Paris post-containment? Think youth and sex.
In contrast, the Bluemarble show was urban until its conclusion, staged amid the strict Enlightenment geometries of the gardens of the 18th century National Archives building (where Sofia Coppola filmed a lot of “Marie Antoinette”). Crowds of fans came to support 28-year-old Franco-Filipino designer Anthony Alvarez in his seventh show, an exuberant mix of street wear, raised style, couture elements and vernacular dress typical of Siargao, an island in teardrop-shaped in the Philippine Sea where Mr. Alvarez normally goes surfing frequently.
“People are ready to go online again,” Mr. Alvarez said backstage. “They want to be alive, to go out again, to have sex, to have fun, to dress up.”
And it’s true that almost nothing seems more welcome after a year and a half staring at ourselves in Zoom’s terrible, merciless mirror than the sight of alien creatures. Maybe that’s what made him so happy to be in Paris last week at a dinner party celebrating Swedish label Acne and a new compilation of Acne Paper’s biggest hits. Held in the aisles of the Marché des Enfants Rouges, the oldest in Paris, the dinner featured an assortment of fashion types on its guest list: designer Martine Sitbon; Ib Kamara, the influential stylist from Sierra Leone; Barnabé Fillion, the self-taught perfumer from Aesop; British photographer Richard Burbridge (think Tom Ford’s campaigns); and, more deliciously, Raya Martigny.
Mx. Martigny is an Amazonian transgender model from Reunion Island, a tropical French department located nearly 1,000 miles from the nearest land mass, Madagascar. At well over six feet, she is undoubtedly an eye-catcher in any room she enters. For dinner Acne, Mx. Martigny appeared wearing a tie-dye purple pantsuit similar to the one from the Vuitton show, with a plunging neckline and nothing underneath. Her black hair with a parting in the middle was pulled tight against her scalp. Falling to the ground behind her, a braid as thick as a bullish.
Periodically, she tossed the braid carefree, a bit like a candidate on a fashionable podium. If the category was Parisian reality, it left little doubt that reality had been served.