At the twilight hour, the first group of models strode onto the Quai Jean Jaurès, all wearing flowing, diaphanous dresses in breezy pastel paisleys and florals, barefoot save for the lush ankle jewelry. If you didn’t immediately grasp the theme as ’70s boho chic—the long and languid vibe that radiates easy, liberated glamour—there on the runway was Georgia May Jagger, daughter of Mick and Jerry Hall, to pull it all together for you. (To add to the symmetry, Jagger famously married Hall’s predecessor, Bianca, in St-Tropez in 1971.)

After the parade of 87 looks, the crocheted caftans and bouclé hot pants, the crisp white peasant skirts and the paisley halter jumpsuit, Lagerfeld appeared in his purple, surrounded by an adoring cadre of models. Of course he’d known this would be the end result amid those frenzied fittings the day before. He’d practically foretold it in the film—if not the moment itself, then certainly its carefree joy, the dancetill-dawn luxury one feels when escaping to a place where clocks and schedules matter not. Even before he took his bow, as Georgia May revved up the runway on a Harley driven by Sebastien Jondeau, I thought, Clever guy, that Lagerfeld. He made us all part of the show while also making us long for the lifestyle imbued in every piece of these luxe, luscious clothes. Collectively, it was an event to remember—now, and for years to come.

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