It was snowing men at Moschino. Beefcakes served on a silver platter against a backdrop of snow-dusted pines and generous live precipitation. Jeremy Scott isn’t turning down the volume this season. High-octane lumberjack checks and bare-chested models with perfectly sculpted 6-8 packs paraded down the runway to much excitement. One of them, armed with his glorious surfer hair, assured the audience with a message that read: “100% natural”, just incase you were wondering. It was a master class in high camp and a healthy serving of full-fat unadulterated joie de vivre.
As Scott rightly pointed out, what better way to explore this enjoyment of life, the sheer exultation of spirit, than to subvert a typical bourgeois ski holiday somewhere in the Aspen alps. Also worth pointing out, Jeremy Scott has consistently peppered his collections with a heavy dose of Americanisms. The McDonaldization of fashion, the Barbie takeover in Spring and this time the alpine lodge ski getaway that dreams are made of.
It would be a futile conquest to sieve out any deeper meaning to a Moschino show — Scott has kindly absolved any of his presentations from subliminal grand narratives through the guise of camp. But what’s interesting is the uncanny parallels to club culture that Scott’s aesthetic is synonymous with; an inner circle for which you have to dress the part to be a part of. The must-have items were easy to single out: the oversized glove sling bags, the jewel-encrusted backpacks, fur on fur, checks on checks, and gold, lots of gold. These are all entry points Scott has created to allow access into his private club. And boy, doesn’t he throw a good party.