“As they say in ‘South Pacific,’ I’m a cockeyed optimist,” said Michael Kors, the correct manifestation of his self-assessment not at all tempered by the most unusual of preview hours (by standards other than his own) — 8 a.m. Sunday morning. By the time he turned to discuss his spring collection, he’d already covered the challenges of familiarizing himself with Asian names (in China, is the first name really the last name? Do the Chinese feel they have to “flip it to so it makes sense to Westerners?”) and of familiarizing Asian audiences with his favorite references; he can’t just toss out “Ali MacGraw at Studio 54” and expect knowing nods.
Luckily, Kors speaks the increasingly universal language of buoyant, sensible chic, this spring’s mood harkening to a moment of genuine optimism — postwar, when people started to travel again and have fun. “You think optimistic Fifties and you automatically think Paris and couture,” he said. “You’re not going to find that at Michael Kors. For me, it’s the best of American optimism, and [in fashion] the fact that it was feminine but also rugged and sporty.” Such deliberate calibration can work against Kors on the runway and he’s fine with that; he prefers glamorized reality to theatrics. Yet sometimes — this time — there’s deception at play. Kors has a sly disrespect for sartorial protocol that allows him to take an elaborately embellished, see-through tulle skirt and make it look like a logical everyday wardrobe choice.
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Such skirts played into his prevailing silhouette — waist-centric with a full skirt that indeed hints at the Fifties without ever making the trip to retro. The polite transparency recurred as well, wearability achieved when paired with crisp, elongated skirts.
Flowers abounded — pristine daisy appliqués on all-white looks; a camellia print on a pajama; big geraniums embroidered on indigo mikado. Kors delivered on the sporty side of his equation with cropped chinos, one pair worn with a shirt and gray cashmere pullover with matching corsage; strong outerwear, and his grounded footwear. This included a rugged sandal set on a prim, low heel. The style’s name, at least on Sunday morning: the Jesus Kitten.