If you’re reading this, you’ve seen the universally enchanted reaction to John Galliano’s Margiela Artisanal show at Paris Couture last week. You know that on the night of the Wolf Moon, Galliano staged his collection under the Pont Alexandre III, evoking a riotous Parisian nightlife from a bygone era. You are aware that two Pats (McGrath on makeup, Boguslawski on movement) made the models unrecognizable, giving them permission for once to act as something other than robots or celebrities. You’ve heard that the crowd’s reactions consist of shouts and stomps – applause expressed literally from head to toe. You’ve read the explanations that this collection “will go down in history”. You’ve seen the social posts everywhere that say, “I’ll never get over this.” You may have even watched (and re-watched) the livestream, even though it doesn’t even include the proper (presumably unlicensable) soundtrack, a mashup of Adele’s tribute to George Michael, as well as Max Richter, Vivaldi and Massive Attack. It was an honor to be one of the few hundred people who saw it in person, an experience best described as a time travel to both 1930s Paris and 1990s Paris.
I was only in fourth grade when John Galliano was appointed creative director of Dior and was still an assistant at Dior Vanity fair when he was dishonorably discharged from that position, meaning Galliano was climbing his creative Everest while I was just coming of age. My knowledge of his most famous shows is composed of videos (I think I’ve seen them all), anecdotes from older colleagues and of course from Fashion. And though I’ve never owned one, Galliano’s designs—the bug-eye sunglasses, the J’Adore bottle, the saddle bag, and of course the bias-cut dress—are as much a part of my visual vocabulary as the decor from my nursery.
Since he took over Margiela in 2014, I have had the privilege of seeing several of Galliano’s presentations, mostly kept in a clinically pristine white box at the Grand Palais. The setting is physically adjacent to the majestic glass exhibition hall, the former and future home of major Chanel shows, but is spiritually on another planet. John famously does not bow, a sign of both modesty and his respect for Martin Margiela, who never bowed himself. But this never felt natural to the designer who was fashion’s premier showman for decades. A persistent undercurrent of hesitation – fear even – has been palpable at times, and I have sometimes felt as if I were witnessing only a shadow of the earlier Galliano, a gouache in place of the oil painting, that I witnessed the reign of King Jan missed.
On Thursday night, every ounce of restraint went up in smoke, delivering the fantasy and poetry my generation was promised by the fashion industry. It had the world building of the 2007 Brassaï collection, made famous by The September issue; the exquisite and fragile beauty of the bootstrapped show in São Schlumberger hotel private; a striking combination of Kim Kardashian’s extreme hourglass corsets and actual body; and the out-of-nowhere punch of Les Incroyables, Galliano’s legendary Central Saint Martin graduation show. All alchemical to create new magic.
As Galliano expert and fellow ’90s kid Alexander Fury put it: “It was the best of the best at its best.” (Fury also told me that Gwendoline Christie had been asking him for references for Galliano shows for weeks; Fury didn’t know she did method acting.) And by fully owning his professional and personal past — the venue might as well have had La Perle – Galliano has conquered and surpassed them both. No fear.
Galliano’s triumph comes similarly High Low, the fearless biographical documentary from director Kevin Macdonald, will debut in theaters in March. I’ve been wondering since Thursday whether revisiting his lowest moments for Macdonald’s interviews might have helped Galliano finally feel like there was nothing left to hide, and finally gave him the courage to go as far as he did last week. (Full disclosure, Conde Nast is a production partner and I am an associate producer.)
The show – and, frankly, the reaction to it – runs counter to the algorithmically determined cultural trends that dictate so much of the all-too-familiar clothing we see today, even from heritage houses – call it trickle-up fashion. Nowadays, the tail often wags the dog, bringing us closer and closer to the foolish middle bracket. (I bet John Galliano has never come across Quiet Luxury.) Margiela’s Artisinal show deserves to be recognized as a cri de coeur for creativity and individual taste, even outside fashion circles, but let’s start with the ready-to-wear collections that we will see in a few weeks. I texted Vogue.com editor Chloe Malle after the show and said that “the fashion world changed tonight.” I hope that’s true.
