Citizen Models

Pilati has ignited a lively debate within the fashion industry about modern dressing. There is no question that his collections -- with their unwieldy ruffles, wide belts, platform loafers and bubble skirts -- have been influential. (The average height of fashion editors in this town seems to have increased by three inches, so many of them are teetering around on Pilati's exaggerated loafers in black or claret velvet.) One simply wonders whether Pilati has been using his authority for good.

For his afternoon show, a temporary amphitheater lined in claret velvet was tucked into a far corner of the Grand Palais. The collection took its inspiration from matadors, and the first styles down the runway were cropped trousers, tiny bullfighter jackets, blouses erupting with ruffles, and details such as minute pompoms dangling from the hems of trousers or along the edges of a scarf. Evening gowns were a storm of haphazard pleats and emphatic ruffles cascading down the body and trailing behind it.

Pilati has a confident hand with ruffles and never allows the models to drown in all the flowery frills. (Although several of the blouses have ruffs that rise so high on the neck that the models' heads look like little pistils waiting to be fertilized.) Compared with the designers who have tried before him to capture Saint Laurent's spirit -- including Elbaz and Tom Ford -- Pilati has most ably reconstituted the essence of the house.

But there is little that is modern and easy about his clothes. Pilati cut tight-fitting, hobbling skirts that stymied the models, who moved with an awkward, strained gait. All of those ruffles were sometimes compressed inside a cramped little cardigan wrapped snugly around the body like a cape -- or an exquisite straitjacket. It calls to mind a host of fashion archetypes: the chic Parisian madame, the gamin in elegant repose and Catherine Deneuve (who also happened to be sitting ringside at the show with a smoldering cigarette as long as a blade of wheat).

Individually, some of these pieces have relevance: the cropped pants, a little jacket. But on the runway, Pilati is selling image, attitude and point of view. And they remain relentlessly rooted in the past. With so many designers influenced by him, one feels that he is tugging an entire industry backward instead of nudging it toward the future.

Elbaz for Lanvin, Jacobs for Vuitton

In contrast, Elbaz moves forward -- deliberately, thoughtfully and with a reassuring ease. He is Pilati's perfect foil. For several seasons, Elbaz has succeeded by offering darkly pretty collections of gently gathered skirts, jersey dresses with industrial zippers scaling the back and blouses decorated with elegantly tarnished paillettes. For spring, he wisely concluded that it was time to move on.

He opened his show with a model in sleek black, her waist cinched tight with a wide shiny belt. His slender skirts zipped up the back and left a glint of metallic shimmer as models strode across the wood-plank floor wearing the kind of death-defying heels that women love to hate. His only embellishments came from his references to kimonos -- obi belts dramatically wrapped around the waist; origami-folded ribbons adorned the neckline of dresses that dipped low in the back. There were hints of flowers in abstract appliques on sober black dresses. When those details appeared toward the end of his show, they were in gloriously beaded colors that exploded like brash fireworks to signal the close of a collection that had been almost all dark shadows, suggestions and whispers.

Elbaz changed the look of fashion with his hauntingly romantic dresses and his ability to make the most rigorously designed garment seem as though it began with little more than a few strokes of a pencil on a sketch pad. Now he has added a new ingredient to his work -- strength. But Elbaz did not lose the joy, which so often happens when a designer decides to go hard-edged and tough. In his work, Elbaz not only displays his superb technical skills, he also reveals his heart.

The buildup to the Louis Vuitton presentation and the subsequent party at the Petit Palais was accompanied by the usual parade of celebrities. Those lining the Vuitton front row included Deneuve, Sharon Stone (inexplicably dressed like the Mad Hatter) and Pharrell Williams, who brought along the soundtrack for the show and an enormous bodyguard. (The big man stood around with nothing to do because only about five people in the room even noticed Williams, thanks to the blinding glow emanating from Uma Thurman. The lack of paparazzi love for Williams was a shame because his music was one of the best things about the show.)

Jacobs's collection started off mod with stiff miniskirts and filmy dresses adorned with paillettes akin to mirrored Christmas tree ornaments. There were Indian embroidered babydoll tops, miniskirts with elongated backs and giant jeweled brooches on the hips, and even an errant pair of bike shorts that were just plain awful and, well, Mr. Jacobs, what on earth were you thinking? The house's signature Murakami handbags grew rainbow-colored fringe and were none the better for it. But there were terrific patent leather satchels in bright orange with a gold circular nameplate as big as a tea saucer.

The party afterward, in a beautiful open-air garden, seemed, at least for the first hour or so, to include a lot of Veuve Clicquot and bits of foie gras sandwiched between crispy wafers. There was a lot of milling about and a lot of wondering whether this was in fact the party, or if it was really someplace else and no one other than Thurman and friends had found it.

Alexander McQueen, Nina Ricci, Chloe, Maison Martin Margiela, Valentino

There was a spate of mediocrity over the weekend, with Alexander McQueen getting caught up with a fascination for warrior princesses, Neptune -- the god of the sea -- and superheroines. While there were thigh-grazing dresses with seams that curved around the body in a seductive manner, much of the collection was overwhelmed by too many gilded harnesses, too much Grecian draping and dresses that looked as though they should be accessorized with bullet-deflecting cuffs and a golden lasso.

Nina Ricci's Lars Nilsson and Chloe's Phoebe Philo created collections that settled somewhere in the center of fashion's bell curve. Nilsson displayed his sophisticated sense of color with dresses in subdued shades of pale blue and dove gray cut from crisp men's shirting. He also delivered distinctive details including seamed satin belting that held up dresses and wrapped around the bodice.

Much of the Chloe collection looked like first Communion dresses with their fluffy sleeves and frilly details along the bodice and at the collar. Upon encountering a woman in one of these frocks, one would be inclined to burp her rather than try to engage in intelligent conversation.

At Maison Martin Margiela, troll-like men dressed in black pushed women on dollies along a track. And ultimately, this was a good thing. The women posed and preened to music while wearing pinstriped suits in which one pant leg was left unfinished, its fabric trailing onto a bolt of fresh cloth. Other models, dressed in languorous white dresses, wore necklaces made of colored ice cubes that slowly melted, bleeding green or fuchsia onto the garment. In case anyone is wondering, the presentation posed questions about the nature of design -- what is finished vs. what is still raw; serendipitous creativity vs. something that is planned and manipulated. And yes, the suits were quite beautiful.

On Sunday morning, Valentino's spring collection, inspired by Chinese jackets, showed off some lavish embroidery and tasseled belts that accented the waists of austere white dresses and skirts. His floral prints in shades of yellow and raspberry were an exuberant burst of color and energy that reminded one of the pleasure that Valentino continues to deliver based on the simple belief that a woman wants to look beautiful.

Sometimes fashion need not get any more complicated than that.