Like a plate of stuffed mushrooms, Men’s Fashion Week and Paris haute couture served as perfect appetizers for the approaching main course of fall 2016 collections.
After the radio silence since last season’s shows, we arrived to the sound of models teetering down the runways, displaying a wide array of styles to taste and fancy.
But like any cocktail party, we, as guests, are growing impatient and are scrambling to devour every crumb we can find.
To the hungry woman, haute couture may at first seem like the best option to consume as the time passes.
Couture reads as a fairy tale, transforming its wearer into a different species of character, a Cinderella at the sartorial ball.
With this mentality, fashion becomes less of a paramount necessity and more of a venue of costume. Our dress becomes an escapist narrative, a magic Chanel carpet ride that whisks us away to a land of embroidered silks and ostrich feather trims.
But if haute couture is the romantic fairytale, Men’s Fashion Week is the pragmatic biography, creating collections that bring consumers back to reality.
Surprisingly, these were the collections that fell more in line with my tastes. If anything, I recognized a lot of my own wardrobe on the catwalks of Men’s Fashion Week, or at least items I could see myself buying if I had won the Powerball.
Paul Smith’s collection of tailored zip-ups and 1960s sleek sweaters was one such example that I could have taken straight off the runway.
His color-blocked turtlenecks and white-striped collars were what I would expect to see on the likes of a vintage James Bond, and then what I wished I could steal for myself.
And while I already adore Balmain’s women’s shows, its men’s collection was accessorized to a T.
Models sported quilted cummerbunds that I could easily channel for a Knights of the Round Table-esque belt and pairs of jacquard joggers, which, quite frankly, I didn’t know existed but wanted to wear immediately.
These were pieces that still challenged me stylistically, but they didn’t resemble someone who gets dressed by his servants or marries a Montague.
Of course, the women’s couture shows have a fantasy appeal, because where else can one see Kanye West and Heidi Klum sit in the same front row? There’s nothing wrong with escaping in the story of it all or obsessing over the exquisite artistry that haute couture is meant to be.
But it’s just as well if fantasy is not where one’s fashion tastes lie.
As much as the fashion community swoons over the decadence of haute couture, I am not afraid to admit that I sometimes don’t understand the styles that traipse its runways.
I can appreciate Valentino’s snake headdresses, but that doesn’t mean I’m expected to wear one at my next 8 a.m. class.
In this case, there is nothing wrong with sampling from the men’s side of style.
James Bond sweaters and quilted cummerbunds will always satisfy my deepest of cravings and are easily digestible.
Some of us appreciate the magic of high fashion but still look for a more pragmatic form of inspiration that reflects our own character instead of another’s.
To find that sense of identity in fashion, women must push designers to create the clothes that compliment women’s authentic selves.
Thus, when a designer creates a collection that we identify with as women, we should never be afraid to try it, even if it was first worn by a male model.
bsaggese@indiana.edu
