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Diane Von Furstenberg
Lest anyone forget that Diane von Furstenberg cut those fabulous teeth of hers on the dancefloor at Studio 54, there in the front row, rocking a shade of tangerine lipstick rarely seen this side of Palm Beach, was the supreme Diana Ross, shaking her 'fro softly in time to the music.

Von Furstenberg showed disco clothes: velvet printed with leopard spots turned up on draped, wrap-like dresses, and on leggings as well. Tweeds were shot through with tinsel; there were ponchos and there was ombre shading. Chez Von Furstenberg, the Seventies never stop.

But what of Von Furstenberg's younger fans? The ones who rejoice in how neatly a DVF dress can transition from office to pub? Rest assured they will be well served, with smart boyfriend blazer coats and cocoon cardigans in fuzzy angora and fur. There were good dresses, too, of course. A series of embellished shifts was often far too weighted down, but when it was right, it was exactly what the Von Furstenberg client wants: a little disco, at a price.

Donna Karan
Donna Karan has spent much time over the past few years perfecting her “downward dog” and subsisting on raw cashews and grapes and other things that have never gone north of 108 degrees. But the sweet incense piped through the vents at her Monday afternoon show was the only New Age thing about it. “Get back to work, girls!” said the grey pinstriped suits, the almost Bill Blass-esque great coats, with their strong (padded!) shoulders and lapels and neatly belted waists.

It wasn't all hard charging; there were beautiful, softer touches, too, by way of elegant draping on evening dresses and tops. But it was an apt reminder that, although Karan has become the demi-goddess of all things organic and loose, she came to prominence in the go-go 1980s by helping her customers to dress for their corporate jobs. It was, arguably, her strongest collection in years.

Marc Jacobs
Diane von Furstenberg and Donna Karan weren't the only designers feeling nostalgic this week. Marc Jacobs seemed to be longing for the Mudd Club, when shoulder pads were steroidal and hair product a way of life. “It's my clubbing days!” the designer enthused.

His collection, which was shown to a third of the number of people he typically invites, called to mind Grace Jones, Blondie and the other icons of his nightclubbing youth. There were bright colours and pleated, stonewashed jeans (Z Cavaricci, anyone?), with high waists paired with shiny satin tops.

These are not clothes for the fashion-shy: they are strong and somewhat in-your-face and the hair - oh, the hair! - is sky-high and immobile. “We spent all weekend on that,” said an ecstatic Jacobs backstage after the show. He looked young, fresh and tanned. “God, I love New York! Everything is feeling creative again!”

Carolina Herrera
Whoever designed the lighting at Carolina Herrera did a great disservice to the clothes. Clearly, the idea was to be dramatic, with a blackened room, models illuminated by spotlights, a là Hollywood of yore. But the plan meant that the models spent a good half of their runway time in the pitch black (the spotlight, curiously, shut out just as the models reached celebrity stylist Rachel Zoe, who was squinting in her front-row seat).

A shame, because the clothes were good. Sleek and polished and adult, with a renewed emphasis on the waist, they offered a pretty spectacular silhouette in a rich palette of coppers and greens. Evening dresses were cut to slide off the shoulder, revealing a corset-like underpinning. The effect was of a sexy, tousled deshabillé that is a departure, but a welcome one, for the sometimes staid house.

Victoria Beckham
Victoria Beckham does not shy away from the camp. She showed her second collection at the Waldorf Towers, where Paris Hilton grew up. It was revealed to small groups, who sat alongside Beckham in a semi-circle as she narrated each look. “It's classic and chic,” she said, or: “I'm told it's like Mad Max.” “Mad Men,” corrected her publicist.

The clothes are designed with Beckham in mind. They are incredibly lean (she recommends that everyone wear a corset, offered as a piece of the collection, because she wants everyone to “feel tiny”). Embellishment is rare: gold studs on the stand-up collar of a sharp black cape, exposed zippers up the backs of body-sucking felt and satin shifts. Shoulder pads pop up here and there, only emphasising the Knots Landing-ness of it all; Beckham insists that they are there because wider shoulders mean smaller waists.

Mostly, these clothes are paparazzi-proof, designed to flatter at every angle. With prices from £900 to £4,900, it's likely that her clients will find such a trait useful.

Jonathan Saunders
Everything at Jonathan Saunders was very, very short. Except, of course, for when it was very, very, floor-skimmingly long. Saunders' look is razor-sharp and unerringly modern and, though he is a young designer, he has neatly carved out his niche, designing for a fashion-forward, confident client who is tired of sentimentality and frippery.

He tends to use black as a background from which to riff, as he did this time with bold, brave shots of red, orange, purple and teal. His silhouettes were sharp and universally sleek up top, some with mod-graphic capelets, others with cut-outs on the shoulders or the chest.

His shoes, designed in conjunction with Christian Louboutin, were out of this world: sparkling mixtures of velvet and glitter in sapphire and ruby of a dizzying height.

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