“I need fresh air,” Guillaume Henry declared. “I wanted something very enthusiastic, friendly, beautiful, all about beauty and fashion—and fresh.” Short (mostly) and in sugar-sweet pastels or graphic monochrome patterns, the Patou collection was named Joy, more for the vibe of the word than for the name of Jean Patou’s 1929 perfume, he said. (A swift internet search says this amazing scent, which required 28 dozen roses per bottle, is no longer being produced.)

It’s funny to see how Henry channels the 1980s and ’90s by putting young girls in summer tweed miniskirt suits and short cocktail dresses. He said he’d been looking back at the incredible work Christian Lacroix did for Patou, and at Karl Lagerfeld’s stint there before that. There on the board were fashion photos of Lacroix’s models giggling in his exuberant neo-Edwardian frou-frou polkadots and flower prints.

Henry’s homages were far more toned-down than the truly joy-filled escapades of the ’80s. He was at his best when he went for taffeta poufs and big inflated bows apparently floating behind the models’ heads.