Milan Menswear Show Day IV

(Blogging a dead Horse)

I’ve not told anyone about this  blog affair yet. Is that necessary, or is it ok just between you and me?  Is that blogging a dead horse?

(More equestrian action later as I cross the border). 


D Squared

Not risen for D Square for years. The nine O’Clock slot I find prohibitive. New sober Milan persona and my new colleague made it all so do-able today however. 

The Canadian Brothers Grin showed a simple blend of agro ice hockey kit, muscle bar garb, black tie and blood fetish. Some odd Italian Marilyn Manson style soap/pop star decked out like a bondage crow was escorted down the runway by Dan and Dean dressed as surgeons at the banging house finale. All that before 10am. They do a nice little tux, even if it’s on the same teeny weenie scale as Mr.Browne. Is a new collective of miniature North American designers poised to take over? The Midget Moda of USA. 


             Other scaling down comes as presentations become more relevant post credit crunch. Pieces not whole looks count and press like to cop a feel to  hype effectively.  Tom Ford and Brioni always do static. Others now reject runway gigs and go for intimate, tactile ‘pressies’. Trussadi, Moschino and Marni all used this M.O. 



             Accessory specialists Valextra only do pressies. I visited Valextra, low key luxury brand extraordinaire. Est. in Milan in 1937, they’ve been making celestially conceived and executed luggage for the jet set ever since. Blimey their stuff is lovely, making Goyard and maybe even Hermes look obvious by comparison.  

              Their ‘Costa’ piping appearing on the ‘sharp’ cut edges of pieces is all there to tell you who you’re dealing with. The Havana colour in vegetable dye, trimmed and stitched in green was extraordinarily covetable. 




Blow me  if Giorgio Armani didn’t stage a beret extravaganza, taking us through the full gamut of possible deployment. More Sicilian references, (see Dolce), but here more like the burly farm workers ‘sensitive’, arty brother. Evening stances that verged on silly, and a military cadet look worked modern special forces-esque caban jackets with belted waists, in a palatable matt navy tech fabric and action boots.

Giorgio himself finally came out, bereted up and tossed one off into the audience. It was quite a moment.  





Talking of moments, my Sergio Rossi riding boots made their Italian debut today, along with Hermes poncho and three piece Paul Smith suit.

It dropped ok. I garnered as many photo ops as the scintillating Esther, possible on a comedy level. I was aiming at Lord Gilbert Hartlip (Edward Fox in The Shooting Party), meets the man with no name, (Clint Eastwood), in ‘The Good the Bad and the Ugly’. But I achieved Rodney Trotter in To The Manor Born/The Good Life. Enjoyed it all the same. 

I get blanked by The Sartorialist these days. He used to shoot me, but interfered with his select one too many times, and now all I get is a butt slap when he's moving me out the way to shoot other people. Such is life. 



Dressing as something you’re not can be what its all about. Iceberg devised a sort of Romany gypsy inspired contrivance, with loose stringy mohair knits under rugged tailoring and, Silk scarves, bowler hats and boots, making the whole thing most free spirited . The sheer luxury knit history of the house ensure a harmonious and desirable vista. I bloody loved it. 

I'm gonna sum up with Stubbs's Now That's What I Call Milan AW 2010/11, but am gonna do it on the plane, and broadcast live from the upper atmosphere. Well, the runway in Geneva at least.


Stubbs OUT

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