February 20, 2011 London
According to Kane's sister and collaborator, Tammy, the collection's starting point was a simple challenge: Let's find a textile that's never been used. That's where the idea for the plastic filled with encapsulated liquid came in. The fluid itself was actually a mix of vegetable oil and glycerine. As it warmed on the models' bodies, it began to bubble its way up through its plastic casing. The designer loved the echoes of a scientist's lab. "Sterile, medicinal," he enthused. It's always the way with the Kanes—clothes with, in this case, an almost stern sensuality sparking associations that border on the twisted. The crochet, for instance. Its cozy domestic associations were blown to smithereens when it was shown in somber shades in a revealing skirt that would do a B-movie bad girl proud.
As far as technology went, the collection was some kind of breakthrough for the designer. The mood was as hard as the plastic breastplate that topped a black wool pencil skirt. There was a dare-you edge of confrontation in the plunging necklines, the veiled breasts and bared midriffs, the sequined sheerness that slithered like scales over skin. As with last season's vinyl-coated fluoro leather lace, Kane fearlessly courts bad taste. It's a fascinating tightrope walk, but watch out, world, when he really lets the dogs out.