As much as anyone is talking about the clothes or the bags or how anyone is going to walk in those shoes, people are talking about Marc the man. At the end of the Vuitton show, he skipped out front in a sleek suit and white shirt unbuttoned to Tom Ford level. In the old days, he’d have shuffled out, waved, gone back. At Vuitton, he mugged and stuck out his tongue, swinging an LV vanity case decorated with SpongeBob SquarePants.
All showbiz aside, the purity and genius in his work prevailed over the antics. This man, who revels in the subtexts of sex rather than its blunter, sluttier iterations, may be expressing his own sexuality differently these days. But when it comes to design, he’s still quite complex. His collections comprise a body of work that shows a twenty-year-long thought process. He’s still churning out hit bags for Vuitton.
And as for Suzy Menkes, well, they’ve made up; she arrived at the Vuitton show to find, on her seat, a hand-sketched T-shirt: a little present from a designer who, if not chastened, at least seems sorry. He is fashion’s collective teenage son, and this, too, must be endured.