Two lines of enormous white flags lined the runway. Surrender ? That's not how it looked from this bench. Phillip Lim's project this season seemed to be to take garments whose history was wrapped up in the partisanship of masculine tribes, soften their edges until that original affiliation seemed meaningless, and leave us with a blanker canvas charged with potential. So, the Wall Streeter's suit jacket was rendered in archly cut cotton and paired with Bermudas, or as a silkily linen mix in a jumpsuit. Military uniform was shorn of its stripes and its breast pocket -although a stitched memory remained- and re-rendered. In white, these looks semaphored "An officer and a gentleman" : stereotypes are not easily shaken off. Sometimes it was impossible to detect any agenda behind the looks apart from a desire for looseness and room to flex, as per a roomy yellow knit tee above obi-belted white pants in crushed linen, or a quilted opaque parka worn with a Bengal-striped granddad shirt and quilted, raw-hemmed shorts. The ornately paned, hand-sketched botanical print that flourished near the close was pleasing. In fact, this was all quite pleasing -if sometimes just a little anodyne in its softness and studied erosion.