In the dead of the night (well, 6.30pm in Paris) the ladies of Louis Vuitton came out from their lair into the Musee Du Lourve’s courtyard, spotlit. The past was meeting the future, quite literally, as the runway ramp turned from the original Louvre paving into a white and grey landing pad. Star Wars style. Water spurted from the statues and Grace Jones’s eerie, theatrical ‘I’ve Seen That Face Before’ filled the night, “Strange, he shadows me back home, footsteps echo on the stones, rainy nights on Hausmann Boulevard, Parisian music drifting from the bars,” setting the scene. These women were up to something. Skirts fell to the knee, woollen checkered and pleated, straight down and straight to business. Embellished fringing fell off the shoulders and skirts and jumpers were lined with crystals on collars and waists. It was all about a drop sleeve, both long and short, horizontal layers and stripes defining the shoulders, capelet-like. Gold chains wrapped around their waists and they held their LV bags close to them, their most prized possessions in one gloved hand. Was this a secret mission, no DNA prints to be left? Sequinned black pants shined, loosely flared and silk satin pleats gently rippled. The Louis Vuitton woman was definitely feeling like a layday, Argyle knits and long sleeved dresses that whirled around knees. Pants were printed or simply black where colourful corsets cinched the waist. All that classic Nicolas Ghesquiere leather was seen in shiny jackets, short skirts and camel coloured, worked loosely onto shearling jackets. A whole lot of good looking, smart and sharp Louis Vuitton. Just how we like to end things. Paris, over and out.
by Roxy Lola
Photographs by Jason Lloyd-Evans