#PerfectPick: menswear SS22
‘Let’s go to the beach, beach, let’s go catch a wave’ seems to have reverberated across Europe’s ateliers as the Spring ‘22 menswear season comes to a close.
With show seasons already hanging on a quickly fraying thread, the past couple of weeks have seen womenswear swim into men’s, Resort flood over it all, and now the odd Autumn Winter collections are springing up after varying pandemic pauses – all to make it a noble and pretty impossible task to know what is actually going on.
But through it all, one thing has been glaringly obvious. The houses say rip off as much of your outfit as possible while tearing down the sand – then hurl yourself into the sea. And while, yes, the coast makes for a visually flavoursome collection film, the surf-craze has a stronger undercurrent than just that: a message to break out and jump back in.
Some turned against it, but with news alerts of holiday spots pinging up even while watching Wales Bonner’s models stretch out in the ocean, it is whole-heartedly the mood of today. Will it still be come Spring 2022? Who can say. Surely whatever comes next can be manoeuvred in a skort. Or crop top blazer.
But perhaps one thing this past year has shown us is that, despite what we may have been conditioned to think, not even fashion designers can see into the future. For now, though, there were some pretty nice clothes, and fair few Perfect, moments to peruse.
Fendi.
At Fendi’s latest menswear collection – midriff’s the word. Amid Silvia Venturini Fendi’s 45 new designs, the standout was guillotine chopped, crop-top tailoring. Suit jackets cut with ruler precision, just above the elbow, and across the lower ribs, worn best with high waist shorts.
An ode to the Roman landscape that surrounds the house headquarters, Palazzo della Civiltà Italiana, the pastel greens and purples that opened quickly descended into night, until the end was ushered in by deep blues and black, with streaky white prints nodding to ground contours. And continuing on the geographically glamourous mission, a garish map print punctuated throughout – coming coordinated, like one loud trench, shorts combination.
One question remained, though. If it is stomachs out for spring, should they simply be bare? No, says Fendi. Wear a miniscule Fendi Baguette chain (or waist-lace?) around the belly. Expect them on SJP come the Sex and the City reboot.
Prada.
Somewhere along the path between humid office hallows and a crisp blue, cold sea you will find the Prada man. Rushing in half undress, with suit trousers slipping off and striped swim shorts peeking through, co-designers Miuccia Prada and Raf Simons’ boys stormed out through a twisting, lacquer red tunnel.
But one skimpy collection standout bathed in limelight. The Prada skort - which came knitted in signature geometric and multi-colour patterns. And when, at last, this red room spat them out into freedom, to lounge – and dance – along the Sardinian coast, these skorts doubled up as swimsuits.
Imbuing the nautical was important – it was in the bright yellow, leather jackets, and low backed hats that nod to the traditional Belgian shrimp fishermen of Simons’ home country. It was in the octopus prints, and the anchor earrings. But mostly, here, there was joy. Joy of a summer spent partially clad, tanning on coastal rocks with stripy beach bags to match towels. Finally comes the time to dress for white beaches, far from a room of one’s own.
Etro.
The Merry Band of Pranksters, unloaded from their rainbow painted Furthur bus and sent up a railway in a grove, were ready for their tab of acid. Or so it seemed at the start of Etro’s show.
In a more curated version of what it might look like to be in the 60s, young, wild and free (*pfizered), electric shade metallic trousers came out in multitudes. Finely pleated, and blooming bright coloured floral shirts had pearl buttons – and were ripped open to the crotch. Sheer paisley hugged muscles, and rosy pink and yellow patterned knitted jumpers were there for when the sun sets.
Some tailoring came, in gradient, Sex on the Beach orange; others nomadic patterned. But mostly Kean Etro provided clothes for fun. And for parting a gap to reach the Mykonos beach bar.
Wales Bonner.
In another hazy beach setting, Grace Wales Bonner imprinted her own edge. Titled Volta Jazz, it is a collection best encapsulated by the linen shirts that blow gently in coastal air, inspired by the Upper Volta’s (now Burkina Faso) 60s and 70s orchestral jazz.
And in a collection film that felt like a postcard, made by Joshua Woods, footballs are kicked around in new Adidas collaboration trainers, and an athletic black and red knit vest with short-shorts combination. Well-tailored suiting is relaxed, and desirable, with rouged striped panels down trouser legs and under arm; at home on sea-eroded rocks with flip-flops.
Taking cues from the rich history of West African portraiture, and specifically the work of Malian Malick Sidibé and Sory Sanlé, it all felt saturated in tradition; rich in decades of style. Certainly a far cry from the sun, sea and sand of any Ibiza escape.
Louis Vuitton.
It comes as no surprise that while a gaggle of designers are off to the beach next Spring, Virgil Abloh will be on another plane. Wrapping up warm for the mountains.
At Louis Vuitton Menswear, racy displays of thighs and chests were packed away in favour of knitted balaclavas, huge transformer-cum-goalkeeper gloves, black fur ear muffs, and candy pink and orange fur bombers.
He did not stop at rejecting the rest. Like two sides in the game of chess Abloh is playing, and made clear reference to in the full checkerboard face coverings and morph suits peppered in the line-up, the collection – styled by Ib Kamara – was split. There were the splashy colours and young partiers; a neon shade, croc embossed raver hoodie; a shocking pink tie dye crinoline skirt (with matching puffer); a garish green shin length waterproof coat.
But the restrained kept a pulse, with traditional black tailoring - model laden with bags for his business flight; waistcoats for layering, belted at the waist; and hat after hat – from crumpled felt top hats to badged berets. There is some beauty in the eclecticism. But the best remembered piece will be the Nike X Louis Vuitton Airforce. Trainers in the house’s checkerboard Damier print mean the games will go on.
Ahluwalia.
In the burnt, sunset soaked orange photographs of Priya Alhuwalia’s collection, there was a call for something greater than being well dressed. Expression. More clearly, the word was printed across some sliced, geometric patchworked tracksuits and bowling shirts, and sprayed onto boots and loafers. But her new season, which came with Mulberry collaboration bags and short films, was here to celebrate hair from the designer’s British Nigerian-Indian perspective.
“It’s just filled with love, filled with history, culture, community,” says activist Munroe Bergdorf of Black hair, in one of the collection films; dressed in one wavy, colour blocked trench coat. Amongst men’s – and for the first time, women’s – tailoring, off-shoulder dresses, and Alhuwalia’s quintessential spliced denim, a constant were the sculpted braids, stood strong in bunched loops and crafted by hair stylist Amidat Giwa. They might not have stolen the show, but they certainly helped make it.
Dior.
Between the roses of Christian Dior’s childhood, and the cacti of Houston born rapper Travis Scott’s, Kim Jones was trying to find the goosebumps.
Along the rocky runway came a supposed meeting of minds, as music moved from the FROW into Dior Men’s Paris Ateiler. Jones’ vision was never far; found in the standout, slim fit tailoring which this time buried sashes for upturned, notched lapel jackets, in dusty, desert pink or cacti green.
Stormi’s Dad left his mark too. There were flared suit trousers, python print knitwear doctored to spell ‘CD’, and oversized silhouette shirts; some printed with artist George Condo’s vivid work. But the diamonds in the desert were new jewels – blingy brooches keeping bucket hats from flying over the Chihuahuan Desert, and a hefty, sparkling cactus, blossoming with flowers and dangling on a thick pearl chain. The work, of course, of Dior Joaillerie’s artistic director, Victoire de Castellane.
The penultimate look, suiting in Ivory satin, was the most delicately couture. But everything was rooted to barren terrain by trainers, sandals and a couple of sliders. And if past seasons are anything to go by, they are sure to sell.
Diesel.
For Glenn Martens, this was a Diesel denim debut. The Belgian designer, who is also creative director of Y-Project, released his first collection at the house since it was announced he would take the reins in October.
And the Midnight Cowboy did not hesitate to add fuel to a denim bonfire. There were high waist jeans a-plenty, double waist denim, trompe l’oeil printed denim on denim. There were diamond stitched, crystal embellished full length denim trench coats, alongside jeans that morphed seamlessly into Country Western boots.
Some pieces were certainly from the same family as Martens’ work at Y-Project, but put up against Diesel’s past and they are positively alien. Perhaps this is why the collection film, which follows a lava-haired protagonist dash from party to elevator, ends with her stranded on Mars.
Tod’s.
“Somewhere in Northern Italy” is scrawled across the screen at the beginning of Call Me By Your Name. But it would not have been out of place as an opening sequence for Walter Chiapponi’s new Tod’s collection. Rather titled “Under the Italian Sun,” his designs were dedicated to the steady pace and roasting heat of Mediterranean summer.
Slouchy suits, parachute Nylon trousers, polo shirts and sensible shorts come coloured as their burnt environment; cinnamon browns, mustard yellows, and the cobalt blue of a cloudless sky. Ground coloured, not necessarily ground-breaking.
To be expected, their renowned leather goods stand out – from the oversize weekend bags to backless loafers. Really, it is a wardrobe for the man nestled in the rolling Tuscan hills; lost in a vineyard as the golden sun sets, with an earthy glass of red in hand.
Giorgio Armani.
In Giorgio Armani’s back garden, Via Borgonuovo 21, Milano, came 77 new designs – not in the least radical, but laced with little moments of elegance and sensuality.
Moving militantly from navy, to beige, to white, to black – save for a shot of red, with a carmine pair of shorts rolled just over the knee, and at one point a very rouge, electric fuchsia shirt – the fun was to be found in the details.
Blue suede Mary Jane shoes added some cheekiness to a lapelless, check grey suit. A leather visor (definitely impractical) added irony to a logo pattern, knit sweater. And when the brigade of white linen wearers appeared on the runway near its close, in coordinated jackets, loose trousers, and simple waistcoats, the trend alarm rang loud; exposed belly buttons. In Armani’s book, there is one way to do it. Fasten your top button only – and let the rest be free.
