Simon Porte Jacquemus, one of the best new Parisian designers in existence, presented his Spring collection in a manner of performance art, with the main thesis seeming to say: go ahead quit the shitty job you hate before you croak, dude.

He’s always working in some level of whimsy that elevates Paris preppiness into art-school cool, pushing construction and sizing to its outer limits, often in a primary color palette. So when a model came out in an oversized white workshirt pushing a giant red ball of fabric, you got the hint instantly: he was about to make officewear fun again, and so he did, showing giant stuffy blazers chopped in half to make sexy dresses, shredding pinstripe suits into halters for a day rave, embellishing the staid professional overcoat with a little bow and red splotches of fabric.

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In its most literal statements, one model walked with a tie and briefcase and red turtleneck confining her like a straightjacket might; another pulled along a behemoth-sized tie like deadweight while an actual white horse trounced down the runway. Was this at Paris Fashion Week, or the Kitchen on the Westside? While it seemed very serious, imbued with greater tension thanks to a dramatic, experimental piano score, it was also very funny and freeing. Still, he alluded to personal troubles when he told Vogue, “You know, my collections are normally about the South of France and the beach and happy things? Well, now the Jacquemus girl is not smiling.” Poor Jacquemus, but I know these clothes made me happy, at least.


Contact the author at julianne@jezebel.com.