Now close your eyes and I’ll take you up town to the Marc by Marc Jacobs show. You are going to the Armoury on Lexington Avenue. The is a military establishment and home to a real regiment, except for twice a year during fashion week when the Marc Jacobs posse moves in with the Fighting 69th. There are big muscly men in military fatigues hanging over the balconies looking like they are impatient to get the whole darn tootin’ lot of fashion folk out of the house so they can get back to cleaning their Howitzers. There are camouflaged troop carriers parked outside and swords on the walls. At the backstage door, Marc Jacobs, wearing a skirt (well, OK, a 'skort'), is bombarded by camera crews desperate for interviews. The show starts and out come Marc’s models.
Now you have to think yourself back to 1986, Molly Ringwald, Pretty In Pink and The Psychedellic Furs (oh, for goodness sake, look them up if you don’t already instantly know what I’m talking about!). You have high tops, dirndl skirts and sweatshirts. You have teased hair done up in big pink or blue taffeta bows. You have boxy school blazers over tartan shirts. You have Holly Hobby fabric patchwork bags and studded belts. You have flat gold platform sandals. You have shiny satin emerald green jumpsuits. And you have handbags shaped like vanity cases. Fun, no? Marc hoiked the look into 2010 with a smattering of tribal printed fabrics (aboriginal, African and Maori) guaranteeing the urban primitive story becomes a defining NY Fashion Week headline.
- Paula Reed in New York
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