In the staircase leading up to Gareth Pugh’s all-white venue, a notice aimed at people with “nervous conditions” warned of strobe lights during the show. But there was no real hazard, just a terrific, all-black (and gray) assortment of scuba-like leather jackets and coats with a recurring chevron pattern, dresses dangling with delicate chains and a great new pant that doesn’t just flare out, it billows. The menswear looked even stronger: bondage tops, sculpted jackets and those billowing pants—which, in French, is called plissé soleil. Heeled boots drew an interesting, subtly erotic silhouette. The accomplished collection was both graphic and wearable, but one left the show hankering for the divine madness of Pugh’s first spectacles, when his extravagant creations, often held together with duct tape, were utterly unwearable and oh-so-fun.