Close your eyes. Let us take you back to a far-gone era. A time when hemlines were high, people gazed longingly at the stars and silver boots were a thing. The 1960s, you say? No. Actually, fashion week. A far-gone era of 14 days ago (an age in fashion terms, trust us). But, yes, the 1960s wouldn’t have been a bad guess. Because, you see, the Shakuhachi show drew inspiration from the 1960s. Andy Warhol’s pop palace, the aluminium-everything, the dashing derring do and the big-hair-go-go-boots sensuality of Barbarella, otherwise known as the inconceivably long-limbed Jane Fonda. That was the 1960s, but that was also the Shakuhachi collection. Short, sweet, and wickedly fun, the collection sashayed down the runway like a girl with a mission, oversized floral prints and shiny shiny, shiny boots of leather.
Almost as a testament to the playfulness that ran through the range, the models hammed it up behind the scenes - Charlie's Angels style - tossing their hair and blowing the smoke from finger guns. We even saw the normally reticent Ruby-Jean crack a wink and a winning smile to the throng of photographers milling around backstage. Maybe it was all the hairspray (the look was slick-back cadillac, with hair combed back tight into low ponytails and a few wet-look strands pulled out at the front) or maybe it was the sight of reflective surfaces (silver knee socks, opalescent shirting and pearly sequin detailing), a boon for magpies like the fashion crowd. It was clearly a hit for everyone; the leggy girls arm-in-arm in minidresses, the editors, making notes of the retro-fit two pieces and peep-toe go-go boots, the buyers, mentally placing orders for those metallic backpacks, those digital-print swimsuits and those perspex visor hats for truly modern resort dressing. And, yes, the bloggers, too. We loved that fun, flirtatious mood that managed to combine 60s ebullience with graphic futurism. It wasn't new but it was definitely compelling.
From start to finish, from the first wink of multi-coloured sequins, the first swing of booty-short clad hips, the first flash of a crinkled metallic-twinged bomber jacket. Is this what is was like in the 60s? This fearlessness and flippance? This way of walking that said - no, shouted - 'look at me, look at me?' Maybe. But, this being fashion week, this is also going to be what it's like in six months from now, as those booty shorts and mini dresses and bomber jackets walk the walk right off the runway and onto bright-young-things all around you. Consider yourself warned.
Fashion week finished and the real world came crashing down and
