John Galliano staged his official comeback with his Maison Margiela couture show in front of a more or less private audience in London in January, but his big public test was always going to be the revelation of his ready-to-wear collection, which took place in Paris tonight. How would Galliano project his personality into the arena of fashion again? And how far would—or could—he tailor himself to the job of making a sellable product for a company which needs to fill its many stores all over the world?

Now both questions are answered. Three or four of Galliano’s irrepressibly eccentric characters skittered onto the runway and roamed around, exhibiting nutty behavior whose meaning will keep people arguing into next week. And he managed to nail a slew of trends, and set quite a few more.

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There were, for a start, maxi coats galore—a central feature of the season’s obsession with the seventies—all of them precisely fitted with small bodices and slim proportions. Before a couple of looks had come and gone—a long black patent coat, followed by a printed brown velvet one worn with a plaid miniskirt—a definite image was beginning to form. Of whom did the plunging Ossie Clark–ish blouse, the sheer black lace dress, and the feathery things begin to remind us? Why, Kate Moss, of course!

It wouldn’t be surprising if Galliano had mentally tested the viability of this collection by asking himself, “Would Kate wear this?” She is his best girl-friend. It would also make tons of sense commercially because whatever Kate chooses to wear, sells. And there wasn’t one thing in the show you couldn’t imagine Kate wanting—from the flower-sprigged plum-colored velvet jacket to the knickers to the pinstriped buster and the drifty, sexy black chiffon blouses trimmed with marabou. Moss would have it all—and no doubt will, as soon as possible.

But what about the nuts? One was clutching something which looked like a brown paper bag. Another was bent forward, as if walking into an oncoming gale. A third was a stomper, walking around with her arms defiantly crossed as if in a temper. Whoever they were meant to be, Galliano wasn’t saying. He didn’t take a bow, and he left the show space at the Grand Palais without talking to journalists. There’s nothing to be read into that; Maison Margiela has a tradition of nonspeaking anonymity for its designers. The meaning of the bunch of waify, stroppy, lost girls with their colorful mismatched Pat McGrath makeup is going to have to remain an enigma for the moment. Not so the clothes: Without a doubt, John Galliano has produced a lineup of the buyable, thought-through pieces he’s put out for quite a long time.​

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