Paris fashion week used to be a fairly straightforward affair

Paris fashion week used to be a fairly straightforward affair. A gilt-edged invitation, a fancy catwalk set, a big old headline trend and a pompous bow from a recognisable designer to signal the end of the show. But this season it has felt very, very different. The John Galliano scandal, which began in Milan and reached a climax halfway through the week, effectively drew a line under the old period of the rule of the diva designer. By so publicly guillotining the head from its design house, Christian Dior unexpectedly added its weight to a change that has been gently taking place over the past few seasons. In fashion, Paris 2011 will for ever be remembered as the week of the quiet revolution.

After the disgrace of Galliano, the Dior show ended with the democratic sight of anonymous, white-coated ateliers taking a collective bow at the end of the catwalk. The finale was in stark contrast to Dior shows past when Galliano would take an extended two-minute celebratory catwalk lap dressed up in a theatrical costume that related to the collection. For some catwalk watchers, though still mildly entertaining, diva bow-watching had become a tired sport long before the scandal.

At times, Paris fashion week felt like a very public job interview for the Dior position. Every time one of the designers rumoured to be in the frame for the gig presented their collection, it was judged on its Dior-worthiness. None of them are household names – their profiles far from the image of the superstar designer. Riccardo Tisci, currently head designer at Givenchy, remains the favourite. If he does indeed get the job, Dior-loving Carla Bruni could soon find herself wearing organza pencil skirts, varsity jackets and panther motifs. Fingers crossed.

Galliano was not the only designer who failed to appear at the end of their show. Christophe Decarnin of Balmain also presented his collection in absentia. There was again an uneasy shuffling in the audience post-show when it became apparent that there was no headline designer around to take the credit. With speculation about the absence of Decarnin, his stylist collaborator Melanie Ward had taken over the reins. Balmain is a label not known for the quiet, stealth discretion of its clothes. Instead, £1,000 embellished catsuits are the order of the day. Next season, it's pushing a sort of Ziggy Stardust-on-a-Barclays-bonus look.

At the Céline show – justifiably the most exclusive ticket of the week – all anyone, including Anna Wintour, could talk about was whether Sarah Burton of Alexander McQueen would be designing the Kate Middleton wedding gown. We don't know for certain if this is true or not. But that a limelight-shunning designer who is known in fashion circles (she was McQueen's righthand woman for 14 years) but unknown in the wider world is to get the dress commission of the century seems further proof that quietness rules fashion now. Céline's controlled show was based on the interiors of beautifully made cars – and suggested that polo-necks, boyish narrow trousers and brown are all where the smart money will go next season.

Carven, designed by Guillaume Henry, was one Paris fashion week's early treats, a smaller show with a loyal following where the star pieces were modest duffel coats and ribbed jumpers. The theme was as far from theatrical as it is possible to get – Henry called it "bonne manière" – proper and polite. Lanvin, Stella McCartney and Yves Saint Laurent also put on strong but subtle shows. Alber Elbaz opened with a prairie Amish look and finished with the organza flounces that have become the mainstay of the label. McCartney showed Talking Heads suiting and polka dot cocktail frocks, while Stefano Pilati's YSL show was praised for its lean tailoring. At Balenciaga – spiritual home of the couture-cum-futuristic look – a draped below-the-knee skirt became more the focus of post-show chat than the plaited fake-leather bombers also seen on the same catwalk.

If you missed a show, it didn't matter; Twitter was updated so continuously that anyone could see the show immediately. As a result, Céline tried to banned the twit-pic. Unsurprisingly, it didn't work.

There was, perhaps inevitably, an element of rowdy spectacle in the background. The high energy of the reverberating Mugler catwalk, where Lady Gaga modelled sheer and PVC while simultaneously smoking at the bank of photographers, was pretty far from being a sedate moment. It was a brilliantly fun event, but as a symbol of the direction in which fashion is headed, it added little. For once, Gaga in white PVC could not compete with the image of an unknown seamstress in a white coat.