This was Jeffrey’s last-of-three appearance on the MAN runway, and he closed his account masterfully. Backstage he said the collection was a reaction to the real world by retreat into fantasy.
To begin, a clay-caked dance troupe emerged from the darkness, at first unsure as if they’d lost their way mid-body wrap at the Selfridges spa upstairs. As this chorus stomped, preened, and gurned, a costume drama of characters in four acts walked around them.
The looks verged from bowl-cut robots in loose parkas to Pictish-ly daubed pagans in 18th-century jackets. The unifying factors were keenly applied tailoring and a rich inventiveness backed up by broad inspiration. The papier-mâché monstrosities—one of them painted with an amalgam of Union Jack and Stars and Stripes—that represented the passing of each of Jeffrey’s four acts will be catnip to the “What Madness Is This” brigade (Jeffrey was trolling). This was fantastic freakery for a time that needs it—a barmy alignment of ostentatious disarray and focused creativity.
Location Selfridges Car Park
Words by Luke Leitch