Vogue – 17 juin 2018<\/p>\n
by LUKE LEITCH<\/p>\n
A Prada show sometimes feels like an especially fiendish crossword puzzle that\u2019s designed never to be solved. To get to something even approaching a suitable answer you need to navigate a whole tranche of clues, misdirections, and visual entendres.<\/p>\n
But that\u2019s the game. The unknowability of Prada is one of the elements that so entrances its devotees. As Timothy Leary once said, \u201cThe universe is an intelligence test.\u201d In Miuccia Prada\u2019s universe, the test is to find the intelligence\u2014the information\u2014that leads you to a vaguely acceptable explanation.<\/p>\n
Tonight the trail of clues began with the setup. Prada\u2019s double-vaulted industrial shell was stripped back and redolent with the fresh-rubber smell of a newly bought pool toy, thanks to the translucent sheeting that coated its walls and floor. The seating was reproductions of the inflatable footstool first produced in 1960 by Danish designer Verner Panton, whose \u201ctotal environment\u201d interiors look like Austin Powers sets today, but were in their time powerfully psychedelic spaces.<\/p>\n
This nod to the 1960s (sex, drugs, rock \u2019n\u2019 roll!) prefaced the most urgent-to-the-eye decorations in this show: the powerfully \u201960s florals near the end, the hand-drawn head-scape of flowers, clouds, and girls on a sweater towards the beginning, and the three printed and filtered collage looks\u2014with short-shorts\u2014in the middle. The music was Aphex Twin and Brian Eno, culminating with Air\u2019s \u201cSexy Boy.\u201d Okay . . . so was this Prada taking a trip to Sexytown? Backstage Mrs. Prada said she was hoping this season\u2019s iteration of Prada man would be \u201celegant but in a young, new way.\u201d Almost coyly, she did not disagree with the suggestion that sexiness was on the Prada palette. \u201cYou know I\u2019m a bit contrarian. You know I never pronounce this word in my life: I never wanted to pronounce the word sexy. But now, sexy. . . .\u201d<\/p>\n
Aha! Maybe that was it! Prada loves to play with the ugly, and today\u2014as Versace touched on, too\u2014sexy is an ugly notion. Which makes it ripe for Prada-fication. So was Prada dosing us, taking us on a trip and urging us to turn on, tune in, drop out, and assess the subject afresh?<\/p>\n
Sexiness is subjective, of course, but there was a trad-masculine authority (if that\u2019s what you\u2019re into) in the cleanly cut single-vented colored blazers and seamed, washed jeans with a break. There was also plenty of thigh (if that\u2019s what you\u2019re into) in the Daisy Duke denims (Davey Dukes?) and printed, striped, or plain short shorts which Prada might just have described as \u201cminiskirts for men\u201d (it was hard to hear in the backstage crush). There was a touch of femme (if that\u2019s what you\u2019re into) in the rubber-sheened ruffle-fronted shirts that were delivered towards the end.<\/p>\n
There was a gentle return to the logo-fication we\u2019ve seen here in recent seasons, but with none of the heavy emphasis on sportswear. Instead there were sturdily unreconstructed rib-knit and leather half-zips, boat shoes, ushankas in house nylon or a weave in red and blue that translated to sneakers and a sweater, and a tailored silhouette that was ostentatiously un-emphasized. Every look\u2014every single one of them\u2014came with a bag slung across the right shoulder.<\/p>\n
Prada collections are drawn-out acts of fashion titillation, obfuscation, and veiled intent. As propositions go, tonight\u2019s was almost bracingly direct: sexy boys in elusive clothes. And, like, wearable.<\/p><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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