By Lily Templeton

“London-style or WHAT!” texted an enthusiastic friend after the start of Junya Watanabe’s fall show, as the music and hairdo continued the referenced punk idea given off by the designer’s invitation – a pub scene where only the punk does not spot an animal head. In the gilded setting of a grand Parisian home, Little Lord Punkleroy came to the fore decked in the butchered remains of classic Britannia garments, no doubt poached from his forefather’s wardrobe and repurposed.

All the models sported improbably colored mullet haircuts and bowler, halfway between Bowie and punks. Up top, it was all proper ties and well cut jackets. The shadow of bespoke said London, the safety pin confirmed it. Sliding south, there was the shadow of British country living, with Barbour-esque jackets turned inside out, brogue-like detailing on utilitarian boots, fine lawn squares stitched onto denim trousers. Patchwork, long integrated into the Watanabe glossary, alternated between actual patching and superfluous adornment.

In any case, Watanabe chimed in perfect synchronicity with his soundtrack, the eclectic appropriator King Krule whose gritty punk jazz ballads accompanied their sartorial equivalent. It all looked like the punk son of landed gentry, too-new Crombie jacket, inside-out hunter jacket or tailored velvet atop denim knickerbockers? Mother would perhaps be proud of the deep blue quilted jacket and staid trousers, but what would she think of that orange hair. Of course, it’s just an interpretation but it felt like a form of rebellion against an establishment needing upheaval from the inside.

Oasis, another angry Brit pair for sure, came on as the models stalked by. “You know it’s going to be ok,” drawl the Gallagher brothers. In the hands of someone so apt at taking the old to make a-new, that’s for sure.