From No Clothes to Almost No Clothes at Palomo Spain

From No Clothes to Almost No Clothes at Palomo Spain

And he was not kidding about his work look. For a performance at Brooklyn Steel last fall and in various videos associated with “SIR,” the new Fischerspooner release, the performance artist, singer and all-around provocateur disported himself in every conceivable manner of shredded, studded, body-revealing raunch-wear that the Tony-award winning designer Jeff Mahshie could devise. When, that is, Mr. Spooner was wearing any clothes at all.

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Palomo Spain :Fall 2018

CreditGio Staiano/Nowfashion

Mr. Spooner had been at the men’s shows in Milan and returned on Tuesday to Paris, where he has taken up residence. Here on a visit a month ago, he missed his flight home to New York and impulsively decided to remain. “It’s time to be an expat and set up the next bohemian paradise compound where we can gather and conspire,” he informed his followers on Instagram, where he is often pictured wearing little besides a huge fur coat that looks like Chewbacca’s pelt.

“I had no clothes when I arrived” in Europe, Mr. Spooner added plaintively on Tuesday, though Ms. Chachki was having none of it. “She says that to everyone,” the drag performer said, lowering the frames of her pink retro-Futurist sunglasses to throw Mr. Spooner some shade. “Now everyone gives her looks. She’s a total looks-whore.”

If Mr. Gómez Palomo was among those designers who quickly came to Mr. Spooner’s sartorial assistance, he was in good company. Miuccia Prada and others in Milan generously sent clothes to keep the performer from going naked to assorted fashion-show front rows.


Palomo Spain, fall 2018.

Valerio Mezzanotti for The New York Times

Yet Palomo Spain may be the best fit of all, since the label designed by Mr. Gomez has, in less than two years, made a singular mark on the industry with designs that don’t test gender binaries so much as flout their existence.

True to form, in a presentation titled “Hunting” and shown under black lights in a friend’s apartment hung with a huge Gilbert & George work and decorated to look like a forest, the Spanish designer sent out a giddy assortment of his frilly, sometimes feminine, often historicist, always ornamented and minimally concealing designs for brocade chaps, opera cloaks, sleeveless jerkins with shoulder ruffles, peekaboo lace surplices, trailing gowns (yes, for men), velvet lounge suits, tunics resembling chain mail, marabou-trimmed tabarro capes and ruched velvet bloomers from which the models’ skinny hairy legs protruded obscenely.

“My father hunts every weekend and I grew up surrounded by trophies and horns,” said the designer, who also produced some commercial garments, if you can call a brocade jumpsuit with a buttoned fanny-flap commercial.

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