Isabel Marant showed in her usual spot at Couvent des Cordeliers. However, the attendance this season had tripled, if not quadrupled. Fresh off the insanely successful opening of her first New York City shop, this super down-to-earth designer showed a low-key collection of what Rizzo from Grease would be rockin’ if she were in high school today (e.g., pink denim paired with an embroidered silk bomber jacket). Lots of cut-off shorts, sweatshirts and mesh tanks sent out an LA vibe that read, “Easy clothes for cool girls.” I am particularly psyched about the quilted red bandana jacket.

One of the best things about Paris—more so than then any other fashion capital—is the disparity in styles presented during Fashion Week. After Marant’s progressive cool, Alber Elbaz honored the audience at Lanvin with his always innovative, highly feminine and classically beautiful, yet somehow undeniably modern creations. The no-fail recipe results from Elbaz’s impeccable talent for color pairing and his true love for the female form.

After an early evening snack break, I headed over to the Les Beaux-Arts de Paris to see the sophomore collection of 19-year-old Brazilian designer Pedro Lourenco. After only one season, the young designer has already secured production backing from powerhouse KCD and the support of countryman Francisco Costa of Calvin Klein, who was in the audience. Lourenco quelled anticipation with a nearly all-leather collection. The exception was an inset of transparent tulle, which outlined the body to impressive effect. The leather blocks seemed to float and curve, creating geometric shapes. Strong black-and-white looks recalled ’60s Pierre Cardin and Courreges.

The day’s shows behind me, I decide to meet up with friends for a cocktail at Colette. We were there to celebrate Tom Sachs’ store-in-a-mobile-trunk (essentially a retrospective) and Basement Crew (a Sachs-curated exhibition of three multimedia artists). Simultaneously, on the other side of the shop, there was another store-within-a-box. This one was big and orange and created by the house of Hermès. Its insides were draped with iconic silk scarves or as the French call them des carres Hermès. The orange box was there to promote a design collaboration with Colette as well as the hipster streetstyle site J’Aime mon carré, which the storied house launched a few months back.

Oh my God, I was late for the opening of an exhibition by artist Olaf Breuning at the new Surface to Air flagship in the Marais. Stranded on rue Saint-Honoré as the skies unleashed a torrential downpour, I searched desperately for a taxi. 45 minutes later, drenched, hungry and grumpy, an off-duty cabbie took pity and picked me up. The newly opened boutique was packed to the max, but even after a glass of champagne, I couldn’t quite motivate to the after-party at Le Baron.

Ungaro

After speaking with Giles Deacon at the Love dinner on Saturday night, I was dying to see his debut collection for Ungaro. I confessed to him that I lived in the giant black cat-eye shades from his Giles Spring 2010 collection. “Just wait until you see the glasses for Ungaro!” he teased. Despite his warning, I was completely unprepared for the floral fantasy he had in store. Upon arriving at the glass greenhouse in Parc André Citroën, all I could see through the crowd outside was a flock of butterflies perched high on arched stems. Composed entirely of orange, fuchsia, blue and green daises, they presided over the sun-drenched space with a sense of regal whimsy.

Once inside, I was presented with a tray of delectable flower-painted teacakes and chocolates. But I didn’t need to be bribed with sweet treats to admit my adoration of the clothes before me. Sauntering about a grassy knoll, populated by a psychedelic daisy-covered VW bug and bus, were models draped in crystal-embellished satin gowns, retro A-line frocks and coats, and a series of sheer black lace dresses worn over crystal bras and panties. Dark eyes, vamp limps and tightly braided crowns infused the ’60s-inspired looks with a touch of the Roaring ’20s. Additionally there were ostrich feathers everywhere. They were fashioned into a coat that was paired with a purple sequin mini; they dripped off a handbag worn with a pale pink suit and, most impressively, Deacon crafted two massive admiral hats out of eggplant, fuchsia, black and aqua feathers. And the glasses? Deacon wasn’t exaggerating—massive mirrored sunnies were embellished with pink and purple flowers.

Moving on from my euphoric Ungaro experience, I dashed to le Palais de la Découverte to view Commuun’s sporty spring show. The models were like a pack of fluffy high-tech clouds floating down the runway: shorts, skirts, tanks and windbreakers in white and khaki were bunched and harnessed around the waist and thighs with seatbelt-esque staps. A geometric print on sheer skirts and tunics added an additional dimension while neon yellows, greens, oranges and purples, featured on oversized backpacks, elevated the neutral looks. As the collection evolved, crinkled silver skirts, plaids in an Easter-egg palette and a poppy dress bursting with ruffles emerged.

Later that evening, at the launch of H&M’s new Champs-Élysées flagship, I ran into Michelle Harper, who was dressed quite editorially in nothing but a velvet Victor de Souza corseted bodysuit and stockings. “I’ve been eating hundreds of macaroons,” she told me when I asked about her Paris Fashion Week. “And the inflatable skirt from Yohji Yamamoto? I’ll be wearing that to the beach this summer.” Whatever would we do sans Paris?

I don’t know if you’re familiar with the Fashion Week flu français…

Zucca. Image by Spela Kasal.

…but it’s a killer. On Day Six it hit me like a fully loaded Vuitton trunk. But, despite the fact that I was tethered to my musty yet charming rue St. Hyacinthe flat for a good 36 hours, nothing was going to stand between me and Jean Paul Gaultier’s final collection for Hermès. So I overdosed of fizzy vitamin-C tablets, cloaked myself in scarves, sweaters and a vintage monkey-hair coat, and made my way to the 13th arrondissement.

Walking into the…let’s call it an arena, I tiptoed over a mulch runway and was overcome by the aroma of cedar, leather and horses? As the music rose and the back walls parted, a fleet of galloping steeds was revealed, each horse—taking cues from its dapperly dressed rider—danced and pranced to the beat. In line with Hermès’ heritage, Gaultier’s last stand was a dressage-themed parade of Spanish-inspired leather looks. A riding whip and black leather jodhpur jumpsuit set the pace. Its bodice was brilliantly crisscrossed with a strappy harness that vaguely resembled a bridle, and the ensemble was topped with a wide-brimmed black hat. Next came a slew of beige horsey numbers that boasted bit-belts, riding gloves and smart black field boots. Classic Hermès was rethought in wicker bags and a leather top that seemed to be crafted from a Birkin. A sheer crocodile jacket along with a scarf-printed blouse were unexpected odes to the house’s signatures. Shimmying fringe accents and leather corsets made for a strangely refined dominatrix vibe, and each look, draped and tailored with the impeccable ease that we so often see from Gaultier, embraced the maison’s old world elegance.

Hermès images courtesy of Getty Images

After a brown degrade flamenco dress and a pair of leather gowns trotted down the catwalk, the steeds lined up against the back wall to hail actress Farida Khelfa as she tipped her hat to the audience. Once she had finished her strut, they galloped forward to hail Gaultier as he sprinted out from backstage. The applause was deafening. And as the models rushed towards the designer, there was no question that this was a moment not to be missed for the Frenchie flu—or any other reason, for that matter.

My next and final stop was le Jardin du Palais Royal, where a trippy blacked-out void had been erected for Miu Miu. Straining to peer down an endless cherry-red runway, models in techno-colored frocks stomped to the American Idol theme. The mishmashed soundtrack echoed “Don’t you want to learn to be glamorous?” But these girls, with their blood-red lips, pleated geo-print dresses and embroidered leather jackets had clearly already mastered the art of glam. Necklines were crafted from neon cutout flower motifs, cartoonish stars jumped off silk skirts and a royal blue sheath dress, while simple, was an absolute stunner. Closed at the front by two straps, shoes were pointed and printed with ’80s club-kid checks and florescent shades of yellow. And during the home stretch, a slew of metallic bags, tops and dresses drove home Miuccia’s flashy but always tasteful, point.

Miu Miu

Ungaro

Zucca

Zucca images by Spela Kasal

Veronique Nichanian has been creating the Hermes man long enough to be considered an institution. And once again, she presented a collection of perfectly luxurious outfits, creating season after season a wardrobe of understated basics in the most refined materials available, executed with the renowned know-how of the Hermes house. The looks are relaxed, yet controlled in greys and whites with hints of beige or mustard and touches of khaki or bottle green. They are the ideal outfits for strolling the streets of Paris—from the Grand Palais, where Hermes held the show, to the riverside—particularly during the heat wave that hit Paris this fashion week.

Images courtesy of thefashionisto.com

When a saucy Lily Cole opened Hermès’ fall show with a one-piece leather catsuit, bowler hat and a black croc umbrella, she made it clear that we were about to witness a dandified romp down the runway. One part James Bond, one part Charlie’s Angels and a splash of Savile Row, the collection featured crystal-embellished top hats, strap-on leather epaulettes and an occasional peek of leopard. Coco Rocha peered through a monocle while she worked a black trench, which was draped over her shoulders like a cape. One model even carried a newspaper under her arm as she flaunted her smart camel overcoat. Leather three-piece suits, ties, suspenders and sexy, suffocating belts brought a satirical bondage vibe to Galliano’s vision. But despite his foppish parody, impeccably tailored everything along with luxurious knits, subtle fur collars and yes, a mink umbrella epitomized the elegance that is the essence of Hermès.

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Images courtesy of coutorture.

Images by Jenni Avins

Working in fashion, the smoke-and-mirrors Vogue fantasy falls away pretty quickly, replaced by long hours, outsized personalities and the relentless pursuit of perfection. And actually, this creative cacophony is what keeps the industry engaging. Still, every once in a while we need the dream. Paris Fashion Week is a perfect example, but I’ve found a year-round solution: the new Hermès men’s store in New York.

Already, Madison Avenue, where it is located, is a world apart from the rest of the city, and entering the regal brownstone that houses the store, you truly forget where you are. This sensation was amplified at the opening just prior to New York Fashion Week, as statuesque waiters in crisp white shirts offered trays of macaroons and champagne. Notably, despite the numerous camera crews and over 150 guests speaking in at least ten languages, there was still an overarching serenity.

High ceilings, stately architecture and abundant daylight define the 2,400-square-foot RDAI-designed space that men’s ready-to-wear Artistic Director Véronique Nichanian describes as “…like a perfect walk-in closet.” Gleaming, if slippery, steps lead visitors up to four intimate floors, each dedicated to a moment in the prototypical man’s singular lifestyle. Street photographs by Saul Leiter—think Horst not Vice—line the stairwell. Part of a collection belonging to Pierre-Alexis Dumas, the brand’s Artistic Director, each perfectly captures the refined Hermès world.

Starting on the fourth floor, ample windows provide a prime view of the signature horseman that sits atop the Hermès flagship store across the street at 691 Madison. The top floor also holds the the made-to-measure and special orders department, a wonderland of vibrant crocodile leathers, tactile suit textiles, ties and endless wardrobe possibilities. It really is, as deemed by Nichanian, a “floor of dreams.”

For those who can’t wait the to 12-14 weeks that the ultimate bespoke item requires, the third floor offers ready-to-wear suits, jackets and pants. Here, the clothing is a combination of Jean Cocteau’s bohemian sophistication and Jacques Chirac’s bourgeois style, meaning: plaid blazers, stripes and money clips. On the second floor—which is dedicated to sportswear, knitwear, leather and watches—masculine espadrilles, linen pants, reworked motorcycle jackets and other clothing fit for the Côte d’Azur confirm that we all need tall and handsome European boyfriends. The ground floor brings the entire Hermès universe together, offering everything from embossed baseball gloves and cashmere to iPod cases and the brand’s unisex scents.

Perhaps nothing confirms the store’s success as much my photographer’s comment upon departure, which was, “I feel like I just spent a moment in Paris.”

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The other day I was watching a movie with a non-fashion friend who turned to me during a scene and asked, “Isn’t that a Birkin bag?” It was. Obviously we have Sex and the City to thank for the cultural diffusion of this particular accessory, but it’s always sort of amazing when an insider’s item breaks its fashion boundaries, completely embedding itself in the mainstream. Providing further evidence of the classic’s evolution is today’s Christie’s South Kensington auction of “the best selection of Hermes handbags ever”.

Featured alongside vintage and contemporary jewelery, the 66 iconic purses date from the ‘60s to the present and include a beige fringed Birkin specially commissioned in 2009, along with fuchsia crocodile, blue jean, orange suede Birkins, and many others. While the variety seems slightly misrepresentative of the bag’s namesake Jane Birkin’s subtle, timeless style, maybe that’s the point: style is ever evolving, making room for the Birkin-to-be.

After four plus weeks of seeing collections from all over the world, originating from any and every conceptual birthplace, I was anticipating a “palate cleansing” from Hermès. Not that I wanted to forget any of the previous collections, as it was a solid season, I just yearned for a substantial dessert course.

The tennis-themed show was complete with grass risers, runway and white cushion seating. With Jean Paul Gaultier providing his twist on court classics, the collection was full of lust-worthy items that may not occupy editorial space, but will certainly occupy the closets of Hermès devotees young and old.

Pleated tennis skirts of all lengths in nude with a hint of ochre had alternating sheer and leather panels. Classic piped pieces in navy, ivory, black and white evoked leisurewear and could serve as elegant court or poolside cover-ups. However, it was the stellar workmanship in the clothes–evident even in motion—that really stole the show. The bags, the shoes and the clothing all had a finished, non sample-like quality that one rarely sees through the runway’s smoke and mirrors.

Also of note, the stylistic choice of a monochrome or contrast socks, which added a spectator feel to the strappy open heels. A grouping of crimson pieces with khaki, white, and navy accents was memorable, but an outstanding look in my mind was a shale blue-grey ensemble made up of a leather shirt-coat, shirt dress and high laced sandals, accessorized with, of course, a giant matching Birkin with unfastened trompe l’oeil buckles. Palate cleansed, I was left full and satisfied, and ready to leave Paris.

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Lead image courtesy of cornedbeefhash.wordpress.com. Runway images courtesy of trendhunter.com