Tory Burch, onetime muse of the Pierre-Park Avenue set, captured the moment perfectly in a show literally predicated on imbalance: purposefully “broken” heels, logos sliding off handbags, slithery satin dresses buttoned wrong-side ’round. The familiar rendered, subtly, wrong — which made it seem very right, one of the ironies of fashion. It’s not an accident that various cast members of “The White Lotus,” the show about the alienation and soullessness of the extremely rich, have been the celebrity gets of the season.
Meghann Fahy, who played the not-so-dumb-blond trophy wife in the show, sat front row at Khaite, where the designer Catherine Holstein took a page from the Row’s brand of hidden luxe. Instead of her usual sharp-shouldered cool-girl jackets and fringed cocktail frocks came floor-brushing pleated silks and tunic tops in monochrome shades with a monk-like mien, as well as some deep-pile shearlings.
Beatrice Grannò and Simona Tabasco, the actors who played the “White Lotus” prostitutes on the make, popped up at Michael Kors (along with Gloria Steinem and Gov. Kathy Hochul of New York), which turned out to be a celebration of 1970s power women and the decade when he got his start in flares and fringe, with a whole lotta leg and a tailored coat thrown on top. Mr. Kors has always imbued sportswear with the ineffable scent of expense, but that private-plane-to-Aspen approach is starting to take on a sepia tinge. And not just because he has a fondness for taupe.
“What does it mean to look rich?” Mr. Kors mused backstage. “It’s different than it used to be. When we were doing the evening things this season, I said: ‘You know what? People at night want to feel glamorous, absolutely. But are you wearing boots? Are you wearing a jumpsuit?’ It’s not the traditional look-at-me corseted gown with the train.” He paused. “I think it’s sort of the inside wink-wink club. You just know it when you see it.”
Heron Preston offered a different idea. “I think it’s an attitude,” Mr. Preston said, after a show of his namesake brand that took the stuff of streetwear — beat-up leathers and faded denim, basketball shorts, moto jerseys and chain mail — and cut it into the shapes of Champagne society: corsets, trapeze jackets, slip dresses, all grounded by the quirkiness of big fake fur boots and shoes. (Furry shoes were a trend.)
