Paris Fashion Week: Anoraks and Chinese dragons

After the Invercargill-esque summer we were treated to in Milan, it's nice to have arrived in Paris where the sun is shining, the temperature is high and the hospitality's a familiar combination of unhelpful and rude.

To kick things off, it was a short train ride over to Bercy Stadium where Rick Owens was presenting his spring collection. Outside, ghostly fashionistas withered beneath the UV rays, but inside, darkness prevailed - low lighting, rows of black seats, and a predominance of moody, avant-garde dressers.

I was seated with Zambesi Man's Dayne Johnston and other buyers and media from the Asia-Pacific region. (We made up 100 per cent of the Pacific contingent.) As the lights went out, an industrial, thumping noise began.

Rick Owens' uniform for summer included a three-quarter length blazer, baggy shorts and knee-high black leather boots. This could be altered to include tight pants, a short-sleeved blazer with long-sleeved tee shirt, and boots with enormous leather spats.

The colour palette was restrained - black, white, brown and the occasional clear plastic jacket or top. Not your typical summer wardrobe, but his fans weren't complaining.

The most heat-appropriate pieces were the tee shirts in a sheer white cotton. One in particular was gathered towards the shoulder, resulting in a mini cascade of fabric that rippled down the model's torso as he walked. But it was Owens' theatric flair that got me: From the lighting rig, about eight dry-ice machines shot out smoke which looked like the jet stream from a 747. The noise was incredible and the effect frightening. You never knew when one was going to spray, and the models did remarkably well not to flinch as they were hit. It made for a hell of a show.

Over at Juun J, the outside heat was magnified through windows in the ceiling of the Marais gallery in which we sat. It must have been upwards of 40 degrees in there. Not ideal for a mid-summer show, especially when you're showing anoraks on the catwalk.

The whole collection suggested protection from the elements - scarcely a piece went by without some form of buckle, belt, zipper or cord added to pull or contort the pieces. Take away a couple of those add-ons and the outfits were workable.

The styling actually disguised some of the better looks - a linen blazer with a storm flap, a biker jacket. Those anoraks were a winner - their pointed back vents gave a great rear-end silhouette, but the bigger picture was a little overworked.

The finale featured nylon tee shirts and tights - better reserved for the ballet stage than the street.

It's a courageous act to take something quite passé and attempt to imbue it with a new cool.

At Louis Vuitton today, the show notes suggested a virtual reality traveller, a man who skips from one continent to the next, all with the click of a mouse. But the clothes harked back to those mid 90s backpackers who toured South-East Asia (à la Leo in The Beach), picking up local customs, dress habits and tribal tattoos along the way.

That multi-ethnic mix came through in a leather blazer with etched-in Chinese dragons, and pants held up by Thai rolled-fabric belts. The tattoos were signs from the Chinese zodiac (including the formerly ubiquitous dragon), painted on by the man behind Marc Jacobs' personal body art, Scott Campbell.

The bags were a real-life traveller's dream - khaki and charcoal canvas hold-alls that looked like they could survive the most hands-on adventure, and the sheer voile monogrammed shirt looked a winner. No doubt the individual pieces will be a resounding success. But whether those Chinese dragons will enjoy a Western resurgence remains to be seen.

Another designer interested in the clash of two worlds was Dries Van Noten, who staged his show in a graffiti-stained stretch beneath the Paris docks this evening.

His conflicting ideals were high and low - luxury and grunge. A double breasted blazer came paired with cargo shorts and combat boots - ideal attire for a caviar gauche revolt - and acid-washed denim was styled with smartly tailored jackets.

Half the clothes looked as if they'd been found in a 70s yard sale - like Brady Bunch brown flared pants and window-pane checked jackets; or items patched together from several different garments, like a denim shirt with hairy woollen arms.

Civil unrest was brewing beneath the surface - you could imagine those secondhand woollen trenches and fancy suit pants being popular among skinheads or the late 80s anti-wall protesters in Berlin.

The overall effect was strangely captivating - like a rich man setting fire to his Rolls Royce. Strip it back to its individual elements though, and there are two wardrobes - one to please the traditional Dries Van Noten customer, and another to attract a new generation.

If it works, the two should merge seamlessly.