Vogue
You hear Nasir Mazhar’s show long before you are close enough to actually see anything—a kinetic, electric, booming rhythm emanating from a courtyard before and after the Meadham Kirchhoff show (a transfixing spectacle of neo-Victoriana, but that’s another story).
The Grime MCs No Lay, Marger, and Flirta D are responsible for the irresistible sounds, and they, and a posse of their confederates are hanging around on set, as if at a party in some far-off cellar or perhaps at a barbershop; they’re wearing not just Mazhar’s urban hats, which this season sport little pencils (because you never know when the perfect lyric will pop into your head?), but also this season, for the first time, the designer’s clothing.
It’s a super-casual collection, meant for both men and women, but Mazhar says please don’t call it sportswear: “It’s not like it’s for playing rugby or anything,” he shouts over the din. No indeed, you wouldn’t want to kick a ball around in the orange fishnet maxi pulled over a black bra and panties, or the fuzzy pink shorts, or the white trousers that sport rows of cartoon people marching up their side seams.
The favorite item among this particular crowd? Hands down, it’s the belted halter-and-pouch slung over the male models’ bare chests. “Everyone’s trying to steal the holsters!” Mazhar says, and he doesn’t seem a bit unhappy about it.
No comments:
Post a Comment