Cathy Horn's review says it all !
I’ve been getting around Paris on a motorcycle, a big Honda driven by a man named Olivier Santoni-Cosquer, whose company often ferries models to the shows. It’s like driving with the top down. You see the sky, the silhouettes of the buildings, the trees along the Seine. There was a full moon last night as we came down the avenue from the Rick Owens show, its beams showering the Louvre. I just sat there grinning. The city I’ve known for 30 years suddenly looked different.
Of course, some things a fresh perspective cannot help. I was amazed by the size of the crowd outside the Balmain show, mostly kids trying to get pictures of the models and celebrities. Jared Leto, Kanye West, and Kim Kardashian, with her mother, Kris Jenner, were there, Kardashian and Leto as bleached blondes. People keep saying to me that nothing has changed, but I can feel a shift in the past year. When I saw Dries Van Noten in his showroom, an hour later, he thought so, too.
“It’s a media business,” I said to Dries.
“And product, product, product,” he said.
But to stick with Balmain. For all the beaded fringe that designer Olivier Rousteing hung on the dresses — fringe the color of orange soda — and for all the expensive satin pleating, there was no artistry to it. The sex appeal was in doubt, too. Clingy lace knits revealed too much, and a girl would suffer in wide-leg satiny pants with pleats. She’d be constantly worried that her *** looked too big (and she’d be right). The bright colors and the way they were arranged in blocks, with splashy fringe, made me think of an Evel Knievel costume. Okay, now I know what to wear if I want to be shot out of a cannon.
But to me the dreariest part of Balmain, the thing that performed the shift from amusing runway spectacle to four-page spread in Hello! magazine, was the vaguely regal entrance of the West-Kardashians and their bodyguards/court attendants. It was the celebrity media scene that designers have wanted for the last ten years, but it’s starting to feel dated and out-of-touch.
Cathy Horn
The Cut