Marc Jacobs sent 63 looks down a seemingly wet, glacial, ice-blue runway that radiated all the warmth of an igloo. After the arctic winter from hell in the Northeast, the last thing anyone wants to think about is next winter. Even a Michael Kors winter-in-Aspen vibe would have been a more welcome sight than Jacobs’ glaçon vivant.
But back to the clothes. They were pretty, hourglass, 50s-ish couture silhouettes in fetish materials—leather, rubber, vinyl, fur—with lots and lots and lots of dots, big and small. The good news is that pretty much everyone loves dots, so Jacobs has a certified commerical hit on his hands. The bad news is that between the stiff shapes, frosty setting, piled-on retro-ness not unlike his last Louis Vuitton collection, and the lacy numbers at the end that brought to mind Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg and her white lace collar, the show left me feeling a little cold.