Let’s state the facts clear: for a guy as collab-conscious as Virgil Abloh, the French Maison of Louis Vuitton has witnessed copious partnerships during his tenure of menswear Creative Director. The levels of clever sartorial reference brought in the clothing utilizing the power of Afro-cult creativity both in music and style, lights-up a narrative of an international modern-luxe powerhouse. It may well have left many in the daunt, but his tenacious consciousness stemmed the fright ever swiftly. His significance, which sank in quite straight-forwardly, was welcomed by the avant-garde ticket format, which makes it all even more clever. The street-meets-chic injection and hype adoption felt nerve-wracking in some ways. As the land of urban wear is characterized by a ruthless quest of change, Abloh has faced the challenge of symbolizing the dichotomy that stands by just making clothes “to wear” and making them introspect into an evolution. And by all means, we’re open to remark whatever about his quality of aesthetics, or perhaps on his technical appropriation (as he didn’t attend fashion school). The much-personal symbolism exemplified in his work, identity and aura could be seen transferred into the opening looks: the ambiance felt like being almost born again, with a cleansed soul a purified spirit. But though the hip emperor didn’t gain elite qualifications in design, he knew the ultimate formulas: commercially aware, all eyes zoomed in the nifty tailoring details, with a chromatic stance that sparked the brightest neon and the duskiest ash palette. The production was invigorating, setting the scene for a new season and a new legacy to be left behind. In the end, the thread was expressive, resolute, and yielding.

And as the designer faced the wildest twists in liability, he’s proven his competence and accountability which profitably placed him on top of the urbane ladder. It reassured, and most importantly, asserted. Surely analogous to the modernist la-la-land of streetwear, but it was good per se.