Alexander Wang has learned a few things from his 3-year séjour in Paris, aside from the machinations of the modern-day luxury house. His starting point: tweedy, bouclé, luncheoning ladies fare, which he rescued from the usual done-to-death iterations and butchered and remade in the spirit of la fille Wang. She may deign to wear a suit, but only if the skirt is micro, the jacket sleeves have twin leather armbands, and she gets to wear a dog collar and studded creepers instead of the usual pearls and pumps. And then, the nods to les stripteaseuses—the outline of a pole dancer appeared on a fuzzy sweater, the word “girls” ran across a pair of tights, right in the place that is usually claimed by a garter belt, and evocative adjectives like “strict,” “tender,” and “violator” also made cameos on beanies, dresses, et al. lean and mean littledresses were gussied up with delicate lace insets shaped like marijuana leaves. But despite these mildly campy touches, Wang‘s richly layered collection left the impression of a designer who is not afraid to explore the big questions in his work—making him a more vital addiction to the New York scene than ever.