As a whole, this sartorial tug of war, cleanly cleaved at the waistline, was one of the sharpest, most digestible ideas of the entire season. It delivered fantasy and wit in a manner that few fashion shows — preoccupied with getting those hit sneakers and bags in a shopper’s field of view — try to now.
After more than a week of fashion shows that evaporated on arrival, here, finally, at the climax, was an idea bristling with sensuality and fantasy. Not a single bare chest or exposed calf, and it still managed to be the sexiest show of the season. Provocation, as ever, takes many forms.
And so here, I’ll break the third wall to note that no, I’m not expecting many, if anyone, to really wear these boots — though I’d love to see them try. If an article about slim trousers can light up my email inbox, a debate about men wearing thigh-high boots would be like Armageddon. Bring it on.
To my eyes, it was only right that David Cronenberg, the virtuoso body-horror auteur, was in attendance at the show. For what Mr. Vaccerello put forth was an investigation of the human form, à la one of Mr. Cronenberg’s films, more than any flat attempt to sell stuff.
“I kind of like that idea of doing something bizarre,” said Mr. Vaccerello, who conceded that, no, he did not plan to wear the boots himself. Not even to the Oscars in March, where “Emilia Pérez,” the film he co-produced through Saint Laurent Productions, is up for 13 awards.
When Mr. Vaccerello walked out for his bow at the finale, he wore some low-to-the-ground Nike Air Maxes, as if to say, “Well, back to reality.”
