and perfectly positioned jewellery - meant that in the end this read more as a proposition of how to wear clothes rather than a celebration of brilliant, individual wardrobe pieces.