Should fashion shows remain a gathering of industry professionals, or an entertainment spectacle for all? No question on which side of the fence Philipp Plein stands.
Three silver semi-trailers, flames shooting out of their exhaust stacks à la “Mad Max,” pulled into Plein’s massive show venue loaded with their fashion cargo. A fourth arrived before the finale walk, its trailer decked out with whirling disco lights and Chris Brown singing and jumping. The audience — faces aglow from smartphone screens sat on a gigantic bleacher quaking with the power of the subwoofers.
Shod in sneakers, the models zoomed past a row of mirrored columns amid dim, nightclub lighting. The point wasn’t to study these flashy, mostly black clothes, but to catch impressions of them: Slinky dresses riddled with cutouts and slits; catsuits and slim pants loaded up with crystals; chubby fur coats and vests with ermine-esque spots. Sometimes a clutch bag was held against the hip; at other times, a skateboard.
Plein, with his gleaming teeth and faux-hawk hairstyle, took his bow by dancing out with the models. The crowd spilled off the bleachers and more revelers flooded into the venue just as the portable bars were rolled out. Who cares about seasons and see-now, buy-now? These were Saturday-night clothes, and it was Saturday night.
