Dark Delights
Without Ruffles or Flourishes, Designers Show a Somber Side for Fall

By Robin Givhan
Washington Post Staff Writer
Friday, March 3, 2006

PARIS, March 2

Instead of the light-as-meringue frocks and sweet interpretations of femininity so dominant in past seasons, the clothes unveiled for fall 2006 are more substantial both in weight and tone. Designers have paid less attention to ladylike niceties such as flouncy ruffled collars and the twinkle of sequins on an irresponsible slip of a dress.

It only makes sense that the clothes have a certain gravity. Designers are like sponges, absorbing the uneasy and fearful mood of the culture. Then they spill out masterly emotional summations of what it means to live in the world at a precise moment.

One can choose from a long list of topics -- political, social, religious, cultural, avian -- to find a reason to fret, protest, drink or simply stock up on canned goods and dive into the nearest fruit cellar. But sobriety has been good for the designers here, who have taken that dark energy and tried to make sense of it. Christian Dior designer John Galliano turned to rebellion, finding inspiration in the look of easy riders, classic rock and Gothic flourishes. Jean Paul Gaultier took a more theatrical and sinister approach, creating a collection that left one feeling as though he had transformed the poetry of Edgar Allan Poe into wisps of chiffon, sharp lines of wool and heart-pounding assaults on the waist. Dries Van Noten used his quiet collection of dark trouser suits and ribbon-tied cloaks like a plea for introspection, for taking the time to do a bit of "personal work" before trying to cure everyone else's ills. At Rochas, designer Olivier Theyskens stepped out of his usual reverie, ignoring for the moment his elegiac muses in their floor-skimming gowns to concentrate on a collection that was more evocative of strength and clear-headedness.

Balenciaga

Tuesday began with Balenciaga, and in the capable hands of designer Nicolas Ghesquiere, the collection was a blend of the past -- as established by Cristobal Balenciaga in the mid-20th century -- and the present. Wee wool skirts, with starched and stubborn gathers, jutted from beneath egg-shaped jackets with tiny collars that surrounded the body in a manner at once reassuring and coolly deferential. Bobby hats loomed atop each model's head. And each woman walked with grace and confidence in boots with death-defying platform heels.

Ghesquiere purged the house of the extravagant ruffles, pleats and decorative flourishes that defined his spring 2006 collection and made it one of the most breathtaking visions of the season. Whether that decision is brave or reckless, only the cash register can tell. But aesthetically, Ghesquiere created a collection that is strong and provocative. It does not equivocate. The shapes are unrelenting in their severity. These are dignified clothes -- save for those teensy-weensy skirts that rocket away from the hips like a series of corkscrew curls.

These clothes celebrate the silhouettes that came to define the house under its founder. Yet they do not look like pieces from a vintage collection. They have been reworked, tweaked and reinvented so they look as though they have sprung from the imagination of a designer working in the present.

Ghesquiere sees the way that women clutch their coat collars as they brace themselves against the cold, and that is reflected in the way the jackets narrow at the shoulders. He knows how they love the feeling of power and authority gained from a towering pair of high heels. He realizes how hard women work out, how they take pride in their physiques. He knows they want to show it off but not flaunt it. Ghesquiere understands the difference between sexuality and sensuality, and he puts a bit of both in his collection. If his spring collection was all fizzy champagne, his fall collection is vodka on ice -- bracing, strong and clean.

Gaultier

Even the dogs were unhappy at the Gaultier show.

The designer debuted his fall collection Tuesday in the narrow confines of his showroom. As the audience sat waiting for the presentation to begin, banners of dove gray chiffon hung from the ceiling and fluttered in the air, suggesting that waves of mist were blowing through the room. The models emerged against a backdrop of a moonlit night, one that could just as easily be menacing as romantic. His first model was dressed in the same gray as those banners, and so the effect was of a woman finding her way out of a foggy, distant landscape. Her skirt and blouse swirled around her with their rough-edged gathers and twisted ruffles. Other models followed in trench coats cinched tight at the waist, trousers that flowed around the legs and sweaters with ribbon embroidery spiraling up the sleeves.

Sometimes a dog or a cat -- or even an owl -- accompanied the models down the runway. Or at least that was the plan. The animals were styled to resemble their walkers. A poodle wore a corset, for instance. A greyhound and its walker were both wearing plastic Elizabethan collars -- the demoralizing accessory for any dog that has ever emerged from the vet's office with stitches that can't be disturbed. While the model was willing to pose for the photographers with her head cupped in a translucent cone, the dog had other ideas and refused to move more than halfway down the runway. (One has to admit that the dog seemed to be the smarter of the two in this situation.) Eventually, they both turned back with their promenade only half completed. But there was plenty in this beautifully mournful collection to send one into a reverie about "The Raven" or to leave one imagining the pounding of "The Tell-Tale Heart."

Dries Van Noten, Dior

Occasionally a collection can strike a chord of emotion that one feels to the core. It's an unpredictable occurrence because it isn't always brought on by a collection that is more beautiful than anything the designer has done before. It is not a matter of surprising the eye with a gimmick. Sometimes, a collection stirs that subtle pang because of its simplicity or because it seems to speak so calmly and sincerely while all around others are shouting and posturing.

Maybe the answer lies in the simple glasses of tea with flecks of floating gold offered to guests at Van Noten's show Wednesday. The great falsehood perpetuated by the fashion industry during runway season is the alleged sense of intimacy and glamour. One sees so many novices and friends-of-the-house arrive at the shows full of anticipation and dressed in their finery who then are stunned to find themselves waiting in a cold warehouse, wondering how much longer they will have to stand around in their brand-new four-inch heels. An invitation that had sounded so personal now has the sound of a cattle call at a convention center. Only occasionally does it feel as though the sensibility of the designer -- and not some set dresser, publicist, financier -- permeates every aspect of the experience, from the clothes to the way in which the audience is greeted at the door. Van Noten excels at making everything seem personal -- even though he was not back in the kitchen brewing the tea.

So when a model comes walking down his golden runway -- squares of gold leaf flickering in her wake -- it reads like a sonnet written by the designer himself. For fall, Van Noten is more restrained, focusing on tailored trousers with high waists, and trim jackets rather than billowing skirts. His prints are kept to a minimum, his lavish embroidery reserved for the occasional coat. But the telltale signs of his aesthetic are all present. The clothes are layered in unexpected ways, as with an embroidered jumper worn over a chalk-striped jacket and trousers. There are metallic gold pumps with stacked heels, and jackets that wrap across the body and are secured with a ribbon.

His single most enticing print is of a red crescent against an ivory backdrop. It recalls the signature prints seen in the collection of Ottoman textiles that were on display at the Arthur M. Sackler Gallery earlier this year. East merges with West when he pairs the crescent prints with menswear jackets or uses them on a gown cut with a daringly bare back.

Galliano did not offer his audience tea, but the folks at Dior did provide steaming coffee, hot spiced wine and lap blankets, since their presentation was set inside the vast unheated expanse of the Grand Palais on a cold Tuesday night.

Galliano sent his models down the runway in black sunglasses, long black coats trimmed in fur, and chunky motorcycle boots that would serve one well in a bar brawl. The models had bandannas wrapped around their heads, and '80s rock blared from the speakers.

Last month, designers in Milan tried to inject the rebellious fervor of rock-and-roll into their collections. But only Galliano succeeded in exploiting the antiestablishment sensibility of rock while chuckling at the silliness of the idea that anything with a Dior label could be construed as subversive. With models in black lace and motorcycle boots or billowing blood-red silk gowns with the silhouette of a menacing black bird, Galliano teases and winks at the idea of the Dior lady as a biker chick with heavy boots and a concierge at the Ritz to keep them shined.

Rochas

For all the drama and strutting on the Dior runway, the calm at the Rochas show was almost startling. Wednesday night, with the Eiffel Tower twinkling in the distance, guests walked through the dark Tuilerie gardens to a large white tent. There were no throbbing crowds. No crush of the ambitious and the uninvited at the gates. Rochas is not a scene. Theyskens has quietly rebuilt it into a label known for its austerity, reserve and sensuality. Theyskens has led the movement toward clothes in which much is left to the imagination. And he has raised the profile of the house without the aid of starlets. The clothes alone speak.

Theyskens's fall collection was less focused on the inner life of a woman -- her daydreams, her private reveries -- and more on the way in which she engages the world. With his focus on dark trousers and close-fitting jackets, there is the sense that he is preparing her for movement, not the pleasure of swanning about for others to admire. He seems to have simplified the collection, taking the spirit of his elaborate evening gowns and using that as the starting point for his day suits. And there was a handbag on the runway! The sight of an accessory is a sure sign that a house is expanding from a notion of creative purity into the practical realm of making money.

Theyskens's gowns still reveal him to be a romantic -- particularly those with tiny black birds flitting across smoky gray silk or with a hemline of tulle and silk that seems to be in perpetual motion, like a swirling cloud of smoke. But his beautifully executed suits suggest that he knows there doesn't have to be anything ugly about practicality.