“I’m on a plane. I can’t complain.” Kurt Cobain once sang. Yeah Kurt? Well neither statement applies to me mate. Plane to Geneva was too scared of fog to take off, so I’m on a train and I could give complaining a go after making way to most rubbish of Milan’s airports 45k out in rush hour and back. But I won’t, partly cause its quite nice on the train in the first class dining wagon. (Cartier who host the Geneva watch fair don’t skimp, so I’m getting involved at the high level), and partly cause Milan wrapped itself up quite nicely. Fear has forced coherence in many designers, which I am digging. 

Today I found more coherence, even at D Squared. The ‘Canadian Brothers Grin’ didn’t get on my nerves as they frequently do. Their show was a straightforward blend of agro ice hockey reference, muscle bar garb, black tie and plenty of blood fetish. Some odd Italian Marilyn Manson style soap/pop star decked out like a bondage crow was escorted down the runway by Dan and Dino dressed as surgeons at the banging house finale. All that before 10am. All right on brand.  They do actually do a nice little tux, even if it’s on the same teeny weenie scale as Mr.Browne. Maybe there is a new collective of miniature North American designers poised to take over. The Midget Moda of America perhaps? 

Dsquared2

Valextra       

Armani

   Iceberg

A cheery start to day three arrived in the form of Pringle of Scotland’s hilarious animated film by David Shrigley, about the production of wool and knitwear. It had the fashos’ rolling in the isles. (Or should it be runways?).  Anyway, it was good. So was the show thank God, as am pals with creative director Clare Waight Keller. She kept the collection almost entirely within tones of grey. Her march of gothic cable knits and medieval armoured inside-outer-wear cut an ominous swath. This will be favoured by the anointed tastemakers who love a bit of Bauhaus (group not movement). A narrow elegant overcoat appeared in faintly metallic Donegal and an evening jacket with a hopsack made an appearance. Sophisticated colour balance and deft fabrication gave the collection international clout. A far cry from pre-CWK runway efforts half a decade ago, that were more reminiscent of the cartoon characters in the film. I interviewed her and she was bright and sparkling despite no sleep.

Pringle

Next the elevated experience of an appointment at the house of Ford. No photos or film allowed due to Tom’s desire for the collection to exist in as a non-fashion-seasonally-changing manifestation. Rather a collection that evolves slowly and retains many of its characteristics. Pure sense and something I am wholeheartedly in agreement with. Ford’s signature shoulder line, luxury fabrics and rarefied approach to all aspects of a man’s wardrobe is unlike almost any other. It’s totally lux and it works. Its lux turned up to 11. I’m particularly keen on the shirts that come with a tie bar. Those plus the shoulder-line, are more than a little bit Edward Sexton/Tommy Nutter, The Godfathers of imposing grace and timeless suave. 

Tom’s old gaff Gucci followed, with a bevy of neat sculpted camel suit and coats, teamed well with navy and chocolate roll necks. A look I favour on a very personal level. There were Gabicci-esque suede and knit cardies, narrow stone pants and there were plenty of snaffle loafers. A penchant I share with my farfetch.com commissioner Paul Brine, ever since we spunked our student poverty loans on them back in 1989. I’m having a large snaffle carved as my gravestone, possibly with the blue and red webbing too. Gucci was good, I don’t care what the detractors say about it looking like Topman. They only say that ‘cause they’re too fat to wear it. 

Gucci

Versace loves a celeb. Their front row was graced by three of Internazionale’s footballers. I sneakily filmed them and got screw face from Mario Balotelli for my trouble. His pals Francesco Toldo and Ali Sulley Muntari didn’t catch me. I asked my Inter mad driver Federico his thoughts on the boys. Also on Versace, which he described with reluctance as a ‘good Italian brand’. He didn’t mean it, although he is right. If you want flash cocktail suits to posture about in a surly manner, then Versace often do them. I’ts best if you are a serious A star wearing one, granted, but this is where to go. The slick leather body conscious stuff is for even fewer people.

Versace

Now I have knocked Moncler a bit of late, mainly that wet look nonsense so many pilllocks choose to wear. The Gamme Blue collection with Thom Browne, New York’s own manufacturer of tiny suits and part time Twiddle Dum impersonator, is also a cause for concern. I think they’re devaluing a decent sports heritage brand. They did put on a show tonight. A whole barracks of young cadets slept in military symmetry in camp beds, until the show began. Commandant type figures in Thom Browne trimmed regalia trouped in and played Reveille - the wake up bugle call. They jumped up and donned daft ski/snow board gear designed by old shrinky dink. There were actually some good pieces, but the whole affair had something of the Hitler Youth about it with the Austrian Boy Scout uniformed men inspecting each outfit before it did its lap of honour.

From the sleep deprived to the dormitory of Thom Browne bizarre ski academy in one day. I’m sleep deprived too. I can’t even face going out again after all this blogging.

Moncler

Should blogging he hard graft? I must be doing it wrong. I shall amend my approach to manageable staccato style. Day II and it’s always the same story. The whole fashion game seems depressing and pointless. Questions are popping into my head like “who would ever wear all this gear” and “who could possibly afford it?” How very luxurious of Bottega to lay on a dozen freezing young men to line the path to the building’s door. Shivering in identical overcoats they looked forlorn. Fashion was letting me down. Music was not though as James Brown and Screaming Jay Hawkins jolted me back into engagement. “How do you like me now?” asked Mr Brown numerous times. The Bottega stuff was good. A considered amalgam of jump suit styles in modern tech fabrics, sportif pieces in earth, burgundy, bottle green and navy. The sort of ‘shell’ fabrics looking both approachable and new, even in jockey silks bomber styles (caution mind, as I personally still like to wear a track suit occasionally). Edwardian ‘Drapes’ exhibit a new length of smart jacket that worked for some evening stances too, all garnished with Teddy Boy quiffs. Enough ideas for a decent show Mr Maier.

Bottega Veneta

Next came some unmentionable contrivances, so I won’t.

I liked Tods. Tods was very Tods and I liked it. Does that make me square? New penny loafers with leather sole and a more pointy profile were very covetable. Leather trimmed fine aviators were also good. I Met Deigo Della Valle. He was most complementary about The Rake. He was on the cover last month mind, but still good to hear. He invited us for tea. It might have more to do with Esther than I perhaps.

Salvatore Ferragamo delivered Autumnal bohemian Gaucho verve. Haight Ashbury sheerlings and sheepskins teamed with riding boots and massive scarves functioned in almost ‘The Good, The Bad and The Ugly’ manner. Scarves were so thick they thought they were demi ponchos. Interesting as mine got delivered via Ferragamo’s PR. She owed me a favour, and as I forgot to collect it in London she obliged. Is that over the top? Having a poncho delivered by plane? It’s Hermes. It has tassels.  Still unsure whether to drop the fully blown riding look in Milan, but Ferragamo is tipping the balance. Long live the Florentine scourge of fury animals and lizards. Love Ferragamo. Fashion is back in favour.

Salvatore Ferragamo

Prada

Prada was mentally challenging for me, but then it’s supposed to be isn’t it? Firstly; repeated slices of Morrissey’s “I Know It's Going To Happen” wafting through the famous Via Fogazaro concrete cavern. The juxtaposition was odd. I love that song. Mozza at his delightfully anguished best - at the home of a fashion institution – jarred for me. Secondly the show was odd too; bursts of vintage Prada menswear which I ‘got’; camel knits, thick navy suiting fabric like only they do; and ensembles that had something of Godber from Porridge about them. This agreeable work was punctuated with peculiar women’s exits and men in preposterous tiny cardies that you might put a ten year old girl in. I know it’s a show, but it still creates a comedic visual of the sort that gives fash’ a bad name.

My mood swung back to reactionary, enhanced by the two Martini’s that they were giving out. Morrissey, children’s knitwear on teenage boys sent me reeling from the fashion mechanism. I skipped fashion dinner and the hotel bar scene and went and ate alone down Porto Genoa. The Beef Tagliatta was ‘poco vecchio’, but somehow comforting. The radio station played Angie by The Stones. Sad. This cheered me too. I walked back across a railway bridge to the empty industrial sector, back to the daft style hotel ‘Nhow’. The place is supposed to be buzzy and modern. It’s thin on substance, big on pointless furniture. A bit like fashion. So much for staccato and brief. Maybe blogging is for the young?

- Tom Stubbs

Also with an eye on the coffers, Raf at Jil Sander dropped a neat, dynamic collection. Pert flecked suits with ‘80s ‘Fosters Menswear’ shiny fabrication verged on an edgy photocopier salesman (in a good way). Duvet style matt finish ‘urban’ jackets were most fanciable and the perfect antidote to the wet Moncler epidemic that has gripped Italy.

At Trussardi’s new lifestyle store we were compressed into lifts to enter to the showroom above. We shared ours with fashion tour de force Milan Vukmirovi. He was sporting a nice black Hermes Cap Cod Double Tour watch I noticed, and duly flattered him on it in an attempt to secure an interview. It worked (check out the video below).  His Trussardi 1911 collection of lux-lumber chic paired with tactile, covetable knits and tailoring dealt with straight masculinity. The almost anti-high fashion collection of wearable clobber was refreshing. Canadian mountain-esque robust tartans on everything, worked with man staples from washed leathers to Savile Row pinstripe tailoring. He’s obviously double clever and grasped the nettle of the current clime, melding luxury with a look he says comes from the streets of Tokyo. I worry all that tartan could look Lux-Hoxton to us in London, after the overkill we’ve seen on the check Shoreditch trendies already.

Burberry Prorsum