Under the Pont d’Alexandre III after dark, down rain-soaked steps, with the Seine roiling alongside, we stepped through an underground door- and into a rancid Parisian nighttime joint with bare floorboards, cafe tables, dim mirrors, and a bar overflowing with spent drinks. And here, sitting at wooden tables in the eerie yellowed light, we witnessed John Galliano conjure a world of characters and couture that was a more staggering, shockingly 100% Galliano experience than fashion has enjoyed for years.
