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Ballskirts and muscle T-shirts set the tone for the collection, which had models in teased-up faux-hawks stalking the dimly lit subway platform. But those muscle Ts were no joke; with sculptural drape and rolled sleeves, they were as studied as a matinee idol. And the ballskirts, slightly deflated, weren’t too precious for late-night shenanigans either.
Ford nodded to Halston with draped gowns, though they were more sport- than screen-goddess — like something you’d put on for dinner at home, rather than for a red carpet. The casual athleticism continued through to leather dolphin shorts, tracksuits, and bomber jackets that even in the underground fog looked soft as butter.
Silky boxing shorts, paired with matching blazers in jewel tones for a kind of next-gen suit, A personal pet peeve of his, they landed on Ford’s mood board as “a photo of the slick nylon basketball shorts that I will never let my son wear to school despite the fact that his friends wear them. These torture me. I’m always fascinated by things that torture me,” he explained in the notes. (Jack knows best; they looked versatile and cool.)
For the fashion dreamers, there were glossy metal breastplates after Ursula Andress’ shiny metal bra and Jeff Koons’ balloon dogs. Set on elastic bra straps and worn with jersey maxi skirts, their subversive allure was vintage Ford, now and forever.