If it wasn't exactly a manifesto—the show last October for his first women's collection had already fulfilled that function—Hedi Slimane's menswear debut consolidated his OCD approach to his gig at Saint Laurent. His manipulation of every minuscule detail leading up to and surrounding the show practically guaranteed anticlimax. The invitation? A visual journal by L.A. polymath aesthete Brian Roettinger. The model casting? Unheard-of indie band members from England, France, and the U.S. The music? Something by SF muso Ty Segall, which managed to combine the garage racket of the Stooges with the primitive electronic howl of Hawkwind. The set? A whirling industrial construct, Conrad Shawcross meets Close Encounters. All of that added up to shoulda-been-fabulous. But we're forgetting about the clothes. And maybe Slimane did, too.

The kindest thing to be said about Slimane's first official men's collection was that he made a guy to go with his girl. If Kate Moss was the ideal woman for the satanic L.A. gypsy he presented for Spring, her husband, Jamie Hince, would surely do full justice to the rock avatar Slimane marched down his men's catwalk for Fall. You don't even want to go there with the skinny; that is already such a cliché in the lexicon of Slimanery. "Slim man," geddit? This was just as much about the plaid shirts, distressed jeans, drainpipe leathers, trailing leopard-print scarves, girlfriend's bits and pieces (cue Julia Nobis and company on the runway to underscore the androgyny), vintage coats and cavalry jackets…a rock prototype that can be traced from its origins with the Strolling Bones back in the Dark Ages of geetar bands all the way through its elucidation by an endless number of bastard spawn up to the jangly here and now, although Nirvana are a particularly pointy way station. All of it is thrilling in theory and practice, but it was a surreal incongruity to see it spotlit in a very expensive fashion presentation. Slimane's passion for the music he loves, the bands that make that music, and the lifestyle that surrounds it is entirely understandable, laudable, and well served with integrity by his photographic tributes. When he spun his ardor into high fashion today, it made a lot less sense, especially as the kids who are the prime components of his vision can already shop this look for zilch down the funky end of any L.A. boulevard.