There were no obvious references for the tight, sometimes hobbling silhouettes and aggressively hard-edged look Lagerfeld created (except, perhaps, for a touch of the sci-fi movie Gattaca). His army of women teetered the 100-yard runway in round-toed wedges, brandishing the new Fendi bags like totems (one with a shiny metal handle reminiscent of a transistor radio's, another a jewelled and mirrored minaudière). To be fair, Lagerfeld should get some credit for taking an anti-vintage stance this season—somebody had to do it, after all. "It was not about any past," he declared. "Certainly not my own." That said, his drive to modernism had a dispiriting joylessness about it. Luxe fashion like Fendi's, which speaks in the details of incredible craftsmanship, doesn’t necessarily shine in such cold and impersonal surroundings.
– Sarah Mower
MILAN, February 26, 2004 – Sitting in a freezing, inhospitable industrial space waiting for the Fendi show to begin, the huddled, goose-pimpled audience was craving a major fur moment in more ways than one. When Karl Lagerfeld's slick-haired futuristic amazons began to stalk out, bristling with armfuls of metal jewellery, the knitted furs they dragged behind them did have an enviable survival-blanket appeal. But these surprisingly restrained offerings were hardly the kind of explosively creative pieces expected from the house that rewrote the rule book on skins and pelts.
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