Any British holidaymaker in France will know the lure of that nation's well-stocked supermarkets, full of exotic biscuits and Bacchanalian, shaped vegetables. Imagine then if all of that stock was branded with the interlocking Cs of the house of Chanel. 

That was what Karl Lagerfeld treated his audience to this morning: a haute and hip hypermarché stocked full of wit and knowing refernces: Boy washing powder, 'Coco' pops, lion pasta shapes, even a Chanel chainsaw.

It was the ultimate expression of consumer culture from the ultimate symbol of consumer aspiration – and for some in the audience, it was a paradise waiting to be ransacked once the last model left the runway. A metaphysical conceit come true, perhaps, but you couldn't deny that the 'Mademoiselle Privé' doormats would look great in the hall.

Lagerfeld's vision was of ghetto glamour and surburban style, with a soundtrack of Rihanna and Gaga (the former was present in person) and models dressed in sparkling pink and purple lurex crops tops and leggings. Some of these were artfully ripped, some developed into nipped-waist jumpsuits made from rust-coloured bouclé tweed with a workman aspect. All were worn with trainers, a progression from the pure white ones at couture, now in pink, orange and blue, co-ordinated to the outfit they were paired with.

That sportswear theme developed in coated silk trousers layered under shorts with drawstring, toggle waistbands, and sheeny, holographic technofabrics turned into trousers, dresses, trainers, even as waves on a tweed coatigan.

But it wasn't all streetwise ragga girl swagger – even though Cara stalked the aisles pinching booze and (surprisingly perhaps) a feather duster. Stella Tennant appeared too, in a dark tweed swing coat and sheer Prince of Wales check organza trousers, proof of Karl's commitment to the label's bourgeois archetype. In fact, even the jumpsuits and the cropped tweed jackets came with bracelet sleeves.

And he combined both in pieces that just trod the line between 'bon chic bon genre' and bling, too: black velvet and fur covered in sparkling crystals, taupe knitwear strewn with twinkling gems and a lime green bouclé coat with biker zips and sturdy lapels.

Lagerfeld's precept this morning was that one finds all human life in a supermarket, and he argued the same for Chanel in this collection: you had the bolshy, gum-chewing street kids, the princessy ingenues, the yummy mummies. Even the brand's distinctive doyenne, kitted out in a classic pink and white dogtooth skirt suit with those famous gold buttons, wandered between the soup and the sponge fingers.

Confidently, Lagerfeld proved that this is a label that spans the social spectrum from celeb to elder stateswoman. Provided you have the means to pay for it when you get to the check-out, of course.