Lagerfeld flitted from one theme to the next in his quest for a striking statement. Tough-shouldered jackets and stiff little skirts in croc-stamped leather were swiftly replaced by a fleet of sinuous, slithering sheath dressessome with Grecian folds, others that clasped at the shoulder with a silver buckle. Next up, a couple of bikini-clad beach babes, whose jersey robes fell to the floor at the pull of a strap. Then came the faded denim: a natty cropped jacket here, a curvy pinafore there. These were hotly pursued by dainty chiffon dressesin chocolate, black, or coralgiven a graphic twist with shoulder straps and waistbands cut from sparkling shagreen.
Of course, the proceedings wouldn't be complete without the designer's obligatory strict black suits, worn with crisp white shirts, high starched collars, thin black neckties, and super-svelte skirts of both the mini and pencil persuasion. Nor would the show be the same without one of Lagerfeld's witty, self-mocking edicts: T-shirts, as slender as the designer himself, were branded with the message "4 Slim People." As if there was any doubt.