The show was a performance of its own kind, with models of every age and size (shaved heads, graying locks, wrinkles and all), ready to rumble in their Rick Owens power uniforms.
Curve-disguising smock dresses, coats and all-in-one jumpsuits brought to mind sports pinnies or jerseys. Only the materials were supremely luxe--matte crocodile, felted cashmere, even fur. Abstract-looking black-and-white embroidery suggested an haute spin on schoolyard graffiti, while other details were beautifully sculptural (high funnel necks, scarf ties and oversized hoods). The cool-as-hell, stretch leather, over-the-knee sneaker boots worn with every look added to the athletic vibe.
Rather than having models walk on a raised runway, Owens had them walk among the audience, doing figure eights around benches of well-heeled fashion folk as if they were about to start something.
The same models came out multiple times in the same outfits, at a faster clip each time, as if they were intentionally trying to mess with us. They were a force to be reckoned with, all right. Owens wouldn't have it any other way.