Jacobs's intentions were made clear even before the first model hit the catwalk Sunday in the custom-built LV tent in the Louvre Museum's Cour Carree, when the voice of Edith Piaf cried out of huge speakers before a giant bamboo backdrop that recalled Pigalle music halls.
Piaf, let's recall, was apocryphally cured of childhood blindness after her grandmother's prostitutes pooled money to send her on a pilgrimage honoring Sainte Thérèse de Lisieux, would have loved this collection so redolent of Paris pre-War café life.
The results were all sorts of articles one never expected to see on a Vuitton catwalk – from mini knickers with LV logos to some slinky and saucy leotards.
Hair pulled up in spiky tarty plumes, eyes black rimmed, face pancaked in makeup, the models looked like high price working gals, whose limbs were covered in leopard print bracelets, giant Maori style pendants and a sensational series of high heels that sprouted feathers.
And, in a season, which has trumpeted the return of the mini, Jacobs sent out a string of models in skirts that barely covered their underwear.
Jacobs called the look, “Petite Princesse Parisienne,” but like Piaf herself you suspected this princess once dated a musician who doubled as a pimp.
Not that it was in anyway cheap, for the genius of this collection was subverting the influence the better to make cool, contemporary clothes. From the nattiest of polka dot silk pants and cool shiny satin boleros, to “jolie laide” green shag tops and flared burnished orange cocktails, this collection had so many great looks.
With “Non, je ne regrette rien,” booming out on the soundtrack, the 52 models took their final tour to prolonged cheering for a high octane display that thumbed its nose at the current economic blues.
And, one left the show thinking can I be Milord at these girls' after hours party?
photos courtesy of Fashion Wire Daily
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