In the shadow of centuries of fashion, a glimmer lingers from the 80s, a prince of fabrics for a stylist’s dream and Irishman Sean McGir with the eyes of McQueen the superb interprets it, blending the sublime with the reverence of BrandeBourg chiselled on ceremonial drapes. Light and shade, delicate velvet and whispers of ancient battles, in their gold braids, the past trembles, when an angel appears with his groin wings and duchess satin.
Then come the shirts of yesteryear, lace in prayer, high collars raised in a recomposed ruff, each pleat dancing in the flickering light, an ode to the 18th century, bursts of the illustrious elegance of French men. Victorian lines, sculptural coats, majestic shoulders, oath-like corsets, history is etched in silk and time.
But beneath the splendor and these echoes of empire, a flame dances and a fabric is intoxicated; it is the rebellious soul, the thread of the fusion of the century and the moment, McQueen, tightrope walker of time, and probably the most beautiful collection of Paris Fashion Week that has escaped those who narrate fashion.