For Marc Jacobs, every season starts with a blank slate. No two of his undertakings have ever been quite the same, or even somewhat similar; they are so vastly unique they could probably be the brainchild of some other designer entirely. In fact, the only unifying concept between Jacobs' collections is his defiant refusal to conform with fashion's rules. In other words, it's his utter rejection of the trends that makes him so very trendy. Whereas constraint and maturity were the keywords for fall, spring was a radically different sort of girl. While most designers geared their presentations towards an older (read: wealthier) generation, Jacobs' muse resurrected her youth, liberating herself from the stiff, fussy frocks of yesteryear and slinking into '20s flapper fringe. It was 2011 (in fashion years), and time to party. Gone were the stale flower prints and banal neutrals, replaced by an exuberant explosion of color. The rigid, corsetted hourglass gave way to easy, unstructured silhouettes. The bare faces of autumn adopted smoky eyes and crimson lips. Even Jacobs' chosen coathangers were markedly different. Last season, Jacobs was heralded as a catalyst in the industry for resurrecting the more voluptuous shapes of the '90s. This spring, however, there was nether a Victoria's Secret Angel in sight. Neither was there a trace of the prim-and-proper English rose that had previously ruled the runway. Oriental influences abounded in soaringly slit satin kimonos and delicately pleated fans. Jacobs confirmed lace as the material du jour, crafting everything from long skirts to high-waisted shorts entirely in the translucent fabric. Albeit on the tacky side, a slew of electric pantsuits in shimmering neon would have made Bon Jovi proud. A series of sheer, skintight sweater dresses revealed more than they concealed (and required perfect bodies). Zebra stripes, vivid florals, and tasseled silk competed with one another in an array of mindboggling ensembles. In fact, the entire collection appeared to be a byproduct of a raid on an '80s fabric warehouse. Blissfully lacking in unification or direction, it had a perverse charm in its focus on the ostentatious, ornate, and overly stylized.  But when you're Marc Jacobs, you can get away with just that.