This was a triumphant season for Miuccia and her team with a collection which harked back to classic, early Prada shapes and ideas. I knew something was up when, before entering the candy box of rooms connected by shiny silver aluminium tunnels I bit into a bright pink mini sandwich and found my mouth filled with salty cream. From the deceptively bitter cloudy pink cocktails to the butter-wouldn’t-melt pastels which dominated the collection, something of a subversion is happening at Prada this season. Of course Miuccia wouldn’t give us plain old sweet; instead she’s manipulated what’s generally considered the pushover of palettes into something fiercely modern.
Spongy layers of jersey were cut into perfect short trousers complete with the slightest kick flare and matching double breasted jackets were young without being cutesy. Leather gloves pulled high up the arms, tweed and fur panels were all lifted and softened by Miuccia’s masterful use of colour while a peppermint cream ostrich jacket was new luxury at its finest. Luxury’s proved rather problematic over the last year or so in fashion; designers either threw fur in fun colours all over the place or (if you’re Tom Ford) just pushed money and sex. In one fell swoop, this Prada collection undoes that garish conflagration of luxury with tastelessness and demonstrates just how possible it is to do something that is clean modern and opulent. This was evident throughout, from the sporty dresses sprinkled with jewelled brooches to the rich variety of colour which, in typical Prada style, threatened just here and there to become sickly. In fact it was all exactly like the experience I’d had with my sandwich. But of course you can distill the new Prada collection into a canapé – because like everything she turns her hand to, Miuccia’s canapés are perfect.