Bowie’s anthem ‘Heroes’ rings out over dramatic high-collared coats and supernatural silhouettes in front of the emerging Eiffel Tower. ‘La dame de faire’ means lady to do… is back in a haze, where a silhouette appears in this tender winter morning.

Rick’s muses walk to embrace an ephemeral dream, a non-existent muslin veil blowing over laceless fabrics. Their footsteps echo on the cobblestones of the Trocadero Palace, and beneath the greyness, the outfits seem to dance in a mystery woven of light and shadow. And when the mist stretches out like a silky thread from a nebulous sky, it often draws perfect folds.

On the catwalk, nature scrolls by, calm and stylish. Each drop of creation hangs like a pearl at the end of a penis, dressing the next dawn in eternal grace. This is Owens’ creation, newness in continuity. Some people think that life is a ‘fashion’ sentence, others know it, but don’t think about it.

FM