At a certain point in Elise Øverland s show tonight—her show on skates, at the Standard hotel s ice rink—a few doubts began to creep in. Maybe, just maybe, Øverland isn t crazy. Or if she is crazy, maybe she s crazy like a fox. What at first seemed like an eruption of cool pastels, Plasticine textures, feathers, and fur took on a kind of weird logic as the figure skaters from the Ice Theatre of New York twirled around the models standing center rink. Take, for example, the quilted coat in a viscous print, lacquered over with sheen—at first, that coat seemed absurd. And then, under the klieg lights that reflected off the ice, it became oddly alluring. Why can t daily life be as theatrical as a dance on skates? Must everyone wear lovely peacoats and shearling-trimmed motorcycle jackets? Isn t it nice to think there s someone out there—maybe a few people, even—who pines to look a little bit strange? There s bound to be a customer, too, for Øverland s fanciful violet and sea green fluffy fur, and for her tailored leather jacket, with its wink of peplum and glossy pebbles of mottled turquoise fabric.
It s pointless to analyze this show based on trends; this was a collection made for people who stand outside time and inside their own very particular taste. Chances are, no other designer this season is going to use Øverland s bubblegum palette, which she developed especially because it looked good against ice. Chances are, no other designer this season is going to stage a show on an ice rink. This collection was insistently well-wrought, and perfectly mad. Right around the time Johnny Weir took to the rink for a virtuoso solo, you had to figure: Øverland likes things this way.
