Silhouettes were salient and razor-sharp, each representing a caricature of New York men we're used to seeing — who, in some of the most problematic weather conditions, wouldn't sacrifice style if their life depended on it — only each ensemble carried with it a spine of Ford-level textures: the most pristine velvet blazers in wild prints, metallic and lamé tops and bottoms that command as much attention as it takes gaul to wear them, sunglasses that render the wearers too fabulous to be approached, and snakeskin boots that rival those of fuck-me pumps or any boot before it.