![]() Owens said one big influence for the collection had been the mystically fierce aesthetic of Robert Plant and Led Zeppelin: As one colleague back in New York unimprovably punned down WhatsApp, it was totally Houses of the Horny. Animalistic texture was rendered in the monochromatic hard-shouldered coats in by-product sustainable Pirarucu dragon-scale leather. ![]() and woven on vintage Sakamoto looms, provided a fiery punctuation mark in its orange weft, pink warp manifestation. There were foggily diaphanous nylon hoodies, and patchwork Japanese denim from an originally 16th-century mill that was worn with unlikely propriety, and almost ceremonial dignity, with a pair of delicately clutched opera gloves. There was a shamanically pagan piece of evening wear in a cock feather jacket made by Maison Février, the Parisian plumassier to Josephine Baker. Owens’s fog-fugged vision of sustainable, humanistic hedonism-positive partying-came clad in silk topcoats in panels of vaporous opacity that were ripped at the armhole and hip to create jagged scars of canvas and horsehair. But I am a little leery of the intensity that is going to come.” ![]() And you know, I was able to satisfy all my appetites and I would never wish for anybody else to be deprived. Although of course I am always looking on the dark side. ![]() It’s hedonistic, but I hope it’s a responsible, gentle, nice hedonistic. But I am suggesting that we still can, and that is what this collection is about. But anyway, I had recently said that I thought we had learned some humility in the recent past-however I don’t think we did. Both were undyed and off-white, a highly unusual hue for Owens, as was much of the collection that followed-a natural, softer-than-often touch the designer meant to reflect a softer-than-usual sentiment beneath.Īs he said: “I sense this moment of excess coming, that I can’t really participate in because I’m not an excessive guy anymore. Susman’s boxily baggy pant (which speedily became significantly sand-contaminated) was a key silhouette piece for the season, and was worn by him under a panel-slashed eco-cotton bodysuit. ![]() A few feet offshore were installed four powerful waterjets, which spurted joyful blasts of seawater up, up, up into the flawless blue sky: “ejaculation,” said Owens, “is joy.”Īs the twangily twisted techno soundtrack by Mochipet fired up, the models-lead by Tyrone “Tadzio” Dylan Susman-began their promenade. The models walked the shoreline of the beach directly in front of the Excelsior Hotel, whose cabana-renting guests watched enthusiastically, creating an accidentally serendipitous Martin Parr–meets–Helmut Newton backdrop. To be precise, the lines in the sand were mostly traced by the stacked soles of Owens’s platform boots, which were cut down this season from thigh-high to mid-calf and outfitted with special side pockets in which to stash mini fog machines (emitting purportedly non-toxic, sustainable fog) and create a vivid vapor trail. Eight months on, the Man this afternoon held his fourth and last show here, drawing a final line in the sand to mark the end of this excellent Venetian mini-Owens-epoch and augur the rebirth of something like before that will not remain the same. It was 260 days ago that Rick Owens presented his first collection of the COVID-hiatus near his home on the Lido di Venezia-a mighty-but-melancholy fall-cloud-shrouded show that was chiefly inspired by Mann’s Death in Venice. ![]()
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