The designers new collection does straight up rocknroll sex-appeal in a show almost as divisive as the man himself
Hedi Slimanes catwalk shows for Saint Laurent begin begin properly, that is, after a diverting extended prelude in which models and rock stars drink champagne and snuggle up on the overcrowded front row, sideboob to leather jacket with some feat of structural engineering.
(It is Saint Laurent, not Yves Saint Laurent, by the way; the striking out of the personal, given name of the founder is one of the myriad ways Slimane has asserted control over a house founded seven years before he was born.)
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