PARIS–The photo pit at l’Espace Ephemere in the Tuileries, impatient with the delay at Viktor and Rolf, began singing, shouting, whistling (there was some raising of middle fingers, too)–anything to spur the lights to dim and the show to start. As if to answer the photogs’ lewd taunts in kind, a draw bridge lowered, angry militaristic music began pumping through the tent, and red-faced models marched down the runway. It was a little scary.

I would not want to do battle against Viktor and Rolf’s army of lady warriors. Their armor–leather or stiff chiffon-plated dresses with shoulders that were exaggerated or cut out completely, high collars, and sharply pleated skirts–looked impenetrable and almost reptilian. Black stockings had blood red seams running up the back and the voice against the percussive soundtrack pleaded “hurt” over and over. I don’t know who will wear this stuff (maybe Daisy Lowe, La Roux or Leigh Lezark, all of whom sat front row??) but I do not want to mess with them.

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