No-one can send the fashion pack into a tailspin better than Mr. Jacobs.
Will his show start on time? Or god forbid, early? Will Lady Gaga have to stand at the back to watch the show again? Will Rachel Zoe make it this season?
To such profound questions we may never know the answer.
What we DO know is that the designer caught everyone off guard by changing the scheduled times of BOTH his shows this NYFW, naturally sending gasps of horror and panic through the industry.
Most of the International editors had flights to London scheduled out of JFK at the new 'curtain up' time for the main collection; and of course had only booked their hotels for a Thursday a.m. check out! Oh the outrageous, disastrous, inconvenience of it all. But the show must go on - and so it did - with no less of a furore, and certainly worth the extra few days of feverish anticipation.
In what was probably one of Jacobs' most paired down collections of late, the models wandered trance like around the enormous circular stage not once , but twice - almost as if making up for the unfortunate scheduling issue and ensuring the editors who HAD changed their plans, got their money's worth.
But there was more to this repetitiveness than a mere bigger bang for our buck. It was clear that Jacobs wanted us to see the collection twice - firstly in a twilight state, and then again, in the cold harsh light of day.
The models, who resembled debauched 60's debutantes, appeared to be doing some 'walk of shame' through the lamp lit streets of some great metropolis just before sunrise - only to find themselves still far from home way after the sun had hit midday.
Some literally half naked, others clutching fur coats closed as if fearing the exposure of their nakedness underneath, the models seemed both fragile and lost, yet determined and resolute, as they circumnavigated the runway under the gaze of an enormous solar disk which was both menacing and comforting in equal measure.
So great a spectacle was the show, that the clothes almost became secondary. Which was possibly the point. In all their excruciating banality, these garments were intended to be a purely incidental part of the landscape of your life, not to become the be all and end all of your existence.
By Andrew Holden in New York