Inspired by the American sculptor Leonardo Drew's moody and textured work, Joaquín Trías was feeling apocalyptic for Fall. However, Trías, a former tennis player turned self-taught designer, has the bouncy enthusiasm of a golden retriever. It's hard to imagine him having a dark day, let alone enough fodder for an end-of-days collection. Perhaps that accounted for the somewhat mixed result.
A big part of the story was a play of textures, as in the double-face Japanese tweed backed with crinkle cotton, which had a nice homey chic. A black foil-printed chiffon with a zebra print, on the other hand, might have seemed like a good idea, but in practice felt a bit girls-night-out cheap. Trías played it off straightforward chiffon in dresses with petal sleeves and waist-exposing cutouts. There was yet more slicing and dicing; Trías, after all, has a hazily architectural ethos. The problem is that it's not always convincing, for instance in the little black dress that came wrapped with a sort of asymmetrical lamé half-shrug.
The buttery black leathers—Trías tapping into his Spanish heritage—were easily the high point, particularly in a pencil skirt with whipstitch detail snaking up the side. But there was nothing you couldn't live without, and nothing you couldn't find elsewhere. Often, TRIAS collections seem to end up between being "just clothes," with little defining purpose or customer, and arty pieces that seem to satisfy their creator's ego more than relate to what women want to wear. Last season, Trías decided to start showing in Paris instead of New York, but without a sharp point of view that decision seems like pure indulgence.
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