Simply Moschino, simply Scott. Jeremy Scott that is, the man who was taken on by the iconic house last October due to an unmistakable knack that would hopefully see the audacious designer successfully reinterpret the identity and essence of the Moschino universe, and lo and behold, his debut does not disappoint. With fearless tongue-in-cheek play, the key word being play, on everything but the kitchen sink, the enfant terrible offers up the kind of wholesome hyperbole that Franco Moschino envisaged back in 1983.
It’s clear that Moschino is now Scott’s stomping ground, whether it likes it or not, so cue the perky pokes at the classic Chanel suit, saturated with gilded guilty pleasures, some capering cahoots with the infamous cow print and a gaudy avalanche of satirical comments on American mass culture, namely, a certain fast food chain. Scott’s plan of attack will undoubtedly polarise audiences, but this was a wise move, just as wise as multiplying the customary Moschino belt, a fan favourite, in a few bondage-esque numbers that also capitalise decadently on the popular quilted leather aesthetic.
Mink pelts, PVC coats and slinky sweater-dresses become mutated with cartoonish Spongebob Squarepants iconography, a risky choice to say the least, followed by another precarious endeavour, lofty gowns emulating sickly sweet candy wrappers, from Pop Tarts to Fruit Loops, eerily replicating the pop art policy at Anya Hindmarch this season in London.
And now, what’s next? A query on the lips of almost every industry insider, but until we find out, Scott speaks Moschino, as his t-shirt read, and he is undeniably an invaluable asset for the brand, and also, quite possibly, for the often languorous rag trade.
by Liam Feltham
Images courtesy of Style.com