Couture Spring 2009

Alexis Mabille

Now that Michelle Obama has come out so solidly in support of young American designers, it’s only natural to wonder whether Paris has an on-the-rise talent of its own who could be taken up by France’s First Lady. One such contender might be Alexis Mabille, a 30-year-old Lyon-born designer with a pedigree from YSL and Dior, who is now in his third season. He certainly made an ambitious leap forward today, sending out a huge collection of over 50 looks. Though some of that was menswear, and much of it could be discounted as unfocussed juvenilia, he proved he’s capable of moving beyond his status as the little guy who does cute things with bow-laden bags and shirts.

Despite a page-long, rambling press release, there wasn’t much of an evident theme to hold the collection together, but there were plenty of head-turning moments. He picked up the Paris vibe for glitter with a glowing, deep-green panne velvet dress with fishnet sleeves, and a sparkly red jacket thrown over gold lamé knee-length shorts. He also proved himself as a tailor with skinny bird’s-eye tweed pantsuits and chic Parisian pairings of a peacoat over a long dress, and a topcoat shrugged over wide-leg pants. The results were grown-up, but never stuffy. The image to take away was a beautiful look on Chanel Iman—a brown velvet circle skirt with layered blouses in mink-collared café-au-lait charmeuse and cream silk, one of Mabille’s signature ties at the neck. It would look great at lunch at the Élysée Palace, if anyone’s watching.

Armani Privé

For his Spring Privé collection, Giorgio Armani drew a supple, body-conscious line that took him into a new zone of all-out femininity. Concentrating on a neat torso drawn from his classic tailoring, he melded jackets to the rib cage and molded them to the shoulder, then balanced them over belled skirts sliced into geometric volumes at the hem. His real aim was to break away from the severity of suiting. With its plethora of handcrafted effects—from micro pleating to bold, broken-circle embroideries of plastic, crystal, and metallics—the collection read as an essay in pushing his own boundaries.

For cocktail through evening, he explored draping, chiffon, and frothy fan pleating with some pretty results (the best in subtle color washes of gray or pale yellow). He also took the opportunity to showcase the development of his luxe Privé accessories: giant cuffs, heart-shaped necklaces, chokers with beads and hand motifs, and crocodile clutches fastened with semiprecious cabochon stones. His long gowns—usually destined for the Academy Awards’ red carpet (though who knows, this year?)—were as authoritative as always, this time gently tiered and graceful in movement. As a finale, though, he gave away the honors to someone else: A multilayered orange-red organza gown was a tribute to Valentino, his great Italian compatriot in couture, who finally retires this season.

Christian Dior

There are only two questions anyone is asking Paris couturiers this season: “What are your inspirations?” followed swiftly by, “And what do you think about the recession?” John Galliano’s answers were “Flemish painters and Monsieur Dior,” and to the point, “There’s a credit crunch, not a creative crunch. Of course, everyone is being more careful with their discretionary purchases. I am. But it’s our job to make people dream, and to provide the value in quality, cut, and imagination.”

He’d cross-referenced the soft blues and golds of Vermeer and the elaborate lace collars and sleeves of Van Dyck with typically Galliano-esque hyper-exaggerations of Dior’s tight-waisted, full-skirted fifties shapes. As a starting point, it evoked some of the romantic femininity of Dior’s silhouette, but with surface ruffles and bouncing crinolined hemlines that went way beyond any sense of postwar austerity. As for the seventeenth-century Dutch elements, there were cross-laced corseted backs and cartridge-paper scrolls standing out on hips, and, as things progressed, tulip prints and blue-and-white Delftware embroideries peeking from the underskirts. The finale dress, in a gorgeous deep burnt red, had the stately dignity of an historical movie costume—not so much Girl With a Pearl Earring as Rembrandt’s Jewish Bride ( OK, that’s yet to be made, but the color’s exact).

Oddly, though, the clothes became lovelier when the collection didn’t stick so literally to the Old Masters—either painterly ones, or the founder of the house. When Galliano escaped the sweet Vermeer palette and moved into ivory, as he did with a slim dress implanted with raw-edged georgette rosettes and embroidered with silver leaves, or with an ingenue off-the-shoulder fifties dance dress banded with black bows, it all seemed simpler, fresher, less stilted. And more like the kind of thing that will actually keep Dior clients dreaming, and hopefully, spending.