March 8, 2009
Ennio Capasa conjures his women from some hard-core planet where it’s always time for nightclubbing—and the nightclub is the one from a David Lynch movie. For Fall, the fatale of the Costume femme was slightly rough around the edges: red lips; messy, pulled-back hair; and a one-shouldered dress in ruby duchesse satin with ragged seams. There were dresses with halos of trailing Lurex threads, and others haphazardly ruched and suspended from shoulder straps. The phrase “dragged through a hedge backward” came to mind—but such is the strange, louche allure of Capasa’s work.
He did, meanwhile, also prove himself quite capable of a certain bandbox smartness, as seen in a gray flannel fingertip jacket over a matching wrapped mini. But it was more the sparkly, scratchy-looking fabric he used for a strapless top or a paper-bag-waist mini that betrayed the true Nationality of Capasa’s Costume. Now and forever, he loves a bad girl.
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