It turns out Johanna Parv’s feats of fashion engineering age well; she designs meticulously and carefully selects hardy, weatherproof fabrications. Patina looks good on her pieces, as exemplified by a gargantuan tote bag that was positioned in the corner at the preview for her spring collection; the crunchy nylon was scuffed and scratched from the stones she’d placed it on during a holiday to Marseille. Like most things she puts out into the world, it was made to “withstand the elements,” as she said at a preview.
Witnessing a London summer firsthand—the blistering 100-degree temperatures, the thick dust—drove Parv to design a protective capsule for spring. Not literal sci-fi garb (even though the climate is starting to feel worryingly surreal), but clothes that would legitimately keep dwellers comfortable when moving through urban spaces. The color palette reflected the polluted, dust-ridden “city haze” she has observed: sandy hues reminiscent of the desperately dry parks, smoggy charcoal black, and cool shots of blue that echoed clear-ish skies distorted by lingering fumes. The steadfast Parv neutrals remained, but these intermittent color injections brought further energy and dynamism to her highly functional silhouettes.
The jackets, made from waterproof wool, chosen for its temperature-regulating properties, were the utmost display of fashion and function. “I quite like the contrast of using wool for summer,” said Parv. Her lightweight manipulation of it—which also spanned a wool-cotton denim notched-lapel jacket and capris (a “bike messenger take on a suit”) and a luxe merino set comprising lounge trousers and a cap-sleeve polo top—made a strong case for its usage in the warmer months. London inhabitants will know the likelihood of getting caught in a shower; luckily, Parv’s “trench–cum–cyling outfit” inspired by a vintage silhouette in a water-repellent gabardine, would stave off the rain. Explorations in breathable, lightweight linen (Para likened it to aluminum for its moldable qualities) and a circular knit skirt with built-in briefs that took a year to develop were more typical of the spring season. So, too, the striped cotton shirts, complete with high and deep pockets on the chest, inspired by ’50s and ’60s cycling jerseys.
Attendees are familiar with seeing a choreographed Johanna Parv runway routine on schedule, but this time they were invited into a curated exhibition. The occasion felt like an homage to London Fashion Week and London Design Week (coinciding events)—as did the clothes. To set the scene: Viewers were led into a darkened room decorated with static hanging rod sculptures that emulated a sort of human form, with bolstered metal shoulders and hips. The negative space showed the drape of the clothes upon them, which hung like armor owing to reinforcements, bonding, zips, and seams. Projected on a wall were city videos of her four-person line-up: Saša Štucin, one half of design duo Soft Baroque; chef Imogen Kwok; artist and ceramist Phoebe Collings-James; and architect Nara Lee, cast for their intersecting disciplines, which they were then filmed talking about in additional clips shown on big screens in the next room. Asked about their relationship with pace—speaking to the collection’s name and theme, Tempo—the women gave an intimate glimpse of the clothes.
As for Parv’s relationship with pace, her practice and execution is slow and considered; she hangs on every detail. There’s an enduring speed to the clothes, but they are by no means ephemeral. Just like that bag’s tarnish, they’ll weather well—and will keep you well, whatever the weather.
