What a difference a continent makes. Karl Lagerfeld traded in New York for Paris and goth for chic. His cleaned-up and pared-down signature collection was full of the kind of clothes that get fashion editors scribbling, not because they will make pretty pictures—although there s plenty of potential for lovely editorial pages in his paneled-chiffon evening numbers, accessorized here with lace stockings and fingerless gloves—but rather because they ll make such pretty additions to their closets.
Rendered in colors he s long since made his own at Chanel (i.e., black, white, and navy), Lagerfeld s day dresses were short, with drop waists and sharp pleats, or fluid and draped in soft jersey. Patent belts accented a trench dress, a shorts suit, and a shirtdress with flaring A-line skirt. But it wasn t all girly. There were precise, slim shirts—all high, stiff collars and built-in ties—and shiny boy pants or skinny jeans, the not-so-inside joke being that they were borrowed from Lagerfeld s own closet.
