Generally when people call a guy “ripped” they’re talking about buffed-out, steroided muscle mass rather than, we don’t know, a shredded bit of coat or a torn hem. Always unraveling, though, is the man of Maison Margiela. This season was no exception to the ripped-at-the-seams ethos of the label – although it was, perhaps, sexier than we’re used to. Maybe it’s just us who saw models in snug knitted shorts or a romper with a cut-away coccyx with Playgirl eyes? I mean it is a long old slog in Paris, you do wind up a little starved for affection. Those were the most, ahem, bootylicious of Margiela’s offerings (who thought we’d ever get those words together in a sentence?), but silk scarves boldly printed and worked into flowing deconstructed shirts had us enamoured too.
