A streetscape-themed show, last fall, included models in hard hats and a working car wash that sprayed bubbles. Katy Perry, Miley Cyrus, and the K-pop star CL populate the front row, and Scott’s designs tend to include at least one meme-worthy spectacle. Moschino runway shows, in Milan, are happenings. Scott’s appointment has made the label relevant again, but for a new audience. Two years ago, Scott was named the director of the Italian fashion house Moschino, an irreverent brand that flourished in the nineteen-eighties but had declined since its founder, Franco Moschino, died of AIDS-related complications in 1994, at forty-four.

(He described his most recent collection, shown in New York, as “Dolly on molly”: it featured rubber cowboy boots, bouffant hairdos, and a dress bedecked with plastic trinkets.) His eponymous fashion line specializes in youthful, exuberant kitsch. Scott, who is forty, is the designer of choice for pop stars: he made the futuristic flight-attendant dress that Britney Spears wore in her “Toxic” video and the beach-ball-inspired number that Katy Perry wore during last year’s Super Bowl halftime show, the one with the dancing sharks.

Rocking back and forth on his feet, like a seven-year-old at his birthday party, he introduced me to some executives from Mattel, saying, “Did you meet my Barbie friends?” He’d paired it with a silver crown and spats. He wore black tails over an outfit of his own design: a shirt and pants patterned with vintage ray guns. He isn’t tall, but he’s physically striking, with a strong nose, blue eyes, and hair shaved on the sides. (It makes bags for front-row guests at his fashion shows.) Scott was near the dance floor, posing for Instagram pictures. He was throwing a party in the Sheats-Goldstein house’s private night club to celebrate his ten-year collaboration with the French leather-goods company Longchamp. The clothes, which looked like the spawn of Lewis Carroll and Kevin Federline, were by the fashion designer Jeremy Scott. At ground level, herds of strange footwear scurried around: silver Adidas sneakers with wings sprouting from the ankles, fuzzy ones with tails and tiger stripes, high-tops with green Teddy bears for tongues. Women wore sweaters decorated with cartoon characters-Bart Simpson, Shrek-and dresses that doubled as street signs: the bust of a stop-sign-like dress commanded “ SHOP.” People carried their iPhones in cases that appeared to be Windex bottles or cartons of McDonald’s French fries.

So a Lautner aficionado arriving one recent evening might have been surprised to see men wearing Looney Tunes jerseys and track suits covered in trompe-l’oeil gold plaques. The house’s owner, the real-estate mogul James Goldstein, recently announced plans to donate it to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, whose curators appreciate its austere beauty. The house’s modern interior seems to be carved into the side of a canyon, and the built-in concrete furnishings suggest that both the Flintstones and the Jetsons would be at home there. Fans of the mid-century architect John Lautner have a special affection for the Sheats-Goldstein Residence, a glass-and-concrete marvel near Beverly Hills, from 1963.

Moschino traffic cone bag