Looking out on the Place de la Bastille from his studio windows, John Galliano is as close as he can get to the revolution. It is from here that the young designer launched his triumphant assault on the French establishment. Galliano--south London's boy wonder, darling of the avant-garde, high priest of the bias cut--has conquered the capital of chic. He is the new boss at Givenchy, one of the great Paris citadels of fashion, responsible for all its couture (handmade-to-order clothes) and the cheaper, more lucrative ready-to-wear line. He has beamed the spotlight on the culture that nourished him. At a time when the world of haute couture has returned to refurbished canons of formal classicism, British fashion, long a perennial joke, is now taken seriously as a source of fresh, irreverent and fearless fashion.

Galliano, whose Spanish family came to London from British Gibraltar when he was six, has long been fascinated by the events of 1789. Says he: "I have a romantic vision of people breaking into aristocrats' houses, tearing down the curtains and turning them into coats worn upside down and inside out. Marvelous!"

The particular mansion Galliano may turn upside down is the atelier where Hubert de Givenchy has dreamed up elegant clothes for 43 years, sustaining the image of post-World War II glamour by dressing Audrey Hepburn and Jacqueline Kennedy.

Who would dare to rip those curtains down? In the jittery '90s the fashion world is pinning extravagant hopes on the rebellious Galliano, whose own couture has run to sexy melodrama and '40s chic. But a persistent recession has shocked all aspects of the apparel business. Economic setback coincided with creative disarray: extreme, throwaway styles--butt-high hemlines, underwear as outerwear. A fresh jolt of creativity is what the business yearns for--something to make women throw out their wardrobes. Nothing that revolutionary is likely to happen, but this year has brought real signs of creative renewal. One indication is the classic line in suits and dresses. Instead of trying to outfit women for a trip to the moon, designers are bringing freshness to an old silhouette.

Galliano's bold, dressy cocktail suits are another sign. They all point to a new interest in shapely clothes, after 20 years of loose or destructured dressing. Young women who have never worn structured clothes--waistlines, bustiers, big skirts--are excited by trying them on. A designer like Galliano is not offering what mother wore, but a very contemporary take on a timeless theme.

The fashion world is agog with Galliano. Anna Wintour, the British-born Vogue editor, was an early backer. "He is a master of modern clothes," she says. "He knows a woman's body and how to design for it." Christian Lacroix called Galliano's appointment a "positive, very good thing for couture." Tom Logan, the young American fashion director at Liberty, says, "He's a design genius, and his merchandise sells like crazy--which is why Givenchy grabbed him."

There were some grumbles in the French fashion establishment when LVMH, the luxury-goods conglomerate that owns Givenchy, did not choose a Frenchman for the mantle. But France has gone outside its borders before. For instance, Karl Lagerfeld, who brought life and profits to the moribund house of Chanel, is a German. In fact many commentators ascribe LVMH chairman Bernard Arnault's choice of the colorful Galliano to his obsession with Lagerfeld's runaway success. They argue that Galliano is worth five years of major free publicity.

Galliano hardly needs to create a spectacle--he is one already. Lately he has been sporting pirate gear with a bare midriff and balloon trousers. His shows, while sometimes meager in volume--his fall collection has just 24 outfits--are brazenly theatrical.

Some observers think Arnault got carried away and has backed a horse with no staying power. Nobody knows whether Galliano can sustain a business year after year, as Lagerfeld does. Even his influential admirer Anna Wintour murmurs some hesitation about Galliano's fluency in daytime clothes. Metropolitan Museum Costume Institute curator Richard Martin wonders whether Galliano is too facile for his own good: "He roves through history in a Postmodern way. More often a real designer takes a point of view with conviction."

Galliano's offerings for this fall won't suit the executive woman at work. This man thinks big; glamour is his passion as well as his gambit, and the films noir of the '40s are a frequent inspiration. The signature of his current collection is extravagant, stand-up or shawl collars that frame a long neck or enhance a belle poitrine. There are characteristic touches too: tiny waists and, of course, bias-cut dresses.

These dramatic clothes were shown in a setting to match. The props were rooftops covered with snow, but the models prowled around ogled by bare-chested young layabouts who were clearly enjoying the tropics. Don't look for consistency. Galliano's creations have their roots in private dream logic, in the fantasies he weaves. They may be over the top, but, as British shoe designer Manolo Blahnik observes, "take away the exaggerated hair, the hats, the props, and you often find a wonderfully simple, beautifully cut white piqua dress or a black silk sheath."

Galliano credits his childhood for his affinity to design. "I had a very Catholic upbringing," he says. "I loved the pride and joy of ceremony, and I loved the getting ready. Dressing was important--to go to Mass, to go to the bullfight, to go to the beach." In England John attended Central St. Martins College of Art & Design. A demonic researcher, he spent countless hours in the costume collection of the Victoria and Albert Museum, examining dresses by such masters as Balenciaga. His 1984 graduation show was bought right off the runway by Browns, a chic Mayfair shop.

In the next few years Galliano attracted backers and lost them. "I didn't have the business skills," he says. "I made a lot of mistakes. But it's sink or swim, and I developed a nifty kind of breaststroke." A keen eye for quality was needed to see through the distractions of his zanier presentations. He also acquired a reputation as a hardy disco warrior. Says a London pal: "He lives in Paris now, but he comes back to London because the music in French clubs just isn't loud enough."

Gradually, Galliano did less cartwheeling through history and became revered more for circular or bias cuts (cut across the grain of the fabric) that are elegant and slinky. A signature style of the '30s, these sinuous creations look ultramodern now. They are also difficult to execute. Galliano's cutting skill is highly esteemed. Says Arnault: "He demonstrated a dual talent--pure creativity with the technical academicism of couture."

Galliano's goal must be music to the industry's ears. "After deconstruction," he says, "the only way forward was construction, elegance, the groomed look." Galliano's task is to bridge the gap--already narrowing--between ready-to-wear and couture. Logan of Liberty sees not "his wildness but his genius as a technician."

France may now claim Galliano, but his real roots deserve their due. He was nourished in a British culture that frowns on chic, that is best known for the feathered bonnets favored by the Queen Mother and for her daughter's empty handbags. British fashion has long been a bad joke to any buyer rash enough to place an order for garments that might never arrive. But that is not the whole story. Mary Quant invented the miniskirt and launched the fashions of the '60s in swinging London. In the '80s Vivienne Westwood designed pouf skirts before Christian Lacroix. British fashion has always produced imaginative clothes and has been duly scouted and exploited by the Continent's multimillionaire designers, while the home industry languished.

Much of the young talent either fades or, like Galliano, emigrates. Why? Financial backing is hard to come by; fashion is not the ego investment in Britain that it is in France. Disgruntled Brits complain that they lose out on Japanese money because British fashion tends to be highly individual, and when a Japanese customer looks abroad, it is usually to big names and logos. Louise Wilson, a director at Central St. Martins, the country's dominant training ground, points to the fact that getting recognized in Britain is much too easy. Elsewhere, a youngster joins an atelier to learn his trade. In Britain, says Wilson, "a young person may be recognized with his first collection. Then he is so busy trying to sell those clothes that there is no time to design new ones."

That is changing. Five years ago, the Conservative government started to back manufacturers and designers. It began a fashion week during which designers showed in tents like the ones in Paris and New York, with Trade and Industry Minister Michael Heseltine and the Princess of Wales providing the photo opportunities. Just as important, department stores, notably Liberty, Harvey Nichols and Marks & Spencer, pushed the homegrown talent.

And about the talent there is no doubt. The latest to cause a stir is Hussein Chalayan, 25, a Turkish Cypriot who is about as precocious as Galliano. His Central St. Martins graduating show triggered Browns' interest too, and his nascent career is based on smart shirts and jackets. But he is known for his paper clothing--a special paper, of course--fragile, yet unrippable and washable. Like Galliano, he bases his shows on stories he dreams up.

Starved for sustained backing, young designers tend to enter partnerships to survive, giving rise to such odd yokings as Sonnentag Mulligan. Barbara Sonnentag and Tracy Mulligan are on the verge of the stability that comes from lots of outlets. Theirs is a mix-and-mix-more philosophy, wearable clothes in unusual combinations of color and material. Like most young Brits, they base their styles on solid tailoring. Sonnentag Mulligan may not be the raciest label around, but it is bright and graceful.

Another double designer is Pearce Fionda. Reynold Pearce and Andrew Fionda met at Nottingham Trent University 10 years ago. Pearce subsequently worked for Galliano. They have more flair than financial backing and are at the expensive end of design. They love making complicated things look easy, such as double peplums on jackets. The ghost of Galliano can be seen in sinuous, bias-cut slinks; their own high spirits show in a superabundant, circular-cut red skirt. "We're trying to make clothes more interesting," says Pearce, but he adds with determination that "we are not trying to distort the female form." They don't.

John Rocha is usually considered a British designer, but that consensus aside, it is a little hard to know why. He is of Portuguese and Chinese descent, was reared in Hong Kong and, after a tough time in England, decamped for Dublin. There he built enough success to show in Paris. In Ireland he thrives on working with craftsmen in Donegal and Wicklow: Rocha's inspired use of local tweed and linen makes his shapely designs--modern, not folk--unusually satisfying. After all, he has often dreamed up the cloth as well.

The creativity count is soaring. The route to a stronger commercial future is clear, but more enthusiasm of a practical nature is still needed. Galliano has shown how; now British fashion needs to perfect a "nifty kind of breaststroke."

--With reporting by Dorie Denbigh/Paris and Louisa Ermelino/ New York