That feeling, of course, was only backed up by the pitch-black venue, that massive dystopian dinosaur, and Vevers’ ghostlike floor-length prairie skirts, unravelling dresses, heavily but hardily embellished tops, almost horror-like Disney motifs on sweatshirts, and hyper-aged leather coats and mountaineering jackets. He’d found inspiration for his scavengers on a 24-hour trip to Santa Fe where he visited Georgia O’Keeffe’s Ghost Ranch, walked the Turquoise Trail and became fascinated with the middle-of-nowhere abandonment of its tiny clusters of houses. “An aeroplane wing is propping up half of the house and half of the tiles of the roof are some salvaged thing, and all the post boxes are painted and patched together. It almost feels commune-y,” Vevers gushed. “It almost feels like an alien planet. Weird rock formations and the sky. Nothing. Really in the middle of nowhere.”
His whirlwind inspiration jaunt ended in a downstairs dive bar called El Matador. “It was probably one of the best nights out I’ve ever had. The music was amazing; had that early '80s vibe to it. Bit sci-fi-y, quite pop-y, bit off and random. I don’t think there was anyone over 25 in there. And people were wearing things from that area, I guess: bits of western, a cool T-shirt. It always felt to me a bit New Romantic. A bit punk, a bit New Wave. But I’ve probably over-fantasised it,” he smiled. You can’t accuse Vevers of not establishing a clear aesthetic at Coach. From the garments to the show experience itself, you know what world you’re in and what you’re getting, and that familiarity no doubt appeals to the brand’s young customer base to whom these elements probably read like girl gang rather than desert cult.