David Dixon kicked off last night's show - after over an hour delay and swirling twitter rumors of a possible cancellation - with a retrospective of his 16 years as a designer. While I don't begrudge anyone a proper Sweet Sixteen celebration, I wonder, did Dixon really need two? And did we all really need to be invited?
This initial part of the show was hodge-podge and overly sentimental - narrated love letters between his grandparents, old family photos, a cheesy intro video featuring an uncomfortable-looking Dixon. It was a digital scrapbook trainwreck. I'm a fan of taking runway shows to a multimedia level. I love props. And celeb cameos. But not when they distract from the real purpose of the show (the clothes, duh).
What a way to end Fashion Week. Following his Barbie line, David Dixon showed an elegant, lovely collection that had just the right amount of edge to keep it interesting and surprisingly fashion-forward. Think of it as the collection that Pink Tartan was aiming for: classy, but a little playful, too.
Feathered capelets and fur arm-warmers signalled a more outre Dixon, while shiny, swim-suit-like dresses with graphic-print skirts, and silver silk shantung cocktail frocks made eveningwear exciting again.
Compared to some of the wilder young talents, old hand David Dixon's clothing is usually pretty safe, and yes, this season brought us little gray boxy jackets, sensible black shifts, navy silk halter-tops, and the like.
I was shooting in the photographer's "pit", and somehow managed to snag one of the best spots: front and centre! The pit was so crowded that all of us photographers sitting on the floor at the front had to get pretty intimate in order to fit within our designated space.
There was a photographer for Fashion Television sitting behind me, and she got to be the "big spoon", while I was the "little spoon", if you get my drift.