The proportions of Riccardo Tisci's clothes—shorts with everything—celebrated the sporty ballers who turned him on to menswear in the first place. That was sweet, except that he also introduced a print of snarling Rottweilers, an aggressive extension of the inveterate Gothicism that saw his models step out under an arch of blood-red roses. The dogs, with their whiff of nostalgie de la council estate, were typical of Tisci's challenge to polite convention. The impulse to provoke is as strong in him as the inclination to reassure his audience that he is a designer who is entirely capable of shaping perfectly tasteful items of clothing, in camel suiting even. He pushes you away, he pulls you back.