Henri Alexander Levy may have unwittingly scored the most poignant, not to mention ominous, finale of the week by sending a cardboard army tank down the runway—in this case the hardwood gym at the Lycée Carnot—flanked by three youngsters on each side, one carrying a gun, one trailing a toy dog, all dressed in miniature versions of looks for fall.
It was a stealth move for a designer who had said backstage, not an hour before, that he was not into making political statements. Rather, this collection was intended as a commentary on his own inner war: the tussle between subconscious and conscious, the tug of instinct versus discipline, and the battle of a self-funded indie against the luxury commandants of our times. “Beauty does not vanish,” the show notes proclaimed. “It lingers in the quiet resilience of those who refuse to be swallowed by despair.”
Levy explained that he tends to think of his shows like films. “The runway isn’t spiritually fulfilling enough,” he said, noting that the film aspect only came in after long weeks in the studio putting together a collection that could easily have included a beloved character or two.
Influences included the Viennese Succession, art brut, primitive art, and a love of jewelry—the designer wears lots—from the ornate silver belt with a pin closure on look 1 to a doctor bag in box leather set with a Patek Philippe watch.
The lineup started and ended with velvet, opening with a black capelet worn over a tiered black chiffon skirt and closing with a burgundy evening dress cut saucily down the front. It would be no surprise to see that one pop up on a red carpet somewhere. In between came a succession of gentleman pirates, rebels, misfits and wayward schoolgirls, but it wasn’t all Morticia, Wednesday, and Nosferatu. Here also were some nicely cut jackets, a sweeping cape, skinny leather trousers, and saucy little skirts styled with thigh-high tights.
One can easily picture how these clothes might look in the wild in New York, LA or even London. But Levy is a part-time expat who knows Paris better than many—in addition to the ERD store on the Rue Charlot, last year he opened an art book-slash-vinyl bar on the same street. Clearly, he has ambition, persistence and drive. If he’s going to go to the trouble and expense of staging a show, it would be nice to see clothes that are less costume-y and more attuned to what dressing means to the biggest fashion capital in the world.
