Chloé

It’s decidedly fall in Paris, but the Jardin des Tuileries was nevertheless blooming with Chloé girls. They pranced about in slouchy pants and oversized blazers as they gradually made their way into the show venue. Camel is the Chloé girl’s neutral of choice, and it paraded about in endless permutations, fatigues in an army of the fashionably dishabille.


Unfortunately, once the temporary tent was packed with over 500 guests, it quickly transformed into one of those tropical hothouses where French royalty once pampered their most rare orchids. Those in the front row fanned themselves nonchalantly so that from afar the they looked like thousands of pressed paper butterflies. I noted, once again, the absence of Madame Wintour, who I imagined would not fare well in her signature fur, as well as Rihanna, who otherwise has been at nearly every show. But then, while she is many things, perhaps she’s not a Chloé girl.

The show certainly proved why the powers that be are so enamored of young Hannah MacGibbon, Pheobe Philo’s former right-hand gal and now the mastermind behind the Chloé’ newfound direction. The show opened with a loosely tailored camel suit, anchored with a sturdy shoe, and the rest of the collection followed course, elaborating the motif with ponchos, khakis, trenches—all the familiar tropes from the house’s lexicon. One standout was a patchwork denim shirt with a small purse slung messenger-style across the chest—très Parisienne, I’m told. The show ended with a series of flirty dresses in subtle shades of oatmeal. While it didn’t break new ground, it was a concise statement of the brand and its carefree identity.

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