Just when it seemed like the good old days of rebellious British eccentricity were over, along comes a pale youth, late of Central Saint Martins, who stages a fashion carnival for his first solo show. His name is Gareth Pugh, a lad from dour, post-industrial Sunderland, and he sent out a parade of perverse-looking harlequins with pom-pom hairdos, painted faces, and pointy hats. They wore vinyl bodysuits, towering platform Doc Martens, gargantuan ruffs, and voluminous checkered boleros and coats in black and gold. If the effect was a bit silly, there was also something defiantly ridiculous in devoting so much time and money to something so playful. To set the tone, he bounced a few giant black-and-white helium balloons into the audience before the show began. (Pugh has a thing about balloons.)