There was ample indulgence on parade here. Stefan Beckman’s brilliantly spare set teased the “everybody’s different” leitmotif. Guess arrived to find the vast Park Avenue Armory completely empty save for an odd assortment of 193 white vintage chairs, each one a quirky vintage find, at the far end of the newly installed pale wood floor. Once everyone settled into armchair, rocker or stool, “Dream a Little Dream” began playing and Jacobs’ colony of characters appeared at once, walking toward the audience, a stunningly turned-out brigade, each with a distinctive coiffure (Guido Palau) and makeup (Pat McGrath) and some, nail art (Mei Kawajiri). And most important, they acted like individuals, not clothes hangers, all smiling and vamping, or not, to suit their characters.

The themes and subplots hailed from the lexicon of things Jacobs has long loved; he noted that certain “loves” resonate more powerfully at some times than others. “The fact that Doris Day died and we looked at a picture of her in a beautiful Norman Norell sequined gown and a coat with a matching sequined lining. Karl Lagerfeld died and we had Karl in mind, and Chanel. None of these things I haven’t loved before,” Jacobs said. “But, you know, [faced with loss], you keep them alive by honoring them, by repeating them, by crediting them and by letting them continue to inspire you.”

And so he did. The clothes ran the gamut from spare to out-there, reality to wonderment. To attempt description would be a fool’s errand. The pictures sing, but pale compared to the reality — the clothes were beyond exquisite, from the simplest knit dress to natty suits to stunning pieces worked with appliqués, embroideries and smocked details that must be seen up close. It all came together in an eight-minute treatise on the delights of no-rules, no-boundaries fashion, and a savvy statement on the importance of fashion as a tool of self-expression. Pure joy, either way.