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To diagnose full-blown Osmania would be a gross exaggeration. Yet Osman’s Instagram feed chronicles an ever-growing band of what they call influencers who are discovering his work—most recently Jessie Ware, Diane Kruger, Elizabeth Banks, Rose Byrne, and Taylor Swift.

“Is that good?” Osman Yousefzada asked preposterously today, as if he didn’t know. Not so long ago he was a one-man band in a Marble Arch basement. Now there is a rapidly expanding team bustling away in a battered Waterloo high-rise (it’s being demolished in two years, so the lease is dirt cheap). Typically, Yousefzada glossed over the simpler—a.k.a. more commercial—wool-crepe dresses with a fin, ruffle, or supersize epaulet at the shoulder, focusing instead on the giddier pieces in his Resort collection. He preferred to concentrate on the caviar and leave the bread and butter to Dimitri, a beady-eyed production manager so formidable that Yousefzada whispered about him in mock complaint.

That caviar included outerwear—a new category here—in the guise of two Turkish-made sheepskins (one kimono-sleeve jacket and a cocoonish, caftan-ish overcoat cut in blocks of hide); a quilted denim, blanket-lined overcoat; and a quietly embellished black canvas bomber. There was also a striking calf-length bomber-cum-granddad shirt, which would make for a great menswear piece. Further full-tilt maximalism came via crepe-paper-bag mega-pants worn below ruffle-hemmed peasant tops, a fishtail floor-sweeper in orange brocade, and cotton halter-neck dresses voluminous enough to transport the wearer in even the gentlest breeze.

Stephen Jones’ jaunty bicorne hats lent an inescapably highwayman-ish air to a look featuring silver pilgrim shoes and a blue leather cloak. It also prompted Yousefzada to mention Sinbad the Sailor. And true, those fluting sleeves, inset grosgrain obi belts, and the lushness of the brocade (the pattern of which aped the midnight-sky glitter of the mirrored embroidery) also resonated something historical-exotic. But this wasn’t a thematic collection—look at that Windsor collar wrap dress-meets-smoking; or the Dimitri-friendly brocade shorts; or the ingenious exposed-overlap, dovetail joint detailing on leather skirts and wool culottes. It was just a gleeful mash-up of caviar with bread and butter. The label’s sales doubled last year. And those Insta-fluencers keep coming. This collection was a-heave with more than enough booty (in the piratical sense) to keep both constituencies aboard.

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