Agnes b. Fall 2011 Men's: So Good

PARIS--Finally, some fun! God bless Agnès Troublé (Agnès b). Firstly, she fed us (sandwiches). Secondly, this was the most remarkable and courageous show I’ve seen so far. No bells. No whistles. No bullshit. Just great, colorful clothes following the smart and streamlined design aesthetic Agnès b. has established and kept to since the 1970s. The first thing to notice as the show started was the classical guitar: no whining tones to indicate the coming thumping house beat, just simple strings. Next came the hats. Agnès had her models dressed as bohemian soldier boys, wearing Tricorne hats, bowlers, caps, ushankas and fedoras. But they weren’t gimmicky. They accessorized a lavish tweed redingote, which fell to knees ensconced in velvet pants. Her black jersey jackets, with gold buttons and colored lapels, on top of the striped tees that made her famous, let us imagine the most carefree of deserters, brigands and thieves (the sashes may have been a little over the top, but I didn’t mind). But Agnès didn’t get carried away with the past.
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PARIS--Finally, some fun! God bless Agnès Troublé (Agnès b). Firstly, she fed us (sandwiches). Secondly, this was the most remarkable and courageous show I’ve seen so far. No bells. No whistles. No bullshit. Just great, colorful clothes following the smart and streamlined design aesthetic Agnès b. has established and kept to since the 1970s. The first thing to notice as the show started was the classical guitar: no whining tones to indicate the coming thumping house beat, just simple strings. Next came the hats. Agnès had her models dressed as bohemian soldier boys, wearing Tricorne hats, bowlers, caps, ushankas and fedoras. But they weren’t gimmicky. They accessorized a lavish tweed redingote, which fell to knees ensconced in velvet pants. Her black jersey jackets, with gold buttons and colored lapels, on top of the striped tees that made her famous, let us imagine the most carefree of deserters, brigands and thieves (the sashes may have been a little over the top, but I didn’t mind). But Agnès didn’t get carried away with the past.
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PARIS--Finally, some fun! God bless Agnès Troublé (Agnès b).

Firstly, she fed us (sandwiches). Secondly, this was the most remarkable and courageous show I’ve seen so far. No bells. No whistles. No bullshit. Just great, colorful clothes following the smart and streamlined design aesthetic Agnès b. has established and kept to since the 1970s.

The first thing to notice as the show started was the classical guitar: no whining tones to indicate the coming thumping house beat, just simple strings. Next came the hats. Agnès had her models dressed as bohemian soldier boys, wearing Tricorne hats, bowlers, caps, ushankas and fedoras. But they weren’t gimmicky. They accessorized a lavish tweed redingote, which fell to knees ensconced in velvet pants. Her black jersey jackets, with gold buttons and colored lapels, on top of the striped tees that made her famous, let us imagine the most carefree of deserters, brigands and thieves (the sashes may have been a little over the top, but I didn’t mind).

But Agnès didn’t get carried away with the past. The collection moved forward to chic downtown--a grey hoodie with a turquoise blue hood, swimming in tandem with light grey denim worn beneath. And then the black nylon down jacket, with an irresistable checked lining and more check, this time green, on pants (rolled up to the calf) and a jacket, calling out to punk rock. Even when she stepped out—as with the alpaca and mohair hooded cardigan, which I swear must have been inspired by California beach culture, maybe even Point Break—the result was a happy one.

And then it was time for cocktail hour: a brown, wool, double-breasted jacket with a Prince of Wales plaid, dressing up some classic black jeans. Or my personal favorite, a black velvet coat with a checked lining on top of a dashing black wool, two-button suit.

And as the dress got more serious, the vibe didn’t. The models played to the virtuosity of the clothing, mugging for the camera, eliciting hoots from the cameramen, tearing their jackets off, rocking up and down the runway.

I won’t mince words: I want almost everything in this collection, from the simple milano jersey pants to the black calfskin perfecto (I’d call it a bomber) to the black tweed one-button suit (fine, I don’t need the calfskin leggings, or leggings of any kind, though they seem unavoidable next year).

I could go on, but save it to say, the nail has been hit on the head. Gimme.

**All photos by Imaxtree.