Antonio Berardi didn t get the memo about rigor and restraint. For fall—his second season in Paris—he sent out a collection of peaked-shoulder, nipped-waist jackets, pencil skirts, and clingy sheaths that was blatantly about sex. Many of the pieces came with their inner workings exposed: A bustier peeked out above the bodice of an hourglass flannel dress, and corsetry details were inset on the back of a fitted coat. And those were just the beginning of the often overwrought decorations. A cloud of black rosettes—like a corsage on steroids—clung to one arm of a dress, an evening gown s worth of crystals lined the edge of a cobalt cardigan in a heavy-gauge cashmere; that same daytime yarn—this time in acid yellow—was knit into a strapless minidress.
Of course, it s not Berardi s fault that the fashion pendulum has swung in the opposite direction, and there s certainly still an audience for his brand of overt sexiness. However, many of the items he showed today—the sheer hose studded along the back seams, not to mention the role-playing props such as secretary glasses and nurse caps—would be better left in the bedroom.
