The designer’s magic is his ability to do his black, punky, deconstructed thing again and again — always the same but always different. Today, it happened again.
The master was in top form. This season there were a lot of cut-outs, revealing glimpses of the body and offering ventilation for a warming world.
Yoshio Kubo, Bed J.W. Ford and Auralee were among a new crop of Japanese menswear designers who took Paris by storm, but the country’s enormous influence over the market runs deep.
Shots of vitaminic brights and painterly prints set the softly masculine tone of the whole endeavor.
The man is a punk in spirit, and all the better for it.
At the Japanese master's latest show, something was different: his trademark volumes were more firm than fluid as his posse of poète maudits took a militaristic turn.
The collection progressed from strictness to artistic chaos with crafty, handpainted gowns that felt lively and took away the deja-vu feel.
There is always a surprise in the endless repetition at Yohji, a master of brutalised yet poetic tailoring.
Today’s show took a spiky, volumetric turn that felt fresh.
The designer’s exaltation of the banal is the result of a strong and stable consistency of vision from a master of the form.
The designer can't help but be poetic and it makes him enduringly fascinating in a fashion-scape dominated by overt decoration and loud streetwear.
Today's epic-length show was particularly good — more punk than romantic, all asymmetric angles and sharp diagonals.