Patrik Ervell couldn t have chosen a more topical theme than the friction between repression and revolt, so it seemed rather "fashion-y" of him to deny any political context for his new collection. The way he was pitching it, his theme was really his way round a new take on the aesthetic of the uniform. "What authority looks like now," he explained. "You disarm it by referencing it." Still sounds pretty political, but what-evs—it fortunately made for a strong, even radical showing.
The authority Ervell referenced was a police state. The uniforms were those of urban commandos. The opening outfit—a sweater in nylon-patched electric blue baby alpaca, matched to pleated flecked wool pants—set the tone: a Blade Runner -ish combo of tech and retro. Ervell s womenswear made the point with most clarity, like the outfit that layered a long coat over a silk dress. It had a vintage make-do feel, the sort of repurposed outfit you might expect from girls gone underground when the crackdown kicked in. But clarity ultimately didn t count, because the menswear was more interesting. Ervell talked about "moments of protest that emerge through the cracks and edges of a heavily policed state" and he found a striking visual metaphor in the gold ribbing on a nylon top, or the gold trim on a fleece jacket: hardcore function unhinged by a subversive flicker of luxury.
Where once he had shivering latex as his trump card, here Ervell used hand-painted silk in shirts, skirts, and a "SWAT jacket." It was such a poetic touch that his notion of disarming authority suddenly made sense. Political power may grow out of the barrel of a gun, but Patrik Ervell s poetry made a police state pretty for one mad moment.
