Though the talk in restaurants across town, such as Il Baretto, a favourite hang-out of media and political types, is all about who, if anyone, might challenge Silvio Berlusconi in the April elections, as the Milan ready-to-wear shows drew to a close, certain fashionistas staged an uprising of their own - and its subtext was "bring back royalty". Or, to be specific, crowning themselves king.
It began at Dolce & Gabbana, where the two designers found inspiration in Napoleon, from his golden laurel crown to his imperial crests and gold-braid-bedecked body-hugging uniform. Next came Fendi, where against thegolden gates of the Fendi Palazzo in Rome, Karl Lagerfeld sent out an army of grey and gold dresses and coats embellished a la sergeant major complete with hardware stamped with the crest (are you sensing a theme yet?) of those royal gates. And finally, there was Burberry, where hordes in garments that first became famous in world war one staked their claim to the throne under a shower of golden (getting repetitive?) raindrops, thus kicking off what will be a year-long chain of galas celebrating the house's 150-year anniversary.
They were glittering, gilded moments all, but under the pomp and circumstance lay the question of the clothes. It's easy to see, in this brand-eat-brand world in which image is all, why designers might think couching a collection in the trappings of kings might get them halfway to being crowned, at least in the public mind, but truth is, without the substance to back them up, the empires cannot stand. So what of the garments themselves? Did they justify the claims or expose the men behind them as mere pretenders?
In the case of D&G, the answer is the former. A Viennese waltz of masculine and feminine, the collection worked on many levels, from the most obvious - great and forgiving shapes - to the slightly more subtle: the message that women were now both conqueror and seducer. Double-breasted, double-buttoned military cutaways, many encrusted in pearls and elaborately embroidered, topped tight, buttoned-up britches and cargo trousers, while chiffon cocktail dresses were leather belted under the bust a la Josephine. The colour palette - white on white; cream on grey - kept it all from going over the top, and crisp cuts counteracted the frills.
The eveningwear was similarly lavish, though once again the straightforwardly empire silhouette let the embellishment shine, whether gold leaf straps or a series of tulle gowns over-embroidered in precious jewels and painted feathers. If one of these doesn't make its way to the red carpet next weekend for Oscars night, some Hollywood stylist isn't doing their job.
Meanwhile at Fendi, the military theme was given a more modern spin, mixed with Balenciaga shapes in cocoon-like dresses and coats with an integral belt. Also present were fabulous furs, examples of the house's signature craftsmanship, and some of the lightness of the summer collection, thanks to pleated black chiffon cocktail dresses cleverly worked. And finally there were the bags: the ubiquitous B Fendi made in winter fabrics such as cashmere and leopard skin, and some new bucket shapes. All nice enough, but as a whole the parts did not entirely mesh; it felt as though a campaign was being fought on too many fronts and the message, as a consequence, was diluted.
Ironically, however, it was at Burberry, the house that began life literally making clothes for the trenches, that things got bogged down. Since it was conceived as a celebration of a legitimately long and lustrous history, the show functioned partly as a retrospective, beginning with the trademark trench coats - in beige, yes, but also quilted, leather, fur-bedecked, you name it - and segueing through skirts and jackets in men's wear plaids; some of the lovely girl-in-the-Downs-on-a-summer's-day casual chiffon looks that designer Christopher Bailey has made his own; and culminating in slick tuxedos complete with ruffled shirts and that trench again, this time in black or cream-tea lace.
The problem lay not with the clothes, which were perfectly acceptable, sometimes even beautiful, but with the premise itself. Burberry may have a long history as a maker of functional outerwear, but as a high-fashion house its history is relatively short: to go back into the archives for signatures is to go back only a few seasons. And that was apparent as, instead of adding to the depth of the offerings, the collection spoke in the limited sartorial vocabulary of its recent past. As a brand headquartered in one of the few countries that still has a royal house, Burberry should know that it needs to keep evolving to stay relevant. Stand still for a moment and, before you know it, someone has knocked the crown from your head.
