New York-based Singaporean designer Grace Ling's NYFW debut revealed more than necessary. Or was it a requisite?
It was, no doubt, a revealing first show. Singaporean designer Grace Ling's debut at New York Fashion Week (NYFW) recently illustrated how she could use very little fabric—textile and not—to position on the torso in ways that were not just a thoughtless bandeau across the bust (although there was one looked (thankfully?) like a mere em dash). It was, to put it skimpily, a skin thing. For sure, allowing more of the body to be seen has become a NYFW selling point, a nothing-as-something contradistinction that sets them apart among the Big Four. Of late, it is a bolder and barer calibration. However, the more and more there are that are less and less, the greater the deficiency of output that could be considered clothing. Ms Ling's collection is, to be certain, appreciable in its clarity of form. We wished it was not so skewed in favour of New York's predilection for near-nakedness with no vestiary merit.
The first look set the tone for what were to come and it would be dishonest for us to say that jelak did not hit us before, not at the end of the show. Possibly inspired by Venetian blinds, the bustier top, constructed with strips of metallic tape fastened at the back individually, could be traced to Issey Mistake's bamboo corset of the spring/summer 2006 season (under Naoki Takizawa's watch)—except that the lines of the latter were vertical. Ms Ling enjoys working with metallic materials, and has incorporated pieces that looked like the crafts of silversmiths into the clothes—a stalk of rose in the middle of the top of the skirt (as it to secure the waist), another at the cleavage of a bra-top, a rod with two sharp ends to prevent a lapel-less jacket from gaping, another pierced through the shoulder straps to prevent the plunging U neck from splaying. These were really 簪子 (zanzi) or hairpins for clothes.
When hardware was not in use, Ms Ling held her softly shaped scraps together with cords. At this stage, we were reminded of the compositional approaches of Stolen's Elyn Wong, who is partial to details at the back, including curious and unnecessary use of cording. Not only were the models' upper bodies barely garbed, the lower, too, were half-clothed. We were really curious: What genius conception was at work? The skirts covered only one limp; they could have been one-leg pants. Ms Ling clearly preferred special occasion dressing. When she attempted what could be basics, they looked less convincing. One wrapped shirt tried to align it self with Zara. Evidence of tailoring was seen on a jacket with rounded shoulders that no doubt would induce Maria Grazia Chiuri to applaud, deliriously.
To be sure, Ms Ling's collection is on-trend. It has been record-breakingly hot this summer in the U.S., and American designers have fanatically put out clothes that do not encourage the body from burning up. But were these practical solutions to warm-weather dressing or apparel that were just flashy or, in the case of the model with the devil's horn, devillishly sexy? Ms Ling seemed to have her customers in mind—e.g., Cardi B, Lourdes Leon, Dylan Mulvaney—and designed for them. There is a sense of arrogance in the gowns'body-proud confidence. These are clothes destined for and would be admired on a red carpet, at fashion week after-parties, award ceremonies. The kind of magnificence that the Asian Civilisations Museums would love to collect. Grace Ling should expect a donation drive arriving at her doorstep soon.
Screen shot (top): Ling Show/YouTube. Photos: Grace Ling
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