“I didn’t want it to be a pastiche rebellion,” said a typically antiestablishment Matthew Miller backstage at his Fall show. “I wanted it to be more sophisticated, more intelligent, where you’re not lashing out at the world with a fist.” He was explaining the collection’s concept, which was conceived as a kind of takedown of the old guard (which, in turn, functioned as a double fuck you, because Miller also proposed that the current generation’s intellectual wealth is pilfered from dead establishments—so, a theft, then a bullet). There was also further description of aesthetically mixing the then and the now, but all of it turned out to be confusing rhetoric for clothes that were ultimately pretty straightforward.

A shearling collar bomber jacket worn over a heathered silver felt topcoat with matching trousers perked up an eyebrow or two in the front row. Yet the look didn’t feel rebellious, nor particularly sophisticated and intelligent. It read simply as a solid mix of wardrobe go-tos. The same was true of the look topped off with a peaked lapel wool overcoat in midnight blue—easy, done. More obvious nods to Miller’s wellspring, like a repurposing of Caravaggio’s David With the Head of Goliath on a frayed trench, just seemed redundant (Givenchy ostensibly rules the heavy-handed imagery-screened-on-outsize-daywear trade), as opposed to revolutionary. Ironically, in this lineup Miller’s clothes were best when the dissonance between his theme and his clothing was greatest. It made one think about the collection he’d produce without all the turbulent chatter behind it.