Throwing a show in which the audience could actually see the clothes, look by look and in full evening sunshine, was a transformative improvement on Haider Ackermann's terrible old presentation format. The uncharitable could argue that this designer's oeuvre is a one-trick deal. But what a trick it was. Snortingly masculine of shoulder, Hedi-enragingly etiolated of leg, Astaire-ishly trim of waist, Cuban of heel, and damned fierce altogether : you could almost hear the estrogen flooding the balcony as Scott Barnhill clenched his way in gold Lurex Chelsea boots, monochrome pinstripe jeans, a complicatedly tiered cummerbund, and a multi-collared, sleeves-pulled-up, gold-on-black kimono top. All his energetically stylized detail can be exhausting to process -imagine leopard-print slippers under zebra socks under pinstripe pants below a Breton shirt under a chalk-stripe jacket, and try and keep your head together- but this designer has total harmonic control of his ingredients. "It was my ideal road trip", he said backstage : "I always wanted to be a dancer. I want to go back to Japan, to travel through Persia... these are all my fantasies of escape". Judging by the whooping at his finale, it's a fantasy shared. A cracker of an Ackermann.