A besuited dour duo yanked dust sheets off regency gilt frames, armchairs and a crystal chandelier as the opening act to a Thom Browne show that took memory as its central theme. We don’t mean the “Cats” soundtrack, mercifully, but the idea of men harking back ultimate their youth and remembering sartorial days past. What that meant was each outfit in trip, unraveling backwards from raggedy man, through slightly scuffed, to box-fresh. Most designers have been going the other way, pulling apart. It’s typical of Browne’s perversity that he’d want to reconstruct as everyone else deconstructs.