Once upon a time, Jil Sander’s commercial collection held an almost mythic mystery for editorial types. Invariably, after she had presented one of her tight, oh-so-spare and artsy collections — in which those in the know could recognize the distinct hand of her stylist, Joe McKenna — swooning editors would query each other, “Have you been to Hamburg? They say her commercial collection is the size of a football field.” It was reputed to be a vast lineup supposedly lean on Kawakubo-style kudos, but flush with the lush near-classics that had made Sander a rock star to her rich, discretion-craving fans.

 

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