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Nothing of real value comes to us without real sacrifice. That primal notion was buzzing in Gareth Pugh’s head as he prepared the collection that marked his return to London after seven years showing elsewhere. Following his show, Pugh talked about his fascination with “the idea of sacrificing yourself to something bigger than you are.” Given the bleak, dramatic, ritualistic nature of his presentation, the conjecture was irresistible: Was he talking about his relationship with fashion itself? That has, after all, been somewhat conflicted of late. But no, he insisted the collection was optimistic, “part of something meaningful, being part of the game.”
In this case, the game meant not just fashion but an actual game, football, the most tribal ritual in British society. Coming home for Pugh induced a surge of nationalistic pride. His show began with a film by longtime collaborator Ruth Hogben, model Aymeline Valade (OK, she’s French, but she served her fierce purpose to a tee) slicing her long blond hair into a warrior crop, daubing her face and body with red in a crude St. George’s Cross. Just like Boudicca, the female warrior archetype, except she used blue woad. Red for Pugh meant love, war—and England. The models walked with faces painted in a red cross like football fans by Alex Box, their hair pulled back into a horse’s tail by Anthony Turner. Pugh gave them clothes that were scaled up for impact, and protection: black capes, face-framing funnel necks, a jacket and skirt that were as voluminous as a wrapped duvet, a Mongolian lamb coat in a silhouette-warping shag, flaring dresses that swept the floor. Their dark, grandiose volumes suggested magnificence for a lost cause: something One of the Other Four Nominees might wear to the Oscars. They were as stiff and unyielding as Pugh’s black leather breastplates.
Tim Blanks, via style.com