
"It was a dream of extreme romanticism," said Miuccia Prada about her fall collection. "The idea of eighteenth-century painting, with video games. A romanticism between past and future." As part of her research, Prada reportedly observed players in arcades.
One wonders which she saw. While the romanticism is fairly evident in the soft silhouettes and the flourishes blooming in trim and accessories - although there does seem to be some debate in the press over whether this is nineteenth or eighteenth century - I fail to see the influence of video games aside from the use of "techno fabrics" (whatever that means), some vague prints that look like they might be badly blurred screenshots, and cute little robots showing up in decals and as plastic toggles on belts.
Although the collection is as technically proficient as all her work is, it is disappointingly evident that Prada hasn't understood the fundamental premise of video games. Video game aesthetic isn't just about tacking on some shorthand evocative visual details. I actually do agree with Prada that there is an element of extreme romanticism in video games currently - they are naive, idealistic, ever-optimistic; but, as Ernest Adams opined in his talk at the Game Developer's Conference [free registration required], the mode of discourse is much much more primitive than nineteenth-century Byronic elegance. Or even eighteenth century pre-Revolution nostalgia.
For a more sincere take on video games, look to Alexander McQueen, London bad boy and former street rat, someone who has experimented with video and film. His Ready to Wear collection for last fall exquisitely embodies the mythic, pre-modern extravagance of video game aesthetics. This collection might well have been titled Final Fantasy. The clear, overpoweringly visual construction of the clothing precisely reflects the current obsession with crisper, realer-than-real graphics in games, while the idiomatic stylistic vocabulary fuses the cinematic futurism onto proto-literary heroic archetypes.
The work as a whole is boldly theatrical, but in a much more simplistic - almost atavistic - way than, say, the work of John Galliano, who tends more towards coy playfulness. Galliano's women are role-players, teasers and strippers and cabaret dancers; but McQueen's women are heroines and goddesses - remote, powerful, and outrageous. They could crush Prada's refined ladies with a single kick of a delicate high-heeled boot.



The form, the movement, the energy of the collection is breathtaking. As in modern video games, there is nothing subtle about either the conception or the visualization of the themes. Every stroke is bold and unhesitant, every line is confidently executed. If video games are about power fantasies - which, with a few unusual exceptions, they still are - then this collection embodies the superhero quest: iconic avatars against the world.