Walking into House of Holland was like stepping onto a construction site, so far so unremarkable, but when the lights went down and the black rubber floor started moving the genius of his pared-back set came to light. Whether or not it was intentional, serving his models up to the audience on a conveyor belt was as opaque a statement on fast fashion as Henry Holland could ever have made. Not exactly known for subtlety, the unblinking, stony-faced models in heavy soled Chelsea boots scowled down the conveyor and stomped off round the corner and their message was loud and clear: no gimmicks here. That’s not to say it wasn’t covetable, aside from the shearling which honestly I think we’re all quite tired of by now (and everyone will think is a high street homage anyway) the powerful, tomboy silhouette and bold prints worked very well. Pink and red tartan was classic Holland and recurred throughout and, while some of the mixed tartans felt perhaps a bit busy, a plain red silk bomber jacket was defiant, luxurious and maybe even practical.
Sweet striped dresses were worn over boyish black shirtsleeves and had just a peep of crunchy tutu poking out from underneath. Like an army of DIY Wes Anderson heroines, Holland’s girls had been at everything with a needle and unmatching thread; short velvet dresses had sleeves removed and visibly re-stiched and long sheer tops had undone straps swinging from the bottom. This season felt like a celebration of the less-than-perfect and the strongest looks were a bit off, a bit wrong. Holland’s spot on, because just like fast fashion, perfect can be perfectly boring.
