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Yves Saint Marc Jacobs

Where was Pierre Berge when you needed him most?

Marc Jacobs staged a thoroughly excellent fashion show Monday night that was, albeit on his own arty American terms, a crystal clear “homage” to Yves Saint Laurent.

In its use of color, fabric, silhouette, chignon hairstyles and sense of presence it was YSL for the year 2007. Yet, and we know it’s a minor complaint, it started 80 minutes late, something Berge, Saint Laurent’s partner, pugnacious attack dog and busy man backstage, would never have let happened.

Once again, however, the notoriously tardy Jacobs made the delay well worth all our time. The opening image – a fantastically oversized Philadelphia Story stage set of a haute patrician drawing room throughout which were arranged all 56 models – was a remarkable way to ignite this supremely stylish and wonderfully tongue in cheek show.

From the diagonally cut tuxedos, pleated red leather skirts or crepe de chine blouses to the ottoman tunics, turquoise sequined tops, va va voom fuchsia satin cocktails and velvet and humungous bow gowns the references to YSL were multiple. Still, Marc injected his own twist with a more ironic finish, proportions and cuts - that recalled, curiously, Pierre Cardin - and a brilliant selection of accessories.

Take the hats alone. Hatters are going to want to buy Marc a medal, because you just know thousands of hip gals will don his knit at the top, felt at the brim fedoras and cloches. Plus, his choice of chunky bracelets in lapis and malachite, or edgy Art Deco finished clutches in crocodile, satin, corduroy, python and leather were all commercial hits, and somehow in Jacobs own oeuvre.

The Thirties moment was underlined by one great mohair sweater where the intarsia was an image of a hand holding a smoky cigarette.

The designer, gym buffed and skinnier, earned a huge cheer from the packed ranks on the bleachers in Lower Manhattan’s Armory. Marc Jacobs has been the standout fashion and celebrity intersection in New York for the past several years. But this time it was relatively subdued with rockers – Rod Stewart, Joss Stone and Lenny Kravitz – winning more attention that actresses, we spotted someone from American Idol, the sort of gal Yves would have shuddered to see at one of his shows in Paris.

One almost half expected to hear a cool-voiced French lady announce over the speakers, “numero quatorze, number fourteen,” as they did at all YSL couture shows. Instead we got a gloriously dramatic soundtrack by DJ Frederic Sanchez, which almost miraculously hit a series of crescendos as the best look reached the photographers’ focal point at the head of a great looking Escher-style catwalk.

Call it all Rive Greenwich Village.

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