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Spring 2017 Ready-to-Wear
If you ever find yourself invited to a VFiles show—that is, the downtown NYC–based collective that seasonally plucks a new wave of emerging fashion talent to present (yesterday was its seventh iteration)—pack a Xanax. For those unafraid of a midweek party it’s fun, but for the refreshed fashion professional, VFiles is hell on Earth, Earth in this case being a marijuana-tinged Spring Studios in Tribeca. You literally have to fight your way in, guest list or not.But who cares! The whole point of it is hype and youth and scene and chaos—there’s something that’s still exciting about VFiles, even if at this point it has turned a little formulaic, and even if there was a retail component of VFiles swag rendered in partnership with Mountain Dew. The main takeaway from edition seven last night, where five labels presented their wares, was of gender amorphousness, elaborate deconstruction, separation and statement. Another impression: On a Wednesday where celebrities hit New York Fashion Week with everything they had, VFiles also demonstrated young fashion’s obsession with and inextricability from fame—particularly hip-hop fame.The main event was Alessandro Trincone, a 25-year-old from Naples, Italy, who has a Sia-like dual-chrome haircut. Trincone shot to Internet fame a few days ago when Young Thug—also now known as “No, My Name is Jeffery,” or just Jeffery, which is his born name—unveiled his latest album cover. On it, the rapper wore a Trincone dress, ruffled and tiered from the waist in dense periwinkle folds, plus a paper-thin, Japanese umbrella hat. Trincone studied in Japan; the effects of bunched origami creases and a Rei Kawakubo–esque penchant for lumpy volume played across his other, also asexual pieces, too. “This is so exciting, this is so great,” said Trincone backstage. “I’m still so nervous.” Why? It went well! “Because this is my dream.” He was on the verge of tears. Young Thug, taking selfies nearby, looked over and beamed.Variations on this kind of oddly volumed, gender-unspecific approach appeared with the other lines, too. Ground Zero, by brothers Eri and Philip Chu, had ruche-scrunched nylon anoraks—for either the downtown hype beast or the daring athlete. The best in their collection, in a different vein, was an olive green hoodie with an anime graphic of a cartoon taking a selfie. Phones shot up. Very meta.Song Seoyoon showed sportswear, all of it covered in plastic. Pieces were cut and separated; the highlight was a red gown that had no back, shrouded, shoulder to ankle, by an opaque synthetic garment bag. Sanchez-Kane, by Barbara Sanchez-Kane, was a bit raunchier, but she too played with silhouette and, where Trincone feminized masculinity, Sanchez-Kane did butch femininity. There were mesh chaps, capped by a shapely, sculpted, metal ass. No sitting in that outfit. Rushemy Botter, educated in Antwerp, mashed all of the above together—there were floating headpieces that read ENEMY OF TERRORISM, Viktor & Rolflike turns on proporti
