Jeremy Laing Spring 2012: If Ghosts Could Bleed

Before Jeremy Laing’s show began on Sunday, I was talking to a fashion editor friend about arrhythmias. We were relating stories of hearts misbehaving, our internal electrical systems misfiring. And then the lights went down and Jeremy Laing brought our hearts, those imperfect/perfect systems, to the runway. This is a heavenly collection made real by the former Alexander McQueen apprentice. His looks were stable, determined, but ethereal. These were dresses, skirts and shorts from an unearthly place. “We used a range of sand-washed textured georgette and crinkled chiffon. I wanted lightness, transparency and a ghostly feel,” says the designer.
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Before Jeremy Laing’s show began on Sunday, I was talking to a fashion editor friend about arrhythmias. We were relating stories of hearts misbehaving, our internal electrical systems misfiring. And then the lights went down and Jeremy Laing brought our hearts, those imperfect/perfect systems, to the runway. This is a heavenly collection made real by the former Alexander McQueen apprentice. His looks were stable, determined, but ethereal. These were dresses, skirts and shorts from an unearthly place. “We used a range of sand-washed textured georgette and crinkled chiffon. I wanted lightness, transparency and a ghostly feel,” says the designer.
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Before Jeremy Laing’s show began on Sunday, I was talking to a fashion editor friend about arrhythmias. We were relating stories of hearts misbehaving, our internal electrical systems misfiring. And then the lights went down and Jeremy Laing brought our hearts, those imperfect/perfect systems, to the runway.

This is a heavenly collection made real by the former Alexander McQueen apprentice. His looks were stable, determined, but ethereal. These were dresses, skirts and shorts from an unearthly place. “We used a range of sand-washed textured georgette and crinkled chiffon. I wanted lightness, transparency and a ghostly feel,” says the designer.

All this levity—the oxygen—is met with profound calculation and strong, graceful cuts—the blood. This collection lives and breathes sensuality: his crepe jersey tee seems to hover around the matching dress; the apron halter gown tempts the imagination; his red vest and wrap hitch pant summons the passions.

Laing’s prints are geometric, the mathematical patterns adorning his japanese wraps and tunics recall a calculated spiderweb. As much a visual artist as a designer, this was the quiet, ordered centre for Laing, like the heart itself, making itself known to the outside world with the most subtle “lub dub.”

The most pleasant surprise to this season’s effort is that Laing’s looks are his most wearable to date. “I hope my clothes are always wearable,” he says. Fine. But I could see many women I know in these trenches, tees, dusters and dresses. The women I can see in these clothes are heavenly creatures, but here on earth, in this city, with real lives, and real beating hearts.