The Modern Dandy and Some Rough Guys

PARIS - Haider Ackermann does not thrill to describing his inspirations. He doesn't care to be tarred with their brush. Cornered among the weeds in the garden after his presentation, he admitted, under some duress, that in his new collection, 'I saw Keith Richards, Iggy Pop.' Then he clammed up: 'I don't like to talk about it.'

But some weeks before, Mr. Ackermann had seen his first Rolling Stones concert. The sight of Mick and especially Keith vamping onstage energized him, and came back to the designer as he styled the collection. They have the quality that he looks for in 'the modern dandy,' the man he seeks to dress - a 'decadence we're missing now.'

The Ackermann aesthetic for men has been consistent since it was introduced, first at the 2010 Pitti Uomo fair in Florence, then at its regular show slot during the 2013 Paris fashion week calendar. It's a lustrous, Byronic take on the male wardrobe, clothes for a wine-dark world in which a waistcoat is essential but jeans are expendable. A fair complaint about Mr. Ackermann's work is that it has remained too rooted in this narrow vision, gorgeous but precious. But he has been eking out new nuances each time.

This season, the spirit of the rock gods took the collection into edgier territory. Mr. Ackermann's men (and two women) were still layered in robes and vests, scarves and jackets, but the range of textures and materials has been enlarged. There were skinny trousers in leather and vinyl, roomy pajama trousers, bombers in crushed velvet and a number of pieces in a leafy jacquard.

At Carven, Guillaume Henry was channeling new icons too. The designer's stamp has so far been one of gentle sweetness. He has scored hits in the past with florals and prints lifted from artists' canvases. This season, he roughed his heroes up.

They are now the boys from the outskirts of town, casual and comfortable in their track suits and sweats. Or so the backstory (required by the fashion press, and dutifully supplied) runs. It seemed just as likely that the reigning trends, those from the center of the fashion world, not its outskirts, lit the way. Designers have been borrowing from what is euphemistically called streetwear - meaning, at least in part, the unfussy, often inexpensive sportswear once held by fashion at a chilly remove - and mixing it with their usual wares.

Mr. Henry cross-pollinated the two idioms, to create, like some before him, tailored trousers with sweatpant banded cuffs and track-striped suits. For all their broad and no doubt salable appeal, they lacked a bit of Mr. Henry's typical Carven charm. That resided more in simpler, odder pieces, like Mackintosh trenches with spread collars, an anachronism made new.

Fashion week can feel like six (or 60) characters in search of a designer: some days a dandy, some days a local tough. That is understandable enough; a fashion show is a piece of theater. But that is what is refreshing about Christophe Lemaire. I missed his show on Wednesday afternoon, which set many here abuzz. But from what I could see online after the fact, he has once again worked in his own, long-cultivated style, one that involves no discernible characters but the clothes.

In general, Mr. Lemaire draws on the tailoring and uniforms of the past but distills it into something all his own, which season after season remains consistent but recharged. After the spring show, pressed by a reporter to explain the concept, he refused. Guilty in the past of such pressure myself, I was impressed. The work speaks loudly enough, with a visceral appeal.

This is the first season in many years Mr. Lemaire has shown his men's wear on the runway, and he now has what is effectively the first slot of the Paris fashion week. It cleanses the palate before the palate wants cleansing.