Topman Design is the boyfriend, brother and hag fag, i.e. the masculine counterpart, to the British multinational retailer Topshop. The XY stream of the Top youth fashion chain was spun off in 1970 and is now runway-caliber designed by creative director Gordon Richardson. For Fall 2013, the offering coalesced around a “hint of early gentleman explorer.” The parka, Richardson admitted, is one of the cornerstones of the Topman market and so, booming business ahead, here we have that winter wear staple—long and cropped, pelted and not—one for each of the boys in your life. Through 25 heavily layered looks, the color map morphed: pure cream white was muddled by drops of tangerine, which deepened into Buddhist robe saffron, then to lipstick-on-your-collar red, bordeaux, and, finally, a fade to black. With blazers on sweater on sweaters, Kris Van Assche volume trousers, and mountaineering accessories, there will be plenty for the adventurous urban consumer to pillage this coming fall.
“2012: FUCK YOU,” the show credits rolled—a cathartic release of cultural angst care of London duo Meadham Kirchhoff. Generations unite against a common evil but ours, sanctioned away in our personal media bubbles, haven’t had such luck. Our time is now, Meadham Kirchhoff seemed to be saying. It’s time to take out the trash of 2012 (overtly symbolized here by heaps of black garbage bags) and invent anew. After the coming insurrection of 2012 did not come, I felt it too—the necessity of a colonic of the zeitgeist, the necessity for our creations to stand forward. Meadham Kirchhoff’s creations are the stuff to define a generation: anarchic and attractive, accessible, a uniform for the streets. The boys wore pearl stud earrings with sport socks and leather sandals. An East-meets-West postcolonial hangover was evident in the rustic-French cotton smocks and waistcoats paired with sherwani and other traditional South Asian layers of dress. In one look, a patent leather Matrix coat is heavy over a cassock with a high mandarin collar, like Neo’s Matrix sequel style, but beneath–a peak of American athletica in sweatpants and sports socks. In another, black Nike thigh-highs fall a few inches short of meeting the short hem of a pair of tweed shorts; skinny male legs. Pocket squares and protest armbands tied in the prettiest long bow. Burnt out lace and skirts like black garbage sacks. 2012 was shit, but the future, in Meadham Kirchhoff, has promise.