Tonight Yves Saint Laurent can be summed up in a single word: perfection. Absolute, utter, total perfection. It's actually difficult to articulate the high this show has left everyone on - we lapsed into hyperbole and accosted passers-by to solicit their opinion. And what triggered this? A concise, precise vision of laser-sharp clarity, articulating exactly how women should look right now, and single-handedly redefining the season to come into the bargain. As with so much of Pilati's work, the elements he borrowed from veered into what our pedestrian perceptions consider 'bad taste' - peplum jackets, dirndls, hooker-heft shoes and goth makeup. His absolute genius is that he could make a packed-to-the-rafters room at the Grand Palais audiably heave a sigh of wanton, blatent desire at every single exit. Nothing else in Paris - or indeed in all the Autumn shows - has been as right, as unutterably, unequivocally ideal, as YSL. We have seen the future: buy everything, question nothing.