Photo: Indigital.tv1/7Helmut Lang, Fall 1994We trembled; we wept; we saw how we would dress from here on in. Oh, my Lord. Cecilia Chancellor, Elfie Semotan, Linda Evangelista, Christy Turlington, Tatjana Patitz, Cordula Reyer, Nadja Auermann, Stella Tennant, Jeny Howorth. Then Kirsten Owen in the raspberry pink latex dress imprinted with lace. Helmut, done, dusted for the ’90s.
Photo: Indigital.tv2/7John Galliano, Spring 1995It was a show so electric, so glamorous, so acted, you had to cling onto your neighbor not to fall off your seat. And when Linda Evangelista swept past in that canary tulle ’50s dress, it was downright faint-worthy. Apparently, she hijacked the dress to sleep with it so she could see it the moment she opened her eyes for some time afterward.
Photo: Indigital.tv3/7Gucci, Fall 1995When fashion swings on its axis, you feel it in every fiber of your being. That’s what happened that day in Milan when Tom Ford put on his single spotlight and sent out Amber, Shalom, and Kate in velvet boot cuts, fuzzy peacoats, car-paint loafers, and hobo bags. No going back. Everything changed. A backstage boy became a star.
Photo: firstView4/7Alexander McQueen, Spring 2001Lee McQueen did everyone’s head in by making us wait, embarrassingly staring at ourselves in a mirrored box for an hour. Then it turned out to be a two-way mirror as the show began. Inside, the models plucked at themselves, had bandaged heads, castle hats, dresses made of shedding mussel shells and feathers. They were inmates of an asylum, sick with grandiosity and narcissism. It was his terrifying meditation on the subjects of vanity, insanity, and death—a smack in the face, and a visceral taste of McQueen’s genius I’ll never shake off.
Photo: Indigital.tv5/7Balenciaga, Fall 2006When Nicolas Ghesquière decided to look into Cristóbal Balenciaga’s archive, he came back with these volumes, these flounces, these flowers, these riding hats. But it was the elongated legs and the huge platforms that were truly staggering. I remember André Leon Talley hooting, “Oh, it’s the Clydesdale boot!” as he left the building. Some shrieked, “No one will ever wear that!” But thenceforward, humungous platforms stomped every street, for years.
Photo: Indigital.tv6/7Maison Martin Margiela, Spring 2007I’d already accepted Martin Margiela as my god well before this show, but there’s always a difference for me between appreciating the genius work and ideas of a designer and feeling that stomach lurch that compels you to buy it. It was the glam ’40s-meets-’70s peaked lapel, padded-shouldered jacket that did it for me. I wore it to death.
Photo: Indigital.tv7/7Christopher Kane, Spring 2007Fashion in London had been going a bit dull and timid—and then this happened. Straight off the starting block at Central Saint Martins, Christopher Kane dazzled an astonished audience with a show of 32 neon-bright, bandaged body-con disco dresses made of market stall lace, nylon tights, and a breathtaking level of confidence. Every girl, it turned out, was just waiting for Kane’s signal. Fun, color, and dancing were back in fashion, and it opened the door for a total turnaround in the city’s creative fortunes.
