The video for this menswear collection seemed to depict your common-or-garden high fashion implied feminocratic sex cult, complete with a copyright approved original soundtrack written originally for 1970s Italian soft-core pornography movies. It was a tad over the top, but why not? After all, Roberto Cavalli the man, Roberto Cavalli the brand, and its current captain Fausto Puglisi the designer share this attribute too. That’s authenticity.
Speaking from this diminished but determined house’s showroom behind Via Monte Napoleone, the ebullient Puglisi updated on casa Cavalli’s progress at his usual rat-a-tat rate. First we checked out pieces embedded with clinking chains, harnesses, and grommets. Puglisi had dropped into a Manhattan sex shop to research his hardware of recreational confinement then applied it for real on Peter Marino-perfect bikers and for unreal on trompe l’oeil bombers and zip-up denim. Black sweatshirts and seamed sweatpants with leather piped cutaway sections down the sleeve secured by leather-edged chains were cleverly S&M casual.
Puglisi naturally revisited the founder’s animalia-mania with a reissued mirrored zebra print that was a mid-2000s staple, here transferred from ’70s-inflected suiting to au courant long puffers (and more bikers, Puglisi’s from-the-start passion). Python print was the bass to zebra’s guitar, and the two freestyled loudly on mixed-print shirting and in super-cool sectioned cardigans and knits that began to incorporate the collection’s prime color story (monochrome apart) of purple and orange. Houndstooth check covert coats and double-breasted jackets with leather collar details and understatedly suggestive ring closures were just right for Jefferson Hack and other post-mod sartorial sensualists. For those more sweatpant-ily inclined, tracksuits in color-blocked panels and top-to-toe roaring black panther check were savagely stand-out statements.
A Puglisi drafted rose print—it’s not all archive inspiration—climbed prettily across silk robe suiting, jacquard fronted bombers, and an unmissable orange on black parka. Mixed-warp mohair knits with hyper long sleeves colored by dégradé clouds of purple and orange dye were grungy yet luxurious, as was double-waisted corduroy suiting. A dyed orange-on-black biker with a claw at its lapel was the ideal partner to some same colorway zebra striped five pocket pants.
This collection provided the latest evidence of a house that is embracing its heritage with enthusiastic commitment, tempered by a vital touch of irony. This is in happy contrast with previous, apologetic, and less committed chapters of the Cavalli story post Roberto’s departure. For those who weren’t there the first time around, perhaps just a little more irony and humor would help frame the narrative, yet one indisputable truth remains: Roberto Cavalli is not for the faint-hearted.
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