Young Europeans flock to the jumble of streets branching off Voltaire Boulevard, just north of the Opera de la Bastille. There, in the shadow of the Picasso Museum, the so-hip-it-hurts set wears black from head to ankle. Below that, they explode in color: bright orange athletic shoes, purple boots or green platforms.
In this SoHo of Paris, the `70s are more than a kitschy fad; they are an obsession. In tiny boutiques, twentysomethings line up 20 deep to buy love beads, bean bag chairs or anything plastic and brightly hued. Madonnas new album, “Ray of Light,” is the soundtrack, seemingly emanating from every store, cafe and car.
These styles and the trendsters who wear them, however, have no influence on designers. Unlike the New York fashion collections, which are preoccupied with trends from the street, the Paris collections couldn’t care less. Aiming their lines more toward the monied, the designers here are suggesting color nearer the face, seen in the purple leathers and suedes of Paco Rabanne, the gold, tailored suits of Emanuel Ungaro, and the orange, kiwi or plum pantsuits of Sergio Altieri for Pierre Cardin.
The dark denim, nubby wools and thickish cottons on students around the Sorbonne on the Left Bank pale in comparison to the luxe fabrics shown by the house of Cerruti and the cashmere sweaters and raccoon stoles that opened the Celine show by American designer Michael Kors.
The only time the youthquake meets the mature mindset is in chain stores such as La City (much like our chain, The Limited) and Dooble (much like our Structure stores), where cotton and wool are made to resemble the simple, modern pieces shown by Narcisco Rodriguez (who designed Carolyn Bessette Kennedy’s wedding dress) for the Madrid-based Loewe house.
While there was nothing revolutionary about the Cardin collection, these were sleek, wearable daytime clothes for women with things to do (as opposed to the gussied-up, overwrought clothing shown by the balance of Parisian houses). There were dolman-sleeve cocoon coats in orange, chocolate and mauve angora as well as some plum-colored pantsuits and slate skirts in wool. At best, the Cardin line resembled chic simplicity reminiscent of Emma Peel of the ’60s Brit spy series “The Avengers.” At worst, the tarty eveningwear (following the sharp tuxedo gowns) had Goldie Hawn circa “Laugh In” written all over it.
Simplicity is not what Christian Lacroix is known for, yet this was a pared-down collection. Lacroix’s heady mix of cultures, fabrics and patterns in the past seemed like a parody of fashion–hence his being the designer of choice on the imported English situation comedy “Absolutely Fabulous.”
But the curvaceous tweed, moire, crepe and chiffon suits and dresses with satin blouses are simply too beautifully made to be fodder for laugh tracks. We’ll see after the tiny size sixes are interpreted into more salable sizes.
There will be no similar wait for the Cerruti collection. The line debuted by Peter Speliopoulos was full of longish, simple satin or chiffon dresses under unconstructed Martingale-backed coats and cashmere sweaters in a palette that never strayed far from slate, beige or colors suggestive of faded quartzes and deep minerals.
Ungaro long has been a favorite of socialites, who will find much to love in this collection, especially the suits in muted wearable colors like maroon, gray and slate and brown checks. There were also fluid-looking trousers with a tapestry pattern and glossy leather or metallic-colored suedes. There were also signature animal prints and gold coats lined in faux fur. For evening, there were silk satin and black lace gowns and multicolored jacquards.
Of course, none of these clothes resembles the fashion seen on M6 (France’s music video channel), where hip-hoppers Native (a singing Salt-n-Pepa) and Corrs (picture Gwen Stefani from No Doubt) prefer form-fitting trousers and tops with plenty of Lycra. Patterns be damned, bring on the gloss and shine seen on young women dressed to thrill at hot spots such as Le Scorp and Le Scala de Paris and chic cafes like Banana and The Rude restaurant in the predominantly gay (but very popular with yuppies) section of Paris known as Hotel de Ville–and known by locals as Cruella de Ville town.
