Marc Jacobs

Marc Jacobs likes his work to be seen. A lot. So for spring, he turned the inside of the New York State Armory into a blinding white box with a quadruple runway, Bryant-Park-style. Along with blockbuster staging and bleachers, the designer forwent grandiose tunes in favor of a light and trashy pop soundtrack, perhaps in deference to special guests Madonna and, arriving late and forced to stand, Lady Gaga.

The high-mindedness was in the collection itself, an exploration of familiar themes from Jacobs: sheerness, shine, layering and undergarments, all remixed to conceptual, ruffled heights. There was something distinctly Russo-Japanese about many of the looks, as if a Bolshoi ballerina had taken up with a traveling Kabuki troupe. Thanks to the designer’s magic touch, however, it all worked. Tavi Gevinson, for one, was impressed. After the show, the pint-sized tween blogger—and Katie Grand protege—proclaimed to me, in her self-possessed manner, that she had loved the show’s overall aesthetic, aptly calling it “circus-mermaid-geisha.”

Backstage, I caught up with Gaga, curious to know what the pop sensation wears under all those fabulous getups. Nothing at all, she responded. I should have known. More interestingly, Lorenzo Martone—Marc’s handsome husband, who gallantly tended to and held Gaga’s hand at all times—chimed in that he favors Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Asked what color, Martone puzzlingly offered the last shade we’d expect: brown. Maybe it’s a Brazilian thing.

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