Review Collection

If J.W. Anderson’s own collection in London was surprisingly, pleasingly straightforward, his catwalk debut at Loewe this morning suggested why. All that wayward J.W. action had gone south, to Loewe’s headquarters in sunny Spain. Yes, sunny. Instead of the somewhat heavy, leathery Loewe those who know the brand might be familiar with, there were the Balearic lightness and sensuality that Anderson began to explore with his men’s collection for the house. At first glace, the Isamu Noguchi garden at the UNESCO building where the show was staged might have seemed the very antithesis of those notions. But step back, check the sculptural stones and benches, and you could have been in the rocky fabulosity of Formentera. And that’s where Anderson was taking us, to somewhere physical and primal. A sheath in the honey-toned suede Loewe calls “oro” was decked with random applications of hide, a 21st-century Wilma Flintstone. Right behind it, something black, bowed at the waist, with a handful of suede samples dangling from its yoke. Precision and chaos—the kind of dialogue Anderson cherishes in his work.

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