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Emblazoned onto a cool gray cashmere sweatshirt, partially hidden as the pattern of a jet-black, dimpled trench or, most spectacularly, used in a racy metallic vest, the YSL signature was the leit motif of the show, even as Pilati subverted the logo.

The three letters were a metaphor for Stefano Pilati's reign as Saint Laurent's creative director, which has been a delicate balancing act between deference and subversion.

"Let's be honest my job at Saint Laurent has been to respect the house and all it stands for while at the same time tearing it down," the lithe and ever dandy Pilati told FWD post show.

This highly tailored spring summer 2008 collection also stood way apart from the whole Milan and Paris seasons. In a moment of florid abandon and dreamy nature fabrics, Pilati did not show any prints. And in a month when designers dress women for picnics and fantasy balls, Pilati attired them for chic urban living.

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And to the suggestion that "The Darjeeling Limited" should have been held back from its planned limited release schedule until next year, when the furor over Wilson's suicide attempt would have quieted, Anderson insisted that that was never a consideration.

"That's not what I wanted, which is why it's not happening like that and that's not what Owen wants. He's very happy that we're releasing it now."

Also happy about the film's premiere were the scads of friends who joined Anderson and his troupe for the screening and after party in the Academy's lobby, including Anjelica Huston, Paul Rudd, Jonah Hill, Fisher Stevens, James Van Der Beek, Talia Shire, Bud Cort, and Kelly Lynch

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Ironically, his depressed character in the quirky new film crashes his motorcycle; so is it a case of life imitating art, or vice versa?

As Wes Anderson commented to reporters earlier, the film is just a movie, nothing more, nothing less. And he hopes audiences will get beyond Wilson's private troubles and just enjoy the picture for what it is.

"I feel people, nobody ever looks at [my movies] in the way that I thought they were going to anyway. So that's fine and I think the movie stands on its own. I love what Owen does in the movie. So that's where I land on that," Anderson said.

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One had to admire the uniqueness of many of the outfits on display, from transparent plastic capes to sequined jungle king bride frocks to fabulous Montezuma Art Deco belts. Yet the admiration was mixed with the thought, where on earth could a gal actually wear the phantasmagorical clothes, like the mesh tops with tiny tufts of black mink, more suited for a space station cocktail than a tony urban society event.

There was the odd restrained stunner; the great flared black dress with white rosettes worn by model Maria Carla had the noses, and pens, of every stylist in the room twitching.

And Fendi, luxury giant LVMH's star Italian brand, is now a label on the mend. After several tricky years, Fendi is profitable and clearly finding new, and loyal, customers. Which brings us to the heart of the matter, the famed baguette bag, Fendi's star product, which this season celebrated its tenth anniversary, and morphed into over-sized units, done in Art Deco mosaics or dyed into candy rapper hues, just like the water that coursed slowly through the bizarre catwalk. As we said, experiments ruled in this show.

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The setting alone was well worth trudging through the sticky rain of Milan - a Theatre of the Absurd backdrop of plastic walls and neon double F logos, and a transparent catwalk through which wound a twisting tube of several hundred yards, gradually changing colors during the show thanks to coursing liquid. It seemed an apt metaphor for a resolutely experimental house, famed as much in recent years for the innovation of its ideas as for the eccentricity of the results. And the twisting tube mimicked the swirling circles that were the distinctive image of this spring summer 2008 collection.

One had to admire the uniqueness of many of the outfits on display, from transparent plastic capes to sequined jungle king bride frocks to fabulous Montezuma Art Deco belts. Yet the admiration was mixed with the thought, where on earth could a gal actually wear the phantasmagorical clothes, like the mesh tops with tiny tufts of black mink, more suited for a space station cocktail than a tony urban society event.

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But while the guts of the collection were very fine and highly flattering clothes - the jodhpurs made the models look, if anything, too thin, meaning they will be very flattering for "normal women" - the beginning and finale were both more problematic.

Odd, and not terribly alluring floral prints whose petals seemed more like IED explosions failed to flatter. Plus whatever gave Giannini the idea of pairing some huge grand ball gowns with suede faux Lonsdale belts - a seriously dumb stylistic move - mystified us.

That said, one revealing fact about a designer's skill and commercial appeal is whether they wear their own season's clothes when they take their finale bow. Surprisingly few do it better than Frida Giannini, who looked, hang it all, better than most of the models when she took her bow like the poshest of punkettes, wearing the best items in her own collection.