Fashion in the time of coronavirus is certainly an odd business. You go to a show and the designer’s staff is offering medical masks at the door. Your first thought isn’t, Oh, how considerate. This being Paris, your first thought is, Is this a prop? Remember when Marc Jacobs dressed all those supermodels as nurses at Louis Vuitton, à la Richard Prince? Your second thought is, Does it come in black? The virus, which prompted LVMH last night to cancel its cocktail presentation of finalists for its annual design award, has cut down on air-kissing, which is a good thing. There’s way too much kissing in fashion. Now the etiquette is to plant your body and throw a smooch, as if you are standing in Brooklyn and your recipient is in Queens, while bobbing your head like a chicken and going, Mm-wha, mm-wha. Dear! No, it’s a strange situation. Global stock markets are plummeting, yet people seem more concerned about their outfits for a show — which was not the reaction here when Lehman Brothers collapsed in the fall of 2008. On the other hand, the weird and wonderful fashion of Rick Owens, a doomer by nature, suddenly looks normal. He had a fabulous show last night, with long, clingy dress...