Julia Fox, Eric Adams and the Return of the Suit

But also some clothes.

The organic preserved-rosebud top and skirt of Olivia Cheng at Dauphinette, for example, and her upcycled black coat with gleaming pearl buttons spelling out “New York.” The rhinestone-speckled showgirl denim of Area. The pet-me puppy print and pieced-together Frankenstein knits of Puppets & Puppets.

The reinvention of the mermaid dress, courtesy of Joseph Altuzarra, capping off a gorgeous amalgamation of urban sailors and mermaids in long pleated leather kilts and sheepskin-collar navy wool coats; watercolory orange and burgundy prints and fish-scale knit sheaths, all of it accessorized by treasure-chest coins and cowrie shells. At the end, two gowns made entirely of giant gold and bronze sequins rustled by, the rustling paillettes announcing their presence long before they arrived.

As an entrance-making idea (a dress with its own built-in soundtrack!), it was matched only by Peter Do’s reinvention of the suit in black, white, beige and gray, the colors left monochrome or juxtaposed one against another in crescents of contrast.

Sleeves were spliced open at the seams to create fluted arms; cropped bolero-like shrugs came in ribbed knits with extra long arms atop tuxedo shirts; trousers swirled around the calves; and evening wear was simply a false front of halter-like lapels, stretching to the floor. Caught by the thinnest of black leather cords at the waist, they bared the back and arms, framed by greatcoats dropped off the shoulders and draped at the elbows like an opera stole.

The result wasn’t a tux, it wasn’t a gown — it was something else.

Farewell to All That

But the uptown good taste that was synonymous with a certain kind of New York designer seems increasingly irrelevant; a relic of a less crisis-ridden era. That’s why Brandon Maxwell’s emotional ode to his grandmother, now suffering from Alzheimer’s, seemed like such an on-point metaphor. A goodbye not just to a person, but to all that in black and white, cable knit and crushed silk, cinched waists and midcentury silhouettes.

It’s why Jason Wu’s stripped-down romance, with bows and faded botanicals on sporty dance dresses and Bermuda shorts suits, seemed stifled by their ladylike propriety, and Wes Gordon’s rainbow-bright parade of full-skirted entrance gowns, tulle-topiary cocktail frocks and floral sheaths at Carolina Herrera looked lost without the safe space of a gala.