The invitation showed a sweep of grassy farmland extending to the clear blue horizon. It summoned us to the garden of a school for the deaf in a southern part of Paris, not a grand ornamental garden, mind, but a rather more humble plot of vegetables and flowers. Then, to the tune of George Harrison's "My Sweet Lord," models began crisscrossing the grass, dressed in bib-front overalls, patched cotton work shirts, and wellies. With their flowing hair and the occasional beard, they looked like Harrison himself on the cover of All Things Must Pass, his first solo album after The Beatles breakup. He was in his gentleman farmer phase then, and, for a while today, it looked like Junya was also getting himself back to the garden. There'd been a last-minute switch from the school terrace to the greensward, with its thick, glossy hedge. It made a more fitting backdrop for his natural men in their worn farm clothes. But once Junya began dropping in technical outerwear, the collection became less about the farm and more about his outsider's fascination with American utilitywear.
The waxed-cotton storm jacket, the red mac (in pleather, not oilcloth), and the plaid lined parka had the element of primary-colored surprise that captivates Junya's cult time after time. So did the tech jackets in orange, khaki, and sky blue that topped chambray overalls. He's a great colorist: His tricolor desert boots with Tricker's will stand out next spring.
Junya's presentations always defy the conventional fashion show momentum, which dictates a build to some kind of dressy climax. But for once, this show actually got darker and dressier as it drew to a close. There were still the overalls, but now they were black—and paired with white shirts. There was also a brass-buttoned blazer as polished as bespoke, bar the fact it was patchworked from denim. Though Junya will never give an inch when he's queried about his motivations backstage, you can imagine that that is the kind of garment that most tickles his fancy.