The collection was about the confessions of a young Catholic boy. Memories of pius figures abstracted into form, the extended gilet, the tail of a priest's robe. Bomber jackets in black satin adorned with the Madonna and child cloaked in darkness, her soft pale hand and the warm golden glow of her halo. The ornate jacquard fabric covered with swirls of candy cream and thick purple manifestations of Mary.
As a stream of taxis direct from the Givenchy atelier arrived, a truck filled with rails and black coffin-sized steel chests were ushered into the venue through the Parisian summer heat, the rich smell of white lilies and the swarm fifty nine beautiful young boys, an orchestra of organised chaos.
The breaking of the bread was accompanied by the church organ and Grimes' saccharine voice, transforming the industrial space into the sacrosanct of Riccardo Tisci. Everything went like clockwork, all the preparation was handled before the show at the atelier for a smooth outcome.
I didn't have so much as a favourite look, rather stories and moments within the collection. The finess of the tailoring. The incredible print work, twisted and dark and salted with humour. The delicate jacquard print and use of fabric and manipulations, the new papal silhouette and of course the hints of athleticism, the bomber jacket and the basketball singlet.
Text Melissa Levy
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