Rick Owens

NEW YORK, September 20, 2002
By Janet Ozzard
It's hard to believe that Rick Owens lives in the same Los Angeles that people like Sheryl Crow inhabit. His distinctly Gothic vision would appear more at home in a nice damp, dark climate—like, say, Antwerp.

Owens sometimes seems equally disconnected from the rest of the fashion community. Other designers may knuckle under, but rest assured a pencil skirt is never going to show up on his runway. And why should it? His talent is well established, and he has a loyal, bicoastal fan base happy to keep buying his soft wrapped jerseys, lightweight dresses and supple leathers.

That said, the designer’s Spring show was virtually identical to fall, except that the colors and fabrics were lighter, and both the men’s and women’s collections were presented. There are no hard edges to Owens' pieces: tailored pants and jackets are deliberately abraded and roughed-up; body-hugging dresses and skirts are fashioned from swaths of bias-cut, gossamer-light jersey; and his famous leathers are washed and crumpled. In fact, despite their lugubrious styling, Owens' pieces are sexy, beautifully made and supremely comfortable. Maybe he really is from L.A., after all.

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