MILAN — Whether or not the pundits are right and the Scottish situation goes viral across Europe and beyond, with other nationalist groups announcing their intentions to leave whatever union they happen to be in (the Catalans, Spain; the Veneto, Italy; the Québécois, Canada; the Texans, the United States — it could happen), one thing is certain: Fashion has seen independence as a potential trend.

“Trend” being the operative word. Because that makes it fair game for the industry.

So here was Alberta Ferretti saying her collection was about expressing “the sense of freedom possessed by women who think for themselves.”

And there was Max Mara, claiming as inspiration “unconventional women who redefined the concept of beauty.”

Here was Brunello Cucinelli pursuing his single-minded quest to disprove the idea comfort dressing can’t be elegant, seaming cashmere sweatshirts and sweatpants in silver chain, laser-cutting lattice patterns into mink vests, waxing ostrich feathers until they resembled raffia and layering slouchy sweaters over tulle evening skirts — best worn with sparkling, chain-mail sneakers.

And there was Fendi, taking its own road (you couldn’t miss it — it came in the shape of the catwalk) to the future.

You can understand the impulse: What’s on the runways reflects the zeitgeist — at least when it’s successful, which is a clichéd way of saying what’s on the runways works when it reflects what the people who might wear it are thinking about. Otherwise it would be irrelevant; pretty perhaps, but pointless.

The tricky thing, for designers at least, is figuring out what, exactly, “independence” means for them. Is it a direct riposte to the sartorial status quo? A smorgasbord of offerings, one for every taste? A break with their own well-worn signatures?

Actually, at least as the Milan shows kicked off and the audience surreptitiously checked Twitter feeds for exit polls from Scotland, it seemed to mean ... the 1970s! (Well, we are dealing with trend here.)

It may have begun with Gucci, but Ms. Ferretti also took a look back to the romantic hippie tribes of the late 1960s and early ’70s. Or rather, their uniforms. To be specific: Juliet-worthy mousseline nightie gowns, occasionally sprinkled with blooms for an extra dose of flower power; flesh-colored macramé pants and lace-edged jumpsuits; long fringed suede vests and floral ponchos; faded denim (denim!) albeit done the Ferretti way, laser-cut in florals and finished invisibly in chiffon; and simple silk dresses made from a bright, afghan-like patchwork print.

Presumably the designer was connecting with the idea of rejecting the establishment and those who did it in days of yore (even if they did it while skipping through the fields). And the focus on the casual, albeit the subtly extravagant casual, marked a positive change from Ms. Ferretti’s more complicated, and occasionally fussy, red carpet looks.

While resting yourself simple and placing your credit cards on the desk (visually discussing anyway) may be an amazing objective, naked is not actually the most beneficial shade. And it’s uncertain how placing on a costume just like a whole lot of people who came before symbolizes a lady considering for herself. O.K., she’s not in a business fit. But still.
Continue studying the primary tale Read on the primary story

So what if she outfits like one personal instead? Such was the strategy of Max Mara, which excavated the Nineteen seventies of Anjelica Huston for its display, finish with head-to-toe Marimekko-like printing on everything from weak rainfall caps to mid-calf georgette outfits and related shoes.

The stylized florals came in black-on-white or white-on-black (or modifications on the same in pink/rose or green/blue or mustard/brown); for night, they showed up on dresses and layers smocked with gold line, or identified with pearl jewelry.

It made a statement, unquestionably, and reduced to its elements could be charming (in real life, as opposed to runway life, a little print goes a long way). But natty taupe jackets and dusters piped in white were even more so; ditto light suede trench coats.

In their classicism, they transcended their roots, and were the better for it. They didn’t break with tradition, but they did modernize it — an operating principle that was fully on view at Fendi.

“Forget the past, forget vintage,” Silvia Fendi said backstage, referring to the creative director Karl Lagerfield’s favorite dictum, which provoked something of a sigh of relief. Off the chains of history! Forward, march.

And then the models did, in abbreviated A-line minidresses marked by a geometric maze of sheer insets, tiny leather skirts and tinier leather jackets laser-cut into three-dimensional orchids, and over-blown suede jodhpurs sliced by a strip of black patent that looked dip-dyed but was rather a entirely different texture.

There were shaved and sculpted mink bombers in an orchid print (it may be a spring collection but this is a skins house, after all), and “cage” minidresses made from strips of leather sporting multicolored organza feathers mixed with tufts of fox, as well as pieced together from different strips of patterned dove grey mink and overlaid with a slither of paper-thin — what was it? clear plastic? — for shine.

Some of it worked (especially the simpler activewear shapes paired with intense fabric treatments) and some of it tipped over into sci-fi territory (the cage), but as a whole it conveyed a confidence and point of view that didn’t belong to any time but the present. And it began to seem like, when it comes to dress, perhaps liberation from any obvious reference may be the most effective declaration of independence of all.