Marc Jacobs

I just left Joel stuffing his face with mini-mozzarella burgers and mushroom and goat cheese tarts at the Marc Jacobs after party at the Greenwich Hotel in Tribeca (that's Robert De Niro's new place). So while he's living it up with the fashion elite I will give you the Marc Jacobs low-down. The show was pretty surprising. You never know which way Marc is going to go and this season it could have been almost anything from bohemian to prim to constructivist chic. But this show had a strikingly American bent to it in the way homespun fabrics like gingham and plaid were layered over super sophisticated fabrics like Lurex-shot jacquard. As if the late Yves Saint Laurent were to suddenly be inspired by the same muse that inspired Gershwin or Copland or any great American composer. And yet the clothes were sophisticated, not homespun. They had that particular self-consciousness that is now a Marc Jacobs trademark. There was the linear silhouette—tunics over pants, long, ruffled, bustled skirts—and then, suddenly, like YSL, a severe navy cropped pantsuit. Everything was ornamented: jewelry, chunky bangles, flat little straw hats, and shoes made of sparkly Lurex fabric. Even the fabrics were decorative: shimmering jacquards. Jackets were snug and tailored and tied up with glittery cumber bunds. It was Sunday best dressed up. “It was inspired by women,” the designer said after the show (he was wearing what looked like a Comme des Garcons skort). What I really liked about this show was the way it whole-heartedly endorsed idiosyncratic, authentic style. And, of course, from a fashion professional's point of view, there were lots of great ideas on that runway.