Giles Deacon goes to work in an egg

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13 April 2012

THE dreaded R word affects every designer in different ways. Some ignore it, while others rein in the wilder reaches of their imagination in favour of a collection that will sell.

Not so Giles Deacon. His latest show was a loud "F-you" to the recession - and all the better for it. After all, there are only so many boring black trouser suits a girl can stomach.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the big fashion stores, just like their customers, will be shopping with tighter budgets next season.

So perhaps this is not the time to be sending a model down the catwalk in a giant black egg-shaped cape finished off with a shaggy wool trim. But what was clever about this collection was that it ran the gamut from the simple, everyday items that make a woman's wardrobe complete, to the sort of show-stopping pieces that make London Fashion Week so special.

Not so much avoiding all things soft and romantic as running screaming in the opposite direction, this was a strong, sharp collection - literally, if you counted the spikes protruding from the skirts of a diaphanous grey ballgown, or the safety pins that snaked up and down a short black corset dress. The punk era was not obviously or crassly referenced, but its spirit was alive in the clothes: fitting, given the original punk movement of the Seventies grew out of a recession much like this. In the safety pins, the exposed zippers, the rivets lined along the hem of a stiff leather skirt and the shaggy mohair arm warmers, the ghost of Nancy Spungeon was alive, well and reincarnated as a Chelsea rich bitch. Even the first model out on the catwalk, the Amazonian Rachel Williams, was a tonic for anyone bored of stick-thin teenagers from Ukraine.

In a collection rich in textures, standouts included a shiny grey patent leather coat that was fastenless and fell to the knee, a simple black mohair jumper layered over a plain white shirt, and a tobacco brown trapeze dress made of stiff felt and embellished with shards of tortoiseshell.

Colours were muted - brown, grey, pewter and black - but were enlivened by a series of hand-printed dresses by Fleet Bigwood.

The knitwear was extraordinary - chunky, shaggy and so artful that it served more as sculpture than daywear, while the wide-brimmed hats added a flourish to the collection and were designed, as always, by Stephen Jones, currently the subject of an exhibition at the V&A.

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