After three straight seasons of spectacular spectacle and great clothes, John Galliano chose exactly the right moment to get real. Those elaborate tableau vivants of late? Gone. So were the models turned actresses, whom Galliano sent straight down the runway in clothes with genuine commercial appeal.
Of course, in Galliano’s world even a reality check is still pretty fantastic, which explains the giant black marabou cap with a gold chain chin strap that disguised the first look, a smart red jacket and simple skirt, as a fetching British Royal Guard. Galliano mined his own homeland security for a series of red and black sporty separates, such as anoraks done up in undone military details, which morphed into frillier fare. Again, don’t be fooled by the flamboyant head and footgear. Underneath the clown hair cloches, pirate hats, French poodle poufs, and laced up patent mary janes perched on vertiginous platforms were fabulous clothes to wear.
Galliano worked flimsy silk dresses, some gently draped or ruffled and topped with a jacket, in hot pink and bright orange and from there moved on to painterly pastels. Gauzy, sheer chiffon was printed with impressionist florals and whipped up into sweet nothing dresses full of his signatures. Some were delicately bias cut; others sported drop waists or cowls at the shoulder blades for a Twenties/Thirties feel. The see-through fabrics and fluttery ruffles continued into wistful evening wear, all floor-sweeping silks, such as a terrific, transparent embroidered blue tulle gown. If things got any lighter, they would have floated away.

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