January 15, 2011 Milan
The show notes spoke of a gang of multiethnic but recognizably British student boyfriends, and glanced for a moment at the most famous student boyfriend in recent memory, Prince William. (Let's not forget that he met his commoner princess-to-be while hitting the books at St. Andrew's.) "With royal marriage in the air, who would you choose to be your bridegroom?" Westwood challenged. "Come on, girls, our catwalk is your chance to dream."
Take your pick: Out paraded a cast of poli-sci revolutionaries, class clowns (with oversize pants hanging loosely off suspenders), baggy-jean hoods, even a Groucho Marx, complete with cigar. This being a Vivienne Westwood show, each wore a bloody swath of lipstick. The moments that veered closest to trad—the suits thrown only slightly askew by sagging trousers and jackets buttoned on the bias—were the strongest. Or at least, you'd imagine they will be on the sales floor. But there was a daffy coherence to the whole. "Our MAN collection has plenty of choice," Westwood wrote by way of preface. And choose she did. When she took her bow, bouquet in hand, as a sort of blushing bride, she was arm-in-arm with a quilted-jacket tough. But lest that choice be too constricting, there were four other lads trailing behind.