You had to wonder quite how the models were going to make an entrance onto Gareth Pugh s runway, what with that giant white rubber balloon blocking the door. Then, with a big pop, the thing exploded, and on came an individual with a glittery cube for a headpiece and a top-to-toe outfit in Swarovski crystal mesh. This time round, there seemed less of the screamy reaction that usually greets his high-camp performance pieces. Maybe fewer of Pugh s club-kid fans had fought their way in. Or is this the start of a post-novelty cooling-off phase, as all and sundry are left to contemplate how this dedicated enfant terrible is really going to earn a crust?
From the runway pieces, it s quite possible to see how his dark-side coats, with their giant fringe-bristling shoulders, might find certain takers in the rock industry. As one-offs, they could fill the stage of any stadium. A stole made of white mink mice, complete with red eyes and tails? It could work for an encore. Or as window-dressing, come Halloween, perhaps. Real world, though? Hard to imagine many female customers for his ribbon-leather body dresses, no matter how much slaving it takes to sew them. Perhaps the conundrum will be solved when buyers travel to Paris to see Pugh s collection up close under Rick Owens roof. Owens wife, Michele Lamy, who has a stellar reputation as a manager, is overseeing Pugh s production. Maybe there are moderated designs in the works. There need to be, unless Pugh is quite happy to continue, hand-to-mouth, relying on the indulgence of sponsors, and the diminishing returns as newer designers come up.
