I don’t care what anyone says about how Margiela has fallen off, it’s still an amazing sight to behold. The drama, the passion, the crazy clothes you could only dream of wearing. Chain link gown? Sign me up. Paper over-the-knee boots? Why the heck not? Margiela is why we all love fashion: crazy talent meets fantasy in the form of dress.
The show was of course late (about fifty minutes) and the place was packed by the time all the major editors arrived at the far-flung venue in the 12th after Lanvin. Many of them lost their seats and had no choice but to opt for the second row.
Waiters served red wine in white plastic cups which made absolutely no sense as 99% of the folks in the room would shed tears if some should spill, myself being one of them. I had a minor heart attack when I thought some was spilled on my cherished silk Lanvin trench. Okay, maybe not minor, actually, borderline major. But thankfully, it was a false alarm.

The clothes were more colorful than expected. Think teals and greens, coppers and and even some multi-colored pieces. Each gown looked as though it had been poured over the model, creating the most amazing fit. There was some superhero chic action going on in one particular leather dress/pants combo. I wouldn’t have been all that surprised if the model had whipped out a magic lasso and swung out of the building by the rafters.
When it was all over, a lone girl emerged in a white gown with a train as long as the runway and stood at the end while the rest did the finale walking over it. Something popped, which scared the pants off the crowd, and streamers flew everywhere like those champagne popper things at New Year’s.
Then everyone ran. Because they knew there was no designer coming out to take a bow.
—REBECCA SUHRAWARDI AUSTIN