New York Fashion Week was an unnerving, bone-chilling, spine-tingling affair. First there were the ceaseless, torrential downpours. Then there were all the crazy newish talents on the calendar—Pyer Moss, Telfar, Gypsy Sport, Vaquera, Eckhaus Latta—popping up to show in all corners of Manhattan and Brooklyn, day or night, rain be damned. The ghost of the ’80s hovered over the runways as well, in the luscious, outsize silhouettes at Marc Jacobs; the sassy, shrunken frocks at Area. And then there was the dazzling spectacle of the Hadids, fashion’s reigning family, who alighted on the catwalks, front rows, sidewalks, and soirees with swagger and humor, a fabulous foursome of forceful personalities and otherworldly glamour.