Jonny Johansson likes to build collections around what’s happening in his own life, so he’s currently tapping into his inner good vibrations — and the surfer lifestyle he’s adopted since buying a house in the Stockholm archipelago (“I’m not a thrill seeker — it’s more like soul surfing,” the creative director said). Inspired by hanging around surfboard workshops with The Grateful Dead blaring from speakers, his resort lineup is “about a Deadhead who becomes a mother and here’s the daughter.” In a tête-à-tête presentation at the Beaux-Arts, models in tie-dye sock sneakers and elevated Swedish clogs glided by in a sweet haze of psychedelic prints, oblivious to the swollen Seine below, with hand-carved tiger’s eye skulls hanging from string necklaces and enameled flower rings on their toes.

 

Silhouettes oscillated between slimline and generous. There were bleach-dyed slipdresses with psychedelic ink-blot stains and snug patterned knits with TV-staticlike motifs. Crinoline skirts added an anachronistic twist to asymmetric slipdresses. Hooks were a leitmotif, connecting panels of draped silk on dresses or acting as rivets on a deconstructed wool mélange oversize blazer.

 

Recalling his denim roots, Johansson got his hands dirty testing myriad dyeing processes, displayed in everything from oil-dyed T-shirts to a supersoft utilitarian cotton suit with 3-D pockets that had been sprayed, bleached and sand-blasted. Other standouts included a palate-cleansing voluminous sleeveless black dress accessorized with butter-soft black “harness gloves,” and a psychedelic oil print silk blouse with a bleached out Seventies-style floral photo print on the sleeves that was to dye for.

By  on May 31, 2016

Jonny Johansson likes to build collections around what’s happening in his own life, so he’s currently tapping into his inner good vibrations — and the surfer lifestyle he’s adopted since buying a house in the Stockholm archipelago (“I’m not a thrill seeker — it’s more like soul surfing,” the creative director said). Inspired by hanging around surfboard workshops with The Grateful Dead blaring from speakers, his resort lineup is “about a Deadhead who becomes a mother and here’s the daughter.” In a tête-à-tête presentation at the Beaux-Arts, models in tie-dye sock sneakers and elevated Swedish clogs glided by in a sweet haze of psychedelic prints, oblivious to the swollen Seine below, with hand-carved tiger’s eye skulls hanging from string necklaces and enameled flower rings on their toes.

 

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