John Galliano

On the way into this show, in one of Paris's roughest arrondissements, I stepped into what may or may not have been a puddle of sewage. There's nothing quite like seeing a crocodile of limos and several hundred pairs of Louboutins rub against the scenic poor to make you question the meaning of your life. Is John Galliano being subversive by showing jolly expensive frocks in an armpit? Or is it a joyous message about beauty in the face of deprivation?

Whatever, as we like to say in this world. The clothes were a riot. Literally. Impressionist floral prints skirmished with Grecian draping. Hot pink and burning orange did battle with frills and ruffles. Transparency slugged it out with horizontal pleats and more flounces than a Graham Norton sketch. Katie Price and husband Peter Andre looked on in wonder. Or perhaps that was just her make-up. Still, it's not often they're in a roomful of clothes that makes them look like 17th-century Puritans.

Occasionally one wished that Galliano would heed Diana Vreeland's great dictum about elegance being refusal, because it was in some of the plainer pieces - a gorgeous, long, silk Grecian gown or a draped, printed chiffon dress - that his refined workmanship shone through. But refusal isn't really his thing. A luscious, pillar-box red draped shorts suit garnished with a marabou busby is.

Louis Vuitton

If the past four weeks have come up with anything irresistible, it has to be the jackets. At a time when fashion is trying to have it every which way (long, short, utility, romantic, architectural, drapy), a jacket is one piece that can unify a wardrobe into a coherent whole.

And nowhere are jackets more confident, detailed or glamorous looking than at Louis Vuitton, where Marc Jacobs wrapped, belted, cropped, stretched, padded but above all metallicised them. Jacobs must have faith in them, because a few of the iridescent Vuitton jackets weren't a zillion miles from those he designed for his own label last month. Still, they're worth seeing twice.

The whole collection was cleverly conceived, not least because it felt like a raid on someone's decadent and very upmarket archives - Marc Bolan's, perhaps, if he had properly been a girl. From the floppy pyjama pants to micro minis, this was an eclectic aubergine, purple, orange and leopard-trimmed romp through everything a woman doesn't need but may very possibly want (an emerald marabou fronted vest?), if only momentarily. And momentary consideration is all Vuitton requires from its catwalk shows, which are primarily aimed at stoking the desirability of that classic monogrammed print.

Lanvin

Alber Elbaz received one of the loudest cheers when he took his bow, and not just because this was the penultimate show of the season. The past four weeks have made it clear that fashion is about to become a more abstract pursuit.

Priorities are already being realigned by economics. Women who recently prided themselves on being at the forefront of a curve trend may find themselves sitting the next one out. Labels offering similar versions of what's already in our wardrobes are on a hiding to nothing. Ditto labels trying to sell us something challenging.

Elbaz hasn't suddenly begun providing the instantly affordable. But at least he produced something worth dreaming about. No pretence of daywear or basics here (get those in Gap). There was one skirt suit - possibly the black suit of the season - with its nonchalantly pushed-up sleeves, elegantly slouchy shoulders and lovely, airy lines. The rest was unashamed party wear: tulip skirts and voluminous blouson tops fastened into floppy bows. Everything is loosely cut and yet, because of those defined waists, feminine. By the way, hips are getting bigger and bigger on the catwalk. The last time this happened, there was a French Revolution. Just thought you should know.

Hermes

In the old, old days, luxury was bound up with the heavy and the imposing. Now it is axiomatically linked to making these same things light and as insubstantial as air.

Nowhere is this better demonstrated than at Hermès, where Jean Paul Gaultier took a crocodile jacket and dip-dyed it in indigo, draped sand-coloured suede into waistcoats and jackets that had all the comfort of cardigans (with the added appeal that they looked ultra-expensive) and shrank the iconic Kelly into a tiny envelope with irreverent fringing. This is what being really rich in the 21st century can bring you: the ease and spirit of a tracksuit wrought into something eternally chic.

It helps that Gaultier has an eye for reworking classics: hence the house's traditional horse-bit link appearing on a 2009 platform sandal.

Speaking of classics, it's nearly 20 years since Naomi Campbell and Stephanie Seymour first took to the catwalk. But there they were, holding their own against the 16 year olds. True, their bodies are noticeably more womanly than they were; less likely to snap in two in a breeze. But, astonishingly, they still looked good in the clothes. That's right. Size 10 (UK) model on catwalk shocker. You read it here first.

Miu Miu

If it's really serious about models' welfare, Madrid Fashion Week might care to ban BMHighs (bloody massive heels) next season. Another model tumbled (twice) in the Miu Miu show. This kind of silly fashion does no one credit.

But enough of shoes (yes, I really wrote that). Having gone the conceptual fashion route for Miu Miu's last show (a mystifying detour into neoprene that bore almost no resemblance to the terrific tailoring and silk tunics currently in Miu Miu stores), Miuccia Prada opted for what looked like a literal presentation of the retail line.

Many of the two-part dresses (hessian tops, silk or wool pleated skirts, or vice versa) could have walked straight off the catwalk into real life. Sleeveless and gently shaped to the body rather than aggressively figure-hugging, they were flattering and chic - classic, but interesting enough to seem fresh thanks to an overlay of coloured apron-panel. If this was about simplifying a message, it worked, almost too well. Prada doesn't usually confine herself to a single idea. Presumably there will be more than sleeveless dresses on the Miu Miu rails come spring.

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