Kiki Georgiou reports on the Jean Paul Gaultier show
You know those US Vogue editorials where Grace Coddington has fun, turning Raquel Zimmermann into Marilyn Manson but with the clothes themselves looking modern and ‘now’? This wasn’t it. This was a fun, crazy night out with JP.
Okay, let’s see what do we have here? *reads show notes* 'An homage to all the pop stars of the eighties who have influenced Fashion and my Fashion with their LOOK.' Alrighty Jean Paul, hit it!
Tonight Matthew, I’m going to be...Abba and Annie Lennox and Boy George and Bowie and Madonna and Michael Jackson and Sade! The last sentence is really all you need to know about last night’s Jean Paul Gaultier show-of-all-shows. And I’m not talking ‘influences’ here unless you’re referring to those of the other kind in which case, yeah, maybe. Cross my heart, they were all there. So, do not ask me what was JP’s take on the big power shoulders we’ve been seeing everywhere and the sharp tailoring that’s washing away every last maximalist tendency left in us. The phantom hangover I seem to be nursing since walking out of the show (if you catch me whistling Bowie’s Fashion or, God forbid, Abba please kick me) means that my answer would be, either a sheer black lace slip with some cropped black fishnet leggings a la JP’s BFF Madonna or, for chillier summer days, a shiny blue silk satin tracksuit with some good ol’ disco platforms a la, you guessed it, Abba! And for a fun evening out, why not don a Ziggy-Stardust-eat-your-heart-out star-spangled, sequin-bathed, one-armed leotard? You’re right Jean Paul, why not indeed!
In fact, if you managed to guide your jaw back in its place and if you tried, even for a second, to look at the models and not Blanca Li’s super-fit, super-hot dancers vogueing it like there’s no tomorrow in high-heeled ankle boots and not much else on the stage backdrop, you would have seen some pretty fine renditions of Gaultier classics. The Grace Jones sharp black tailoring that opened, for example. Or the Sade fringed and macramé dresses. If you’re looking for a bad, and I mean Michael-Jackson-bad, biker jacket there were a couple here. In the middle of all the madness, out walked an as-good-as-it-gets trench coat, belted on Aymeline, and a beige trouser suit, the shoulders on the jacket dropped, that looked serene and tranquil. Who was she, then? Jane Birkin, I guessed from the long pale denim skirt and open waistcoat that followed. No wonder we all still want to look like Jane.
You know those US Vogue editorials where Grace Coddington has fun, turning Raquel Zimmermann into Mariyln Manson but with the clothes themselves looking modern and ‘now’? This wasn’t it. This was a fun, crazy night out with JP. Everyone in my block was loving it, the lady next to me shouting ‘Come on, Jean Paul’, urging him to come out for his bow so she could wolf-whistle and clap for him. You may not believe me but I’ve left the best for last. Amanda Lear appeared with a young thing trailing her, and all the dancers strutted their stuff, one doing backflips down the catwalk. I mean, come on!
