In the six years since she stepped away from the helm of Parisian titan Céline (with an accent) an almost mythical status has been afforded to the British designer Phoebe Philo. The woman who would appear briefly at the end of her runway shows (in white Stan Smiths, sending out a bat signal to all that white trainers were A Thing to be worn with everything at all points) who didn’t do interviews, but who ushered in a post Noughties era of cool, sometimes minimal, often elaborate taste. Trio crossbody bags for the everywoman, fur covered pumps for the Frieze crowd.
From navy jumpers to those fur lined sandals; perfectly cut shirting and tailored trousers to leather versions of checked market bags. Style, wit and good taste had never been so tightly woven together. She was that rare breed of designer which provokes fashion and mood changes, knowing what we want before we do; rather than playing easy wins to the crowd.
