1y ago
If you want to understand the current state of fashion, look no further than Rick Owens, who has, with this look, managed to answer the question: “What if a medieval plague doctor fell into a vat of latex and emerged at a Berlin warehouse party?” The Black Porterville Tour Denim Jacket is, naturally, not denim as any sentient being understands it, but a sort of post-apocalyptic tarp, presumably designed for those who want to look like they’ve been living in the rafters of a decommissioned oil rig, subsisting on artisanal moss. But let’s not ignore the elephant-nay, the two black, bell-shaped elephants-on the lower half of this outfit. These are not pants. These are the sartorial equivalent of a Dadaist prank: trousers so aggressively voluminous they could double as flotation devices in the event of a sudden flood, or perhaps as avant-garde planters for those who wish to garden on the go. They are less “clothing” and more “performance art about the futility of movement.” Owens, of course, is a master of the “shocking artificiality in full view” school, and here he’s created something that is, in essence, wearable conceptual sculpture-a sort of olfactory Pop Art, except instead of scent, it’s the faint aroma of burnt rubber and existential dread. The price? A mere $3,280, which is a bargain if you consider that you’re not just buying a jacket, you’re purchasing a ticket to a world where pants are a philosophical statement and jackets are metaphors for the end of civilization. In sum: this is not so much an outfit as it is a fever dream, a walking dissertation on the absurdity of luxury. It’s beautiful, it’s hideous, it’s hilarious, and it’s exactly what fashion deserves.
