Marc Jacobs, All Wrapped in Optimism
The big sound of Philip Glass, a set worthy of Lincoln Center, clothes so clear in their imagination they conveyed the designer's vision at a glance: could Marc Jacobs have offered a more optimistic expression of American style?
At a time when our expectations for American fashion seem diminished by a talent for endorsing the idiotic, Mr. Jacobs managed to lift them. In Europe, you might see a theatrical set on the scale that Stefan Beckman designed for Mr. Jacobs's show on Monday night, evoking in wood a fragmented cityscape, but in Europe you would not see clothes that attempted to capture the loneliness and heroic feeling of life in that city.
Was it that good? You bet. There was the show itself. Through an opening in the high, jagged backdrop of Mr. Beckman's set, the models came down a long ramp and returned backstage on a lower, parallel platform, the entire structure in tundra brown and the effect at once alien and poetic. Frederic Sanchez, the music producer, cut and extended Mr. Glass's symphony, "Heroes," so that the composer's thunder dominated the scene and reinforced the impression of a single thought.
Then there were the clothes. Mr. Jacobs has used drab layers often enough over his career to be excused, I think, from answering questions about whether he's reprising grunge, a look he first showed in 1992. And though the shape of coats and skirts wrapped at the waist with sleeves suggested a Japanese influence, this was not the overwhelming thought. It was that the clothes were beautiful, and that in all those erratic layers — a taupe military jacket over a cream sweater with a leopard print skirt over loose trousers — an American designer had accurately captured the fractured quality of contemporary life.
The clothes also had a vagabond urban richness that completely jibes with how a lot of women like to dress, and a sensuality that was manifestly grown-up. A silk jersey top, draped in the front and embroidered with tiny crystals on the sleeves, appeared with a pair of loose, low-slung jeans in charcoal flannel.
Loose tops suggested sweatshirts, and under a number of skirts (in steel-gray leather or animal-printed velvet) were glen plaid trousers or leg warmers, which were crunched over snub-nose pumps slightly turned up at the toes like a doll's shoe left on a radiator. Black chiffon evening dresses, their backs scattered with sequins, had a fragile beauty.
There was so much to look at in the show. Even if the proportions and layers did not seem comprehensible, each outfit contained something you wanted. It may have been the leg warmers, or the extravagant tams, or a masculine-looking charcoal coat with a luscious fox fur bodice. But it was the combination of everything — the music, the set — that stayed in your mind.
Sorry, I should've paid more attention when I watched the video so I could say for sure.
Cathy Horyn's article is beautiful, and she appears to understand Marc at this time (remember what she said last year?). 
