There's that allure, that carelessly knotted lavalière, those supple chignons held up by Odile Gilbert, the indefinable verdigris, those silhouettes both familiar and fresh, expressing another, even more romantic, side of the designer. It's a genuine piece of urban poetry, like the "Tale of the unexpected" or "La Bohème" embroidered in capital letters that stretch out like teffilin. Like madness taking over the world, the colour spreads in red patches over the white shirts, looking like poplin snow in the flames.
Tuxedo Jackets, tuxedo pants, black bow ties: this is the kind of inventory that the master deconstructs by splitting it apart, so as to show couples, partners like Wim Wenders, beyond the shadows that seem to have rubbed off on the day. From Norman Reedus to Warren Ellis, from Max Vadukul to dancer Hannah O'Neill, the cast is impressive, and most of those who parade are artists. They only share their singularity. Stenciled pin-ups adorn the backs of these anti-heroes wearing flannel tennis overcoats with their distinctive phlegm. From herringbone jackets to deconstructed widths, and suits coloured like palisades or asphalt, Yohji Yamamoto's style remains faithful to these women and men as Éluard chose to unite them.
"Emerging from the game that blended them. Like fingers on the same hand".
