Every inch of skin covered, from the wrapped necks, the legs encased in long stomping leather boots, the hands and arms concealed by leather gauntlets, even faces were obscured with woollen cobwebs.
In the background, the set burned, casting a post-apocalyptic glow on the proceedings. Fabrics were roughly hewn, colours dour, music offensive (Im gonna teach that bitch etc).
It felt like a lecture by a professor in anti-fashion - or anti being anything as obvious as a bourgeois luxury fashion house.
What was his message? Who were these warrior women anyway? Did they want to hide away beneath their long layers? Protect themselves by way of armour-like black leather? Blend in? Stand out?
Take these clothes away from this intense catwalk experience, wear them in real life, and to the trained eye, they shout Fashion as loudly as any Louis Vuitton sorbet-shade, marabou-trim, organza tea dress. You either get it or you dont just like Vuitton. Its a mindset.
Should you be of the Rick Owens persuasion, you will not only find a floor-sweeping coat in every shade of grey and mushroom wool, but also some of the finest jackets around. Owens is the king of the leather jacket and this season they stopped abruptly at the waist, with round-shoulders and were devoid of any detail save a dramatic stand up collar, sometimes so large it lapped over the shoulders all the way down to the elbow.