She's Pretty, But Antsy

By Kate Betts

Minutes before the first model appeared on the runway at the Calvin Klein show during Fashion Week in New York City, an uncomfortable silence settled over the journalists, buyers and society figures assembled in a Chelsea photography studio. Standing in view of the crowd was Klein himself, surrounded by several p.r. handlers and the CEO of Phillips--Van Heusen, the giant shirt company that acquired Klein's label for $438 million earlier this year. Here was an icon of American fashion, the man who gave the world designer denim in the '70s and put underwear over the top in the '80s, a mere spectator at the debut of his designated successor, a virtually unknown 32-year-old from Brazil named Francisco Costa.

Every season in fashion there is a show that defines the moment, and sometimes the moment has little to do with what's on the runway. Klein's show was a poignant and powerful reminder that nothing in fashion is forever. The clothes for spring 2004 responded to that changing climate, forsaking last season's sexy, corseted silhouette for the safer harbor of pretty, soft dresses and colorful, easy sportswear pieces that make consumers feel good. And many of the most popular trends, such as flapper-style dresses and wide-cut pleated pants from designers like Marc Jacobs and Diane von Furstenberg, harked back to carefree moments in American fashion like the jazz age of the late 1920s and early '30s or the sexually liberated '70s.

Fashion-world favorites such as Jacobs and newcomers like Jack McCollough and Lazaro Hernandez of Proenza Schouler projected a sense of cheery optimism with a generous palette of citrus colors, sweet floral prints and soft, 1920s-style dresses right out of The Great Gatsby. Old Guard designers like Ralph Lauren and Carolina Herrera revived the breezy silhouette and jaunty stripes of Chanel's early days in Deauville.

But a certain uncertainty lurked beneath the chiffon-handkerchief hems of every Daisy Buchanan garden-print dress. It is not just a reflection of a shaky economy that has weakened sales and sent once high-end designers like Isaac Mizrahi to Target to hawk $25 silk shirts. Off the runway, the hand wringing was over the corporatization of fashion. Cliquey social critics complained that the mainstream thrust of fashion was diluting its cool factor. And on the runways, the demands of the shows' sponsors were making for some strange scenarios.

At Miguel Adrover's show, sponsored by UPS, a guy dressed as one of the company's delivery men suddenly appeared on the runway toting a huge box covered with UPS stickers. At Rosa Cha, Brazilian bikinis were accessorized with birth-control patches, courtesy of Ortho Evra. The designers for the collective called As Four emerged on the catwalk smoking. Their sponsor was Legal Cigarettes.

"It's time to get real," said Joan Kaner, Neiman Marcus' fashion director. "Fashion is not about frivolity and shock." American fashion, of course, has never been big on risk taking. Designers in the U.S. are predictable in their dedication to sportswear, leaving shock tactics to their European colleagues. Along with predictability comes safety, a belief that certain designers--the triumvirate of Calvin Klein, Ralph Lauren and Donna Karan--are fashion's bedrock. But all of a sudden there was a tectonic shift, as if Klein's departure left everything else on shifting sand.

On the upside, the changes leave room for young designers like Alice Roi and Behnaz Sarafpour to step up, but they appear to be having separation anxiety. Many of their ideas echo the kind of cool, upbeat sportswear that made Klein famous in the '70s, when models like Lauren Hutton bounced off the fashion pages with little more than a gap-tooth smile and a shrugged-on pair of shorts. But the newfound--or recycled--optimism rings hollow; fashion's new generation of designers seems fettered by nerves.

Perhaps this is because they are not afforded the luxury of an overarching vision. They have to satisfy too many masters: the buyers who demand wearable clothes, the magazine editors who respond only to overstyled looks that make good pictures and the celebrities who need outfits to illuminate the red carpet. In the late '90s many young designers--Jeremy Scott springs to mind--tried to make their mark with over-the-top, fashion-forward creations. But today rising stars like Bryan Bradley of Tuleh, Derek Lam and Zac Posen focus on creating clothes that please private clients, celebrities and stores.

In the middle of the Calvin Klein show, a model turned on her heel to exit the runway, and her skirt ripped up the back, slashing the mood of ease the clothes were trying to evoke. Klein arched an eyebrow but was generous afterward about his successor's debut, slipping backstage to congratulate Costa. "I'm thrilled for him," Klein said, "I feel great about it."

The reviews were rather cooler. Costa's nude-colored knits, tight pencil skirts and thigh-high shorts lacked conviction. Will the new kid be given time to learn the peculiar fashion art of impersonating the master while making a name of his own? The larger question is, Can fashion, in its own period of transition and social change, manage to keep from coming apart at the seams?