Throw Out Your Skirts

By Martha Duffy

Gazing gravely down at the traffic along the Rue de Rivoli from his niche on the facade of the Louvre, General Jean-Baptiste Kleber looks sleek and elegant in his long hose, thigh-high boots and short spencer jacket. If his stone eyes could have seen the roiling human traffic around the museum as the ready-to- wear fashion shows were held last week, he might have been amused to observe that he was back in style again after 200 years. But his dashing look is a la mode for women, not for men.

The battle of the hemline may already have been fought to exhaustion, and many designers have concluded that the only way to stop the hostilities is to bulldoze the battlefield -- that is, the skirt. The dominant silhouette at the Paris fall collections was a big top with tights or leggings, often accompanied by boots that climbed well above the knee. In between there was often a sort of apron that resembled a vestigial skirt or, more fancifully, a superwide belt. Only a few classic houses featured any skirts in the usual sense of the word, and only Yves Saint Laurent covered the knee in a few outfits.

Saint Laurent managed to dominate the news in the semiannual pret-a-porter bazaar -- clothes that are manufactured in quantity at much lower prices than the hand-sewed fantasies of haute couture. It was, however, not his fluent, confident designs but his health that made headlines: the fragile designer was hospitalized a few days before his show. His partner, Pierre Berge, issued a statement blaming nervous exhaustion and emphasizing to an AIDS-ravaged industry that no infectious disease was involved.

Though Saint Laurent's 1990 offerings were inspired largely by highlights of his old collections, most of the other designers were looking closely at various costume spectacles during France's bicentennial last summer. This fall the thing most likely to cover the knee will be the hem of a grand swirling cape; almost every designer had his models sweeping the runways with them.

Yohji Yamamoto opened his presentation with dark, brooding outfits that were more like costumes: long belled skirts with heavy wool redingotes. In outline they had the eerie drama of displaced time. And, lest anyone miss the point, the impudent Jean-Paul Gaultier used a few cartoon wigs complete with pompadour and side curls -- in bright orange and electric blue.

How happy hosiery manufacturers must be! Some of the liveliest clothes on view were boldly patterned bodysuits and tights. Christian Lacroix, in his strongest ready-to-wear collection yet, had the best and most vivid. Gaultier made them a major theme, combining glittery threads with tweedy textures and flaunting second-skin bodysuits patterned with strategically positioned bull's-eyes.

The bare allure of the leg keeps the outline modern, but what's a woman to do if she's a bit, well, short stemmed? High boots help the proportions. More important to the complete look is the top, which may actually extend downward to the thigh. More ingenuity and inspiration went into this element of the silhouette than into any other. It's a great year for the jacket.

Karl Lagerfeld, the most aggressive exponent of the skirtless look, had bright, jaunty jackets that were nipped in at the waist. Claude Montana, still smarting from his disastrous debut as Lanvin's couturier in January, produced a rigorous collection dedicated to Andy Warhol. What he took from the painter was Popsicle colors and hard, clean lines. His tops were laser cut.

The second thread running through the shows came right out of the headlines on Eastern Europe and the Soviet republics. Folklore abounded, and a little of it goes a long way. Saint Laurent reminded everyone that he got there first by starting his presentation with a reprise of his famous "rich peasant" couture collection of the mid-'70s. Ungaro's sumptuous clothes also paid homage to that look. The simplest pseudo peasant was Kenzo, who, with his customary lack of pretension, threw together vivid knit patterns and topped them off with enormous babushkas.

Gaultier made a stylized bow to the East as well, but his heavy personal stamp all but obliterated his source material. Disdaining the Louvre, he rented a steaming cellar on the Champs-Elysees, and it was packed with fans who relish his theatrics at least as much as his clothes. The outfits were a tantalizing mix of the shrewd and salable and the ridiculous, and this season's leading outrage was a bodysuit opened all the way down the rear. Catherine Deneuve, the ranking celebrity guest, even removed her sunglasses to | take it in.

For the past couple of years, Gaultier's spectacles have been upstaged by those of a former employee, Martin Margiela, the current darling of the avant- garde. For his show, Margiela, 31, rented an old railroad station now used as a truck depot. The scene outside resembled a hot disco, with a bouncer deciding who of the throng would get in.

Just like show biz, fashion thrives on outlandish happenings, which seem to come naturally to Margiela. His clothes are anything but gaudy, however, reflecting instead the dour severities of northern Belgium, where he grew up. He is one of several young designers who have emerged from Antwerp's Academie Royale des Beaux-Arts and who adapt menswear for women. Margiela likes to make new clothes look lived in. Although a scrupulous tailor, he sews dark seams at the knees of trousers to resemble a crease. Like everyone else, he goes for thigh-high boots, but his are real fishing gear subjected to a dubious paint job. He avoids ornamentation; all his buttons function. Margiela's designs are both practical and imaginative. He and his street theater may be around for some time.

Perhaps the most remarkable bit of stagecraft in Paris came not from Margiela or Gaultier but from Valentino, who sent a couple of models out carrying briefcases. Not many firms would classify their outfits as dress-for- success mainstream, but it was a nice thought. In fact, a businesswoman or a middle-of-the-road matron can find places to squander cash this year, especially since manufacturers often ship their products with longer lengths, leaving it to stores or customers to chop or not. Lacroix kept his dazzlement to color instead of radical shapes, and at Dior Milan's Gianfranco Ferre produced a strong line of sleek, sophisticated clothes. No giddy gambits here, but what looks like an insurance policy for the historic fashion house.

Saint Laurent's Rive Gauche collection came last, with masterful ease and variety if not innovation. The high point was a Scotch symphony of plaids ranging from sporty separates to opulent evening costumes, a Highland fling of color. In recent years it has become a form of rude sport to guess how the designer would look when he took his bow -- lean and fit or pale and puffy. But when he was absent, the crowd filed out subdued and thoughtful. This rich, elaborate kingdom misses its king.