Daniel Lee had just finished showing his third collection for Burberry when a reporter asked the 38-year-old designer what he found most challenging about the British brand. “The curse and also the beauty of Burberry,” Lee said. “It appeals to such a broad cross-section of people. But in trying to please everyone you can end up pleasing no one. As a designer, you have to have a point of view. You can’t make a simple trench coat forever.”
There’s no question that Lee has a point of view. On Monday evening, he brought his audience to a park in East London, to a massive tent that in the fading light looked like a Renaissance fair. A thick bed of dark-green wood chips was spread over the ground; on the seats were brown wooly cushions. We were meant to be in the English countryside, maybe in a forest. It was certainly as dark as one. From her seat, Olivia Colman’s blonde head glowed like a beacon.
Yet with each outfit, as Amy Winehouse’s epic voice filled the space, the show grew heavier, weighed down by Lee’s struggle to avoid putting something uncool on his runway. And the attitude expressed by many of the clothes was undeniably cool. The high-collared storm coats, in a muddy brown plaid or black canvas, looked worn by the wash. The kilts in plaid or leather, that raked the floor, were shown with deep V-neck sweaters or fleece-trimmed bombers. A discreet zipper achieved the tight fit of coats through the upper body, then relaxed over the hips. And the trousers that zipped down the front of each leg, following the example last fall of Phoebe Philo’s (except hers were in the back) and were cracked open at the knees.
But Lee’s collection never came to a boil. The number of brown or sludge-green styles seemed relentless. Brands that hold your attention almost always use the hook of a distinct silhouette, the best examples being Prada, Balenciaga and Philo. In the past few years, Prada has made a statement out of leather bombers and barn jackets, for example. Obviously, Burberry has its famous trench coat and its plaids, but I can’t think of a new style or shape that Lee has claimed, and repeated, for the brand.
Years ago, when Christopher Bailey led the Burberry studio, the collections were witty and lightly eccentric. Bailey could do a whole riff on the trench coat. But that kind of fashion would be unbearable today because it seems so unsophisticated. And I think Lee knows that. So what’s the answer?
For the fall collection, he said he wanted to consider “the different types of characters” that Burberry has historically dressed, and he mentioned explorers and “people in the countryside.” During the show, what I saw wasn’t really different types. It was, rather, the idea of a style that isn’t grossly luxurious and posh. Lee and his boss, Jonathan Akeroyd, the chief executive of Burberry, might describe the attitude as “warm” and “elegant in an outdoorsy way.” But it’s far more anti-posh than that. And that’s interesting, especially in a country like Britain with so much wealth and where people display it.
My point is a lot of what Lee has done, and can do, can be quite subversive. At the moment, that expression feels muffled by a lack of focus, especially on a distinctive silhouette. Before and after the show, I heard a number of journalists question how long Lee might hold onto his job, that it isn’t working. To be sure, he and Akeroyd have the challenge of redefining Burberry as a stronger luxury brand, and at a time when many labels are experiencing a softening of consumer spending. But consensus is a dangerous thing in any field. In my opinion, it would be a shame if Burberry can’t figure out how to unleash the subversiveness. Not harness it or control it, but really let it go.
The London fall shows were generally a mixed bag, with well-established stars like Jonathan Anderson and Simone Rocha moving their work forward and others, like the gifted Paolo Carzana, plainly dealing with the constraints caused by a market oversaturated with designers. And very little money.
Rocha continued with some of the corseted shapes she offered in her recent Gaultier couture show in Paris, adding gorgeously delicate dresses in icy blues and pinks.
Anderson pursued “the idea of the grotesque and the pragmatic,” as he put it. That simply meant he was looking at how much Britain has changed in the past couple of decades and, with it, the passing of certain types and customs, like home-sewing and knitting, and buying underwear at Marks & Spencer. He cleverly worked the current obsession with nostalgia into the mix. Hence the gray-haired wigs as caps, the oversize coats with linings partially pulled out, and plain uniform-style dresses that might have been made from interior fabrics.
“I just wanted something that was a bit off-kilter,” he said. As usual, the J.W. Anderson knitwear was on the money.
Some of Carzana’s sculptural shapes were so rigid and rough in form and texture that the models looked like they crawled out of the earth. Others were ethereal, made from fabrics that Carzana dyed himself from black walnut and other plants. He is a finalist for this year’s LVMH Prize. His clothes don’t fit any pattern, nor does he. I asked if a dance company had ever contacted him to make costumes, and he said “no.” What are they waiting for?
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