D4 N THE NEW YORK TIMES, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 2019LONDON — What does it mean to be British?
What does that look like? There’s really no
way around these questions for anyone in
Britain right now; anyone existing in the
shadow of the maybe-final-the-P.M.-
swears-it-is-so Brexit deadline of Oct. 31.
They overshadow everything else, even cli-
mate activism. Banksy’s “Devolved Parlia-
ment,” a portrait of the House of Commons
filled by chimpanzees, is about to go on
show for the first time ahead of a scheduled
auction. Bankers are being told to have
overnight bags packed in case they sud-
denly have to move to Frankfurt.
And designers? Designers, stuck with a
fashion season that falls just weeks before
B-day, to show clothes that will be worn in
its aftermath, are extrapolating.
The point of fashion is to crystallize iden-
tity: to give individuals the tools to express
who they are. But if you don’t know who you
are, because who you are today (what you
are part of ) and who you may be in a month
(what you are not part of ) are different, the
most you can do is provide succor for get-
ting through the moment; for helping to
process.
There are no simple answers, as Jona-
than Anderson knows. Hence the main ac-
cessory of the JW Anderson collection: a
detachable Möbius strip/bikini top of dia-
manté rope that can be tied on and taken off
at will, curving round and round on itself
endlessly, taking you in circles.
It came over long, draped, jersey dresses
surrounded at the hip by a thick circlet of
rhinestone belt, one sleeve missing, the
other sliced open to reveal the arm and bil-
lowing out behind. It came over shirts over
harem pants; under a flowing silver super-
hero cape; mirrored in circular cutouts on
the hips of dresses or swirled just above the
hems of trench coats.
Mr. Anderson name-checked the Canadi-
an artist Liz Magor as an influence, and the
way she uses her work to make you rethink
themes and objects of everyday life (shelter,
history, survival). But if there was a better,
or more glamorous, stand-in for the feed-
back loop of self-recrimination, “what ifs”
and “not mes” swirling around the ether, it’s
hard to imagine.
Still, there’s been a lot of symbolism going
on. The biggest trend of the week was a sil-
houette that was the equivalent of a really
gorgeous... tent. A safe space made of fab-
ric in which to take refuge from the day. To
hide not the body politic but just the body.
Fashion often resorts to the most obvious
form of dress when protection is involved:
the power-shouldered military suit! These
new volumes were, in many ways, a more
interesting proposition.
Hemlines were dropped and often dusted
the floor, trailing behind like a train or a
memory; sleeves extended past the wrists
to obscure the hands or got blown up to in-
flated, absurd proportions; there were
acres of fabric involved. For a spring/sum-
mer season, there was almost no focus on
exposure.
Instead there were dresses that took up
space, as Richard Malone wrote of his
pieced-together and highly constructed
evening wear, jutting past shoulders and
curving grandly to the side, inspired by con-
versations with his grandmother about the
working class and demanding recognition.
(He took his bow in a T-shirt bearing a four-
letter word followed by the name “Boris.”)
Dresses that folded narrative over fan-
tasy, as in Erdem Moralioglu’s ode to Tina
Modotti, the Italian actress-turned-photog-
rapher-turned-activist, complete with clas-
sic Victorian silhouettes, in high-octane flo-
ral prints; elaborately fringed shawls
(fringe is also a trend); and a triple-tiered
evening gown in emerald brocade — all of ita very elaborate, lusciously tinted cover-up.
There were exceptions, to be sure: Chris-
topher Kane, whose “Ecosexual” show was
one of the few that dealt head-on with the
environmental crisis, thanks to silk-screen
prints of wildflower fields and LBDs (little
bright dresses) with silicone inserts that
looked sort of like pervy Georgia O’Keeffe
orchids.
But even Victoria Beckham, former aco-
lyte of the body-con frock, had about-faced
to dresses that hang like artist’s smocks,
floating from collarbone to calf with no re-
strictions. And when there weren’t dresses,
there were layers: turtlenecks under but-
ton-downs under 1970s wide-lapel blazers
in houndstooth check atop flared trousers
or below-the-knee box-pleated skirts.
Layers! Get it? So many: of interpreta-
tion, decisions, potential outcomes. That
Ms. Beckham made them look less heavy
than cool is to her credit.
Though they are rarely worn as lightly, or
with as much nuance, as in Simone Rocha’s
organza-meets-lace-meets-cotton-eyelet-
meets-raffia-meets-sequins-meets-Delft-
pottery mille-feuilles of coats and dresses
and cropped paperboy pants, rooted in
time-faded Irish tradition and myth. Gener-
ous in scale, human in detail, they were tex-
tural, in all meanings of the word.
And they tapped into a strain of historical
revisionism oft-beloved of fashion but more
freighted now that we are at another turn-
ing point, that perhaps took most obvious
form in Riccardo Tisci’s Burberry. It’s been
a year since Mr. Tisci’s arrival at what has
always been positioned — what he is con-
tinuing to position — as the ultimate British
lifestyle house. That’s a big responsibility
given the current circumstances; a big
claim to take on.Given the stakes, Mr. Tisci had spent, he
said backstage after the show, the first two
collections establishing what he called “the
alphabet” of the house. This was the first at-
tempt to put the variables together to write
its new story. So using his letters — A is for
animal print, S is for scarves, T is for trench,
V is for Victorian beginnings and so on — he
collaged them into a tale of oppositions: be-
tween the queen and the rebels, aristocracy
and youth.
There was less beige and more gray jer-
sey. Instead of the Burberry horse came a
new silk menagerie of wild cats and big
game. Shirts sported Burberry logo collars
and scarves across the shoulders and
sleeves. Hemlines bubbled up and turned
under so the blouse became a jacket. There
were a lot of high/low skirts cut to the
thighs in front, sweeping the floor in back.
At the end, sheer leg-of-mutton sleeve lace
gowns shadowed ribbed tank tops or black
bodysuits.
It was clear, and it was referential. It had
incrementally progressed, and yet it still
felt like looking at a paint-by-numbers
project. The common denominators are too
simplistic, the understanding of inheritance
too superficial. Richard Quinn plays with
many of the same tropes of royalty and
punk, but he does it with more humor and
less respect: steroidal roses and ruffles
over latex and power-grasping Cromwell
robes in explosive lilacs. The result is more
niche but also more fun, even as it responds
to what Mr. Quinn called in his show notes,
“the nightmare of reality.”
If anything has become clear over the last
many months, it is that what it means to be
British today is full of complications and
deep-seated emotions, full of stories written
by the victors that maybe need to be rewrit-
ten, and fear and passion and hope about
what was and what will be. It demands a
new expression. Perhaps that can’t happen
until we know exactly what is going to hap-
pen. In the meantime, the identity crisis is
starting to develop its own look.Above from left: looks from Burberry, JW
Anderson, Simone Rocha and Victoria Beckham.Above from left: looks from
Christopher Kane, Richard
Quinn and Erdem.Keep Calm
And Layer On
Dressing for the Great British
identity crisis and other
Brexit-busting ideas from
Burberry, JW Anderson and
Simone Rocha.
FASHION REVIEW VANESSA FRIEDMANELLIE SMITH FOR THE NEW YORK TIMESFIRST VIEWREGIS COLIN BERTHELIER/NOWFASHIONPHOTOGRAPHS BY TOM JAMIESON FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES