This sort of perfection finds its natural counterpart in the work of Fifth Avenue's finest, and accordingly legions of adoring, airbrushed fans.
Matthew Williamson has been presenting his eponymous line in New York for almost a decade now, and it shows. His occasional forays back across to London Fashion Week only serve to highlight the transatlantic gloss his collections have been finely polished to, oozing the money and leisure required (nay, demanded) of anyone shelling out for his neat suiting or bright evening dresses. This season was naturally no exception - the clothes seemed more suited to well-coiffed hostesses in Palm Beach or Des Moines, popping with colour and wrapped with decoration. Williamson's time at Pucci evidently taught him a thing or two about mixing a print or two - or five for that matter. There were airs of eighties Emanuel Ungaro in print-mashed floor-length frocks swathed tautly about the body and sliced open down the sides. The flashes of acid fuchsia and the fluorescent yellow hue of chiffon wrapped into a long evening gown and draped blouse were, however, entirely Williamson's own, as were strong contrasts of tangerine, cyclamen and lemon. 'Daywear' was euphemistically titled at best: high-waisted shorts in bronze silk and jackets crusted with thick silver embroidery or with bells embroidered across shoulders don't exactly spell workaday, ditto Williamson's deliciously impractical chiffon and brocade take on a trench. Then again, work is no doubt the last thing on his clients' minds. In New York, this sort of perfection finds its natural counterpart in the work of Fifth Avenue's finest, and accordingly legions of adoring, airbrushed fans. In London, it's mature and even staid polish seemed oddly incongruous.