Delirious: LFW - Kane, Pugh, Ilincic, Gavin Douglas

This season’s London Fashion Week looked set to be the best in ages, what with the newly resurgent capital basking in the energy of the likes of the electrifying Christopher Kane and Gareth Pugh mixing it with the legend in the making that is Boombox, backed up with shows by Matthew Williamson, Temperley and Stella McCartney (albeit her line for Adidas). But as for the young guns, what of them? It had seemed that they had reached the point of implosion after the spring shows – could and would Kane present another collection of bodycon and tightly structured pieces, and would Pugh actually present a collection that was commercially viable?

Christopher Kane’s collection was a dramatic departure from his much-admired figure-hugging dresses, to his credit. His silhouettes opened out dramatically into light chiffon ruffles and floaty dresses, easy on the eye with a restrained palette of fey greys and blues. There was also a strong Midwestern-Stylings-meets-the-Eighties vibe running through the show with wide collars not unlike a couple of Zac Posen’s last week, stonewashed jeans elegantly ripped and snakeskin details that oozed attitude. Individual pieces were beautifully constructed though they bordered on crass – such is the perpetual risk of evoking the eighties – but Kane has always walked the line with an ease beyond his years.

Gareth Pugh’s show began with a bang when a model strode out with a slanted cube where her head should have been, but you couldn’t help but feel that you had seen it before. This prelude gave way to an otherwise accomplished collection exploding with creativity and excitement yet more focused on the clothes than runway heroics more akin to past shows. Extravagant excesses such as streaming tassels and coned hats that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the House of Harlot were underpinned by tight minidresses and well-executed matte black jackets. Though relatively more restrained in feel this time round, Pugh’s creations are still light years away from conventional.

Things toned down a little over at Roksanda Ilincic, though were no less spectacular. In a sophisticatedly elegant collection evoking old world glamour with a twist of modern attitude, Ilincic showed her collection to editors and buyers grazing at coffee tables (though I can’t imagine much was imbibed). Achingly beautiful silk column dresses preceded liquid silver kimono jackets, and elegant gowns evoking a maturing couture sensibility contrasted with voluminous shoulder pads and organza. Sublime.

Gavin Douglas suffered less than favourable reviews last time around – expectations were riding high on this Fashion Fringe winner, with the likes of Sinha Stanic and Basso & Brooke among his contemporaries – but this collection is sure to garner more than a little adulation. If Anna Sui’s girls were punky Barbie girls all grown up, Douglas’s felt like an army of cloned toxic fembots in a Marilyn Monroe-meets-Bret Easton Ellis head-on collision. This show had attitude to spare. Bare and accented shoulders and tiny waisted minis diced with voluminous print dresses and escalating hemlines, and Grecian one-pieces were tempered with luxe tailoring with not a little touch of ghetto fabulous. A shot of the aforementioned screen bombshell transplanted onto a strapless dress – evoking Alber Elbaz’s stellar collection a few seasons ago – covered familiar ground but was only a minor observation in an otherwise fine collection.

Delirious: New York S/S 08 Wrap-up

Ignore the chaotic coiffures, the tardiness and the seats rammed with celebrities over at Marc Jacobs – the collection itself was as gorgeous as ever. Trading edgy austerity for brash sex appeal, the collection took us through Victoriana, transparent, barely-there throws and ladylike tailoring to shimmering black evening dresses with gorgeous draping, colourful shades of Americana and almost hakama-like skirts split high. The message didn't feel as strong or as consistent as his past couple of collections, but individual pieces will sell like hot cakes.

Zac Posen 's ode to the endless plains of the west (or something like that) began strongly with relatively subdued and inventive takes on what a grown-up Dorothy would have worn had the designer had his way. Posen's trademark tailoring was punctuated with exaggerated collars and wide-brimmed hats. Yes ma’am caps contrasted with figure hugging skirts and Lily Donaldson looked perfect in a soft yet spectacular evening gown.

Over at newly imported Preen, designers Thornton and Bregazzi brought out a veritable army of khaki, green and orange with razor-sharp white trousers, tightly wrapped dresses and not a little body-con thrown in though not even Zimmerman could pull off an ill-advised jumpsuit. The collection was edgy and cool though it felt more excessive than past collections. It felt like Desert Storm meets Goddess. The inspiration? American Gigolo and pit girls…

One of the must-sees of this season’s New York Fashion Week, Proenza Schouler 's show was a stellar heavy-hitter of street sass, pseudoregal pomp and luxe to spare. From the perfectly sexy-yet-chic waistcoats and Albertus Schwanepoel millinery to the gorgeous gold-leaf silk pieces at the end, the show astounded from start to end.

More restrained yet just as beautiful was Doo Ri Chung’s beautifully feminine collection which began with tenderly draped skirts and high-waisted trousers before progressing onto layers of tulle and lace and shades of soft minimalism. It was refreshing to see that while the rest of the fashion pack was off chasing the loudest and proudest colours, Chung focused resolutely on the cut and the finish and didn’t resort to theatrics to sell her show.

Also tastefully restrained was Narciso Rodriguez’s show, seamlessly incorporating Japanese influences into his architectural style in a softly angular collection that concluded with a wonderfully embroidered black and purple piece showed off by the now-omnipresent Agyness Deyn.

Rodarte’s take on Japonisme was on the one hand, refreshingly modern yet more Harajuku Fruit disaster than eastern cyber chic. It is always a huge risk whenever a designer experiments with anything involving or related to the terms “sci-fi”, “futuristic” or “wacky”. This didn’t do anything for me. There were some interesting pieces, from the Hussein Chalayan-meets-tatami skirt to the studded blue sandals, but irritatingly it was the more conventionally eastern (read: kimonos, florals) pieces that pulled the collection back from the brink. The finale with the opening of the doors and the outpouring of classic Rodarte was a nice touch, however.

Innovation abounded at Naoki Takizawa’s debut solo show as he revealed foil printed copper and sterling silver and interesting technology in the form of a “memory system technique” that allows fabrics to keep their original appearance. The rest of the collection was hit and miss with beautiful touches to individual pieces but paradoxically, its eccentricity never worked insofar that it never felt coherent or together as a whole.

Finally, Anna Sui’s shows are always a pleasure to behold and this season’s was no exception. Infectiously enthusiastic to the point of delirium, her collection was a stake to the heart of fashion week humdrum. Acid brights and neon blasts of colour were mated with funky pink short pop socks and hair that would have made even Shannyn Sossamon think twice. The look was a luxe take on punky meets cutesy with a whole lotta Bugsy Malone thrown in, with the tiniest of shorts and the brashest of colours colliding – favourably – with girly neckties, striking prints and svelte one-piece swimsuits. Best of all? The beams on the faces of the models. Bruna Tenorio looked absolutely charming while the famously brooding Sasha Pivovarova was more dippy than demonic. Wonderful.

Delirious: We're back!

After the chaos of the summer, we're back. Apologies for taking so long, blogger and the London housing market have not been kind to us. Expect a New York and London wrap up and coverage from Milan/Paris in the next few weeks. It's good to be back.

Delirious: M.I.A

Sorry for the vanishing act we pulled.

The Fascist is busy buying up the Maxmara stock in China, Mikaela is vacationing in London and David is on some retarded London - Europe - Russia - China - SE Asia overland trek. If and when they get back in one piece Delirious will return in late August. See you then!

- David

Delirious: those gold leggings get their first public airing

"Horrific" doesn't even begin to cover it.

Delirious: Diesel Liquid Space

Sartorial Fascism: Snorting Steven Klein

I’m not allowed to say avant garde. Post apocalyptic hyperreality photographer was provided by a Delirious boi who hates S.K.dizzle. What does Steven Klein take? I hope Prozac. So many of his photos are absolutely depressing that they’d probably make Delirious kiddo slit his wrists. I noticed that he seems to have an ongoing motif of horses, bodily injuries, and half–naked or almost–naked or fully–naked delinquent–esque people. But as depressing as they are, they are so amazing. Not the same with his editorials. My favourite editorial of his also happens to be my first digestion of Klein. The Tomorrow Style, seen in L’Uomo Vogue, November 2006 I think. Art as the dogma. I thought the whole thing of having global warming as a theme was so cliché and so OMG I’ve heard enough about global warming and I’m already a fuel–efficient fool so I don’t need Vogue telling me about it. But I have to admit, the editorial was brilliant, even though the content was so lawlzy ridiculous. Haha a fucking gas mask as protection against global warming. Ok, no problem. If I did that, I’d probably get arrested. By CTU and Jack Bauer because I would look like a plotting terrorist. And why would you put a mask on yourself but not a baby? But schwat! That editorial was still Indian teepee powWOW. He had another editorial that had a similar theme. Apocalyptic Ritual, the same vibe and aura. But that one was so butt–ugly. Ripoff, copycat of the Balenciaga SS07 ad campaign, that whole matter of cyborg meets suburbia. And then that was just followed by some of Steven Klein’s worst work ever. He probably took too much Prozac and lost his gold finger and green thumb. In W, “Stefano+Domenico's Dolce Vita”. Naked pix0rz of Dolce and Gabbana. I think Klein had too much testosterone pumping through his veins and tried to make it sultry. But it was so trashy, so wannabe trailer–trash porn. The only one picture that I liked out of the bunch of barf hag faces was the one with the some religious figure, cardinal? IDK my BFF Jill but that was the one with the most clothing in it. And then, waaaah, Steven Klein went soft on us with Naomi Campbell. I’ve got more than a handful for Naomi Campbell. He tried to make her look good in that June 2007 stint for W. But why would Campbell’s Chunky Chicken n00b–le soup ever be wearing a fluorescent cross–guard vest at a dinky dock? Honk to bring back the troops and Steven Klein.

Natski