EVERY season in Paris, there's a major retrospective art exhibition which garners huge audiences and just as much publicity. Last winter, Cezanne was the choice of subject at the moment, it's Corot.
This mid 19th century precursor of the Impressionists should be required study for the French fashion industry right now - not so much for his work but because the man himself provides a useful lesson in how quickly the avant garde can become representative of the establishment.
Suddenly, fashion in Paris has a lot of latter day Corots: a generation which sprung up almost 30 years ago at the forefront of new design has comfortably settled into middle ago as its members enter their mid fifties. Even Gaultier is long past his 40th birthday and developing a middle aged spread, which makes the enfant terrible tag sound distinctly silly. The industry in which he and his peers work is currently going through a difficult transition as the market for clothes changes. And yet many of the older generation cannot truly empathise with what is happening and remain locked, like Corot, in the tastes of their youth.
As last week's Paris shows demonstrated, this is a widespread phenomenon. Even more embarassing, however, has been the frequent spectacle of designers desperately trying to adapt to a new culture with which they really have little real sympathy. There was, for example, an almost universal attempt last week to find "alternative" venues to those provided in the Louvre, following the lead of some younger names who originally went elsewhere only because of financial constraints; three well known houses successively used the same derelict (and freezing cold) factory on the outskirts of the city.
Even though he only ventured to another location in the Louvre complex, Christian Lacroix seemed to be infected by this current desire to break loose from old constraints and develop a fresh approach. The electricity supply failed twice during his show, providing everyone with convenient metaphor for Lacroix's on/off success with the collections. In his jeans line, for example, the power quite definitely failed: Lacroix is a designer who depends upon luxurious fabrics to validate his intoxicating mixture of colour and pattern. Applied to denim and nylon, it simply looked like cut price Gaultier. On the other hand, his main ready to wear collection - like so many others at the moment drawing inspiration from the 1970s - was as richly inventive as ever although this time around with a more subdued palette than is usually his choice.
Karl Lagerfeld also opted to leave the Louvre and the security of the past for something more adventurous and the results were even more disappointing. In his own name collection, the main theme was coats which entirely envelope the body: instead of fitting neatly at the shoulders and hips as is popular everywhere else, Lagerfeld served up enormous wool confections in shades of pink and burnt orange exposing only feet clad in suede moon boots of equally bright hue. Similarly and just as perversely, his trouser suits had wide pants even while most other designers have voted en masse for a narrow leg next season. Lagerfelds collection for Chanel is today - the omens are not encouraging.
Over at Dior, meanwhile, like an artist worried his time may be up, designer Gianfranco Ferre seemed determined not to overlook any trend, whether past, present or potential. His interminable show therefore included a bit of everything from original Dior new look style flared knee length coats to equestrian inspired jodhpurs teamed with black leather biker jackets and from thence onto quilted fur lined trenchcoats, short cream wool shift dresses with three quarter length sleeves and straight black pants worn with velvet and lace panel led shirts. If ever confirmation was needed of fashion's current confusion, the latest Dior show provided ample evidence.
Even designers whose reputation has been based on breaking rules seemed to falter this time around and opt for safety. Vivienne Westwood's show, for example, frequently looked like a rerun of her greatest hits: patchwork tartan skirts and jackets that came with velvet capes or chocolate moleskin knickerbocker suits with 18th century style sack backs hanging to the waist. Maybe it was the presence of Jerry Hall on the catwalk one more time, but this show exuded a sense of d'eja vu down to the last velvet ballgown with accompanying peplum jacket.
John Galliano too offered little that hasn't been seen before and not just because his Last of the Mohicans/Pocahontas theme was covered by films in recent years. It's just that he now seems locked into producing exquisitely beaded and ruched peignoirs, pirate shirts, cunningly tailored skirts and jackets in the manner of Jacques Fath (in grey flannel or grey tweed heavily speckled with white this season) and bias cut silk jersey dresses that demonstrate his superior cutting skills.
Best of the new here were some bold Indian print batwing floor trailing coats and navy and white striped trouser suits with maroon braiding around the collar and the wide pants' concertina pleating held in place by diagonal lines of tiny beads.
Perhaps it was the fact that he dragged his audience to the outer suburbs and then kept them waiting over an hour, but Galliano's first ready to wear collection for Givenchy received only a tepid response. Summarised by one tired buyer as "mother of the bride" clothes, the show principally comprised a series of grey and black worsted bolero jackets decorated with bows down the front and presented with highwaisted toreador trousers and the same drape fronted jackets that had already been seen in his couture show for the same house last January. This season's lime green came out in a silk jersey piped in red the latter colour also appeared on jersey dresses draped on one hip before falling to the ankle.
Jean Paul Gaultier got Liza Minnelli in his audience but little else that stuck in the memory. Ponchos were one of his big (but definitely not great) ideas this season, along with stretch jersey jumpsuits, often with boned bust. Even the smoking jacket complete with satin backed crepe lapels got the jumpsuit treatment. Occasionally there were pieces that looked wearable such as rich ox blood and bottle green brocade; trouser suits or cashmere cutaway coats that flared out from the waist, but pretty soon these would be swamped again by the appearance of another poncho.
Maybe the solution for this generation of designers is to abandon efforts at keeping up with change and simply stick to an established formula. That would appear to be the conclusion of Sonia Rykiel who after a seasons of erratic rejuvenation efforts, has now gone back to what she does best simple, understated knitwear. So her show had lots of plain black ribbed sweaters pulled in with thin belts and worn with slim black pants.
Aside from putty and stone shades, there was relatively little colour - some turquoise and pink for shift dresses and matching knee length coats and Rykiel's trouser suits were absolutely au courant in their figure skimming simplicity.
Sadly, sticking to an established formula doesn't always work, as Yves St Laurent's new collection proved. In this case, retro meant almost pretending that the past 20 years hadn't occurred so close were many of the clothes to those produced by St Laurent in the mid 1970s. That meant lots of knee length black velvet skirts and tight belted jackets in the bold pinks, purples and reds that he has always loved. And while there were trouser suits aplenty, invariably they were cut in a terribly outdated way, the pants heavily pleated at the waistband and then falling like palazzos.
There wasn't much new to see at Valentino yesterday either. His vision of women swear looks locked in a timewarp of glamour that hasn't changed for at least a decade: fur collared coats darted at the waist and then flaring to the knee, short pleated skirts and boxy, square shouldered Spencer jackets and chalk stripe pant suits very like those of St Laurent. Valentino loves overt sexuality, which is presumably why Sharon Stone's his most famous customer at the moment. She'll no doubt love the heavily beaded layered chiffon dresses he offered for evening wear but to anyone who keeps an eye on fashion, it all seemed rather de mode.
CONFIDENCE in hid own beliefs has always been a hallmark of Yobji Yamamoto's work and it was demonstrated once more with his new collection. What marked one apart from its predecessors was an increasing appearance of colour, especially for layered heavy knits that came out in shades of taupe, orange and olive green.
There was even bright red for a cutaway coat which gathered in a bustle at the rear and was shown with an equally bright ribbed sweater and boiled wool dress. Stiffened and unseamed felt and tweed was used for a succession of coats and suits that stood out stiffly from the body beneath.
However, undisputed leader of the fashion pack in Paris at the moment is another non Frenchman, 39 year old Austrian Helmut Lang whose show offered the best example of getting everything just right while appearing to make absolutely minimal effort. That meant lots of vaguely military themes from the heavy use of khaki green for knee length fitted coats to fatigue hipster pants with long sleeved T shirts carrying his signature elbow slits but no busy patch pockets or epaulettes.
Lang also covered the trouser suit in the season's favourite lean silhouette with close fitting shoulders and straight legs that flare slightly from the knee. And he didn't overlook the choice of lightweight knitwear either: gossamer fine gauze tops that crossed over the chest and in some cases faintly revealed that beneath lay bands of multi coloured sequins sewn onto nylon. The shift dress wasn't overlooked either; scoop necked and on the knee, the finest of all we're those in floral strewn lace cashmere. It was all very calculated in its coolness but after so much fuss and confusion elsewhere, Lang's show looked wonderfully refreshing.
Among the new generation of designers, he's the first post impressionist.