January 02, 2013 London
Kane has always been a master of the macabre and here, beyond the trad monsters of Hammer horror movies, he was equally tuned in to monsters of the mind. There was a creepy old Hollywood vibe, like Norma Desmond or Baby Jane holed up in their shadowy mansions on Sunset Boulevard. Maybe it was the combinations of tulle and velvet, or those unsettling little details that Kane is so good at. Gazing upon a long skirt in a gray floral print with a weird splash of fluoro, the designer shuddered. "Long and floral freaks me out." He topped that skirt with a sweater in chenille with the greasy nocturnal luminosity of a black panther. The incontrovertible truth is that these excursions into the vaguely unacceptable are what give Kane's clothes their irresistibly eldritch glamour. A bustier dress in a jaguar-printed goatskin trembled on the brink of a taste so bad it was have-to-have-it good. (There were slip-ons to match.) Swarovski's contribution to the collection—crystal necklaces mimicking DNA's double helix—underscored the fact that Kane is generating new fashion lifeforms. Dr. Frankenstein, I presume.