Out of the mist in the Hotel Solomon de Rothschild emerged a ghost/Miss Havisham/sci-fi princess – choose as you please, her gait so precise, her skirt slowly being reclaimed by bare branches, her hair windswept in her face - you couldn’t take your eyes off her. Will someone ask Gareth Pugh to make the wardrobe for a post-apocalyptic film taking place sometime in the near future/on a planet far far away or our own, post-big-event-we-shall-not-name, please? Not that there was anything remotely costumey in what Pugh showed this afternoon – on the contrary, lift the long jackets, folded gilets or leather coats off the ball gown skirts and you have some perfectly modern, achingly cool outerwear. It’s just that his vision is so layered and thorough it begs to have a story to tell.
The lines remained long and lean throughout, only for the skirts to grow bigger and rounder and the tops to get more corseted in. The funnel neckline was a constant and so were the v-shaped cuts and triangle openings on the backs of coats and the napes of jackets that allowed for movement. Slowly the hair got more bedraggled, the eye-make darker and black started to creep in until it took over, starting with soft wools, continuing with leather and ending with…bin bags. That’s right. Shredded bin bags edged hemlines where someone more ordinary than Pugh might have opted for feathers. Among all this, came looks of such utter elegance and simplicity you wanted to walk out in them there and then; a white long gilet, folded at the front, over tailored black trousers or a, again, white long t-shirt of a tunic sat over a floor-sweeping skirt.
I urge you to look at the image of Julia Nobis in her black-as-night basket-weave gown, bin bag trimmings and all, and not want to know more about her – who is she, where did she come from, can she take us with her? The end.