What a difference a continent makes. Karl Lagerfeld traded in New York for Paris and goth for chic. His cleaned-up and pared-down signature collection was full of the kind of clothes that get fashion editors scribbling, not because they will make pretty pictures—although there's plenty of potential for lovely editorial pages in his paneled-chiffon evening numbers, accessorized here with lace stockings and fingerless gloves—but rather because they'll make such pretty additions to their closets.

Rendered in colors he's long since made his own at Chanel (i.e., black, white, and navy), Lagerfeld's day dresses were short, with drop waists and sharp pleats, or fluid and draped in soft jersey. Patent belts accented a trench dress, a shorts suit, and a shirtdress with flaring A-line skirt. But it wasn't all girly. There were precise, slim shirts—all high, stiff collars and built-in ties—and shiny boy pants or skinny jeans, the not-so-inside joke being that they were borrowed from Lagerfeld's own closet.