Shoes sprouted roots that wrapped the ankle, beaded jewellery oozed live vines around wrists and necks. There was something poisonous and alien about them, a new mutation of Dior's flower-women.
They reminded you not of roses or tulips, but of carnivorous rainforest plants, Venus flytraps, especially when translucent puffball skirts seemed to half-consume the models. Ferns fatales? Perhaps.
The darkness was intriguing. It was frightening. It felt new - which is a mark of really good fashion.
There was also plenty to inspire women to part with cold hard cash, like those strapped stilettos, an intriguing half-dozen twisty-turny shirt-dresses, or evening gowns scrolled with glistening floral embroidery.
On some, you could discern a double-helix design, like a chromosome, cross-hatched in bugle-beads a visual pun on that hackneyed press-release cliche of House DNA. That's a neat detail for the press, and to satisfy Simons' intellectual urges, but wont spoil his clients' enjoyment of a beautiful dress.
There were a few moments of pure visual pleasure, like when Simons elongated the classic wool Dior jackets and gored open the back to insert floral silks, giving a bounce of movement. He did that for his own menswear line a year ago, but they looked fresh for her too.
In fact, that was the story of this collection. If, in the past, Simons has been weighted down by the romance and femininity of Dior's heritage, this collection marked a true cross-pollination of his rigid modernist aesthetic with Dior. It wasn't always a comfortable marriage, but it made compelling viewing.
A sequence of silver outfits sent out at the finale, referencing his 18 months at the house, felt like a full stop: Here's what I've done - now were on to the next chapter.
As a statement from a major-league designer, that felt transgressive. And very exciting.
- THE INDEPENDENT