Proving Their Worth?

Doctrine of Extravagance

Few designers are as facile at myth-making as Lauren. They have the pressure of being judged on their clothes alone, not on the stories they weave. But designer Thom Browne and the sisters who created Rodarte try to give customers a sense that by shopping high-end they are getting a philosophical statement or an artistic manifesto.

Browne has an aesthetic viewpoint that is eloquent and audacious. His spring menswear collection, shown Thursday afternoon, toyed with the notion of beach holidays, old-fashioned Fourth of July celebrations and Americana. He continues to emphasize his signature and influential shrunken suit silhouette with trousers that hover above the ankle bone and jackets with cropped sleeves and a close fit.

But he goes further. Some blazers have sleeves that just cover the biceps. He layers them over daintily woven knits and shirts with sleeves so long they extend over the hands and are knotted together in back like a well-tailored straitjacket. Is that a subversive way of noting that the business uniform as we've always known it is constricting rather than liberating?

Browne shrinks tennis sweaters and slices them open at the hemline. He re-imagines a dinner jacket as a white-on-white embroidered blazer trimmed with tiny rosettes. The traditional notions of masculinity and femininity collide in Browne's work. He shows suit jackets with trains -- not a slightly exaggerated tailcoat but the kind of train that would be found on a wedding gown. For spring, he lines it in white terrycloth. He embroidered a jacket and pants in a thick bouquet of fabric flowers, turning a gentleman into a slightly monstrous walking rosebush.

Browne has something to say about masculinity and the way it's perceived culturally. A man who buys one of his garments with its distinctive cut is agreeing to help broadcast that message. Browne is leading a protest against preconceived notions, the mundane, and to some extent, the slow death of the creative spirit.

Imagination Run Wild

Laura and Kate Mulleavy use the runway as an art studio. From the beginning, their work, much of it handmade, has had a serendipitous quality. So many bits of fabric, lines and ideas all seem to collide and, if something beautiful comes out of the cacophony, it is as if by chance. The beauty of their work is in the sense of discovery. The longer you look at a garment, the more you are intrigued trying to dissect a seam or understand the way in which a ruffle is constructed.

But sometimes ideas collide and the result is disastrous. For spring, Rodarte is a mix of dresses with iridescent blue pleats and insets of sheer lace, loosely woven sweaters in blues and pale peach with metallic threads, uncomfortably revealing lace dresses and narrow trousers with awning stripes formed by inverted seams. These are ambitious ideas executed awkwardly, causing the collection to veer wildly from intriguing to ungainly to "Egads!"

Experimentation is admirable, and it's what kept the audience waiting on a hot Saturday afternoon in an un-air-conditioned loft with perspiration dripping down its collective back. (Couldn't someone have passed a tin cup to buy these designers some industrial fans?) Gaining access to something utterly new and undiluted is what makes shoppers willing to pay a premium for a garment. But simply being odd for the sake of standing out, trying to pass off eccentricity for creative genius, those are among the surest ways drive people to the Gap in search of a palate-cleansing plain white T-shirt.

Wearying Monotony

What happens if a designer isn't a philosopher or an aesthete? Is it still possible for a frock to sell itself by virtue of a compelling design? Not if a designer's high-end collection is virtually indistinguishable from the discounted ones.

When Mark Badgley and James Mischka presented their Badgley Mischka flagship collection, one couldn't help but note that it lacked the lushness that suggests wealth and luxury. It was a collection of relatively ho-hum sportswear, of high-waist trousers, cotton shorts and cocktail dresses that too often mistook matronliness for sophisticated reserve.

Vera Wang seemed to be inspired by a mournful artist living in highly romanticized poverty. Her signature collection was a mix of oversize knit polo shirts with insets of fluttering chiffon, sack dresses with paper bag necklines and convoluted tops that are cinched and tied yet still manage to almost fall off the body. The collection speaks of the sort of self-consciously intellectual woman who likes her films with subtitles, her meals with coulis and foam and her humor more ironic than funny. That's not chic, that's annoying.

Designer Behnaz Sarafpour's work barely stands out. A pretty pair of black shorts with a crisp white pleated swing top is a combination that would appeal to any number of women. But they are likely to be better served seeking it out at Club Monaco prices. A long white seersucker gown looks comfortable and elegant on the runway, but one could almost hear the sewing machines in some dingy distant factory revving up to produce the knockoffs.