For all the kerfuffle on the internet about The Row’s fall show—the chatter about their phone-ban, and how the latest show was first-come-first-served, and late arrivals had to sit on the carpet—you’d almost think it’s all already been seen. Not so. As is their practice, The Row photographs are released only a few days afterwards. And today is that day.
The photos capture something of the atmosphere of a liminal domestic space: women padding through an apartment in their stockinged feet, hair a bit tousled—the suggestion of a moment when you’re dressed, going somewhere, but not quite ready. It’s funny how the mind tries to fill in the blanks with narrative when there’s so little to go on, but here are a couple of thoughts: The Row woman definitely isn’t dressing to pique male interest, she’s massively self-possessed—maybe a little eccentric—and so secure in her own choices that she doesn’t care to be “in fashion” at all. Yet, of course, she is the absolute leader for a certain class of very fashionable women.
She might be preparing for a chilly winter, though The Row knack is for layering pieces in a just-so way that seems to have just happened. There were short, belted trenches and long sweeping ones, charcoal gray cashmere as sweaters over shirts, knitted dresses over sweaters, a cozy double-Donegal flecked tweed skirt and jacket. The thick cashmere tights were with everything—at one point forming a kind of three-piece gray suit composed of a v-neck hip-length tank over a shirt and tights. So much was quietly going on with the chilly-weather and tights theme that here and there, they were being worn draped over shoulders.
Amongst the nonchalant layers, caught in a belt or dangling somewhere from shoulder or sleeve, there were tiny antique mementos—a mussel shell, a silver perfume bottle, a cluster of magnifying glasses—worn as personalized jewelry.
It’s not exactly minimalism in the stark ’90s sense, but The Row is the best living example of a long American tradition of reductionism in fashion. It stretches back at least to puritanism—the nun-like styling of a best-in-field tuxedo coat over a sweater and white wing-tip collar said that. Elsewhere, there might have been a slight nod to the Bill Blass, Calvin Klein-ish American sportswear of the 1980s in the belted, rounded-shouldered coats and a particular long brown leather trench.
It’s an aesthetic that is scrupulously “nothing much,” verging on utilitarian, yet also very expensive. Its success speaks to the fact that for all the fashion that’s offered as womenswear, there’s still a massive scarcity of day wear—especially of the kind, designed by women, which is shown as separates in a way that demonstrates an easy, grown-up freedom of interpretation.
It’s hardly for everyone, though. Amongst all the cocooning cashmere shapes, shaved mink has made a come-back this season, surely a bell-weather for the fact that certain echelons of fashion are reaching ever upwards to keep the tastes of the hyper-wealthy within their soft and discreet embrace.
