It is not a matter of making Everyman-on-the-street clothes. Mr. Green doesn’t make those. His vision is wild, and he once again made the kind of plywood-and-fabric assemblages that, when he first debuted them seasons ago, earned him the mockery of television newsreaders and The Daily Mail, which once sent one of its reporters around town wearing one of his sculptures from the runway.

Besides the expected suits-and-boots of tradition (this season, Mr. Ford even created a pocket Apple Watch to go with his), it is possible, even likely, to discover something truly weird and wonderful, whether the genderless, sui-generis esoterica of J.W. Anderson or the poetic constructions of Craig Green.

But it didn’t much detract from the overall message. The show’s the thing, but the showroom, where the fuller, much larger collection is presented for sales, is the point.

The first two expressionless models wore camouflage gear, suggestive of the recent decade of war. But these gave way to outfits heavy on “Star Wars” motifs, whisking the spectators to mythic events that took place “a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.”

He played it straight after all.

But Mr. Abley’s designs are not all sugar and sentiment. They include nods to goth, punk, Japanese anime and the “plushie” subculture, which has made him a darling of the alt-fashion crowd and a favorite of the punk designer Dame Vivienne Westwood.

Though it is just the sort of thing to elicit eye rolls from those outside the fashion enclosure, lace-for-men is having a major-label revival at the moment. Here, displayed for a crowd that included Chiwetel Ejiofor and Samuel L. Jackson, in a bright raspberry blazer and his signature flat cap, it didn’t look very especially convincing. (Nor, for that matter, did the flowing Isadora Duncan-style scarves.)

That’s Burberry’s achievement: to dress up tradition for those who want it but keep the plainer stuff amply stocked. And while he insisted that there would be some guys who’d wear a full lace button-down happily, the jokey show wasn’t really a joke. Because other than those lace pieces, Mr. Bailey said, “I think it was pretty traditional.”

But with more shows on a longer schedule, there was much on display that seemed extraneous: either rote and requisite or callow and unformed. Explanations and justifications were in no short supply, printed and waiting on every seat.

It expanded this season from three days to four, bursting with shows and with spectators, its attendance up from international buyers and media, said Dylan Jones, the chairman of London Collections: Men, more than 80 percent among Americans alone. No doubt that success is part of what inspired the Council of Fashion Designers of America to follow its example — right down to the colon — and put on its own event, New York Fashion Week: Men’s, in July.

The beer will still flow, no doubt, but London Collections: Men is smartening itself up and shaking off its scruff. For business, it’s a boon. But now it feels less like an off-kilter aberration than a full-fledged fashion week like any other, some of its peculiar magic siphoned away.

And on the larger end of the brand spectrum (and large is an understatement for what Burberry is vis-à-vis to all of London’s other players, a distant relation in size, ambition and intensity, a pterodactyl among chickens), Burberry managed the twin demands well.

LONDON — The force is with Bobby Abley, a London-based men’s wear designer who had his first solo runway show here on Monday. Much of Mr. Abley’s collection for the spring and summer of 2016 referenced characters from the “Star Wars” franchise.

Sarah Burton’s for Alexander McQueen, with its sea-shrunken suits inspired by sailors and embroidered with their navigation-star tattoos, had perfectly nice pieces, but none of the verve of her previous collection. Much of it felt watered down.

He doubled down on what has made his name, both the Japanese-inflected clothes, oversized and trailing laces and ties, and the constructions. He was toasted after the show at a dinner in his honor held by Adrian Joffe, the talent-spotting impresario of Dover Street Market, and Nick Knight, the English photographer who has just finished shooting Mr. Green’s first-ever ad campaign. Mr. Knight once performed a similar service for one of Mr. Green’s heroes and forebears, Yohji Yamamoto. Talent can recognize talent, even through scrap-wood and scrim.

There are still designers who manage to hold themselves apart and ply their own insulated vision. Margaret Howell is one, a press-shy, long-serving English designer who quietly makes the kind of beautiful, simple-but-not-boring pieces that would make her the envy of any of her peers, if only she were demanding enough to grab their attention.

A young designer would be foolish to risk the wrath of a corporation mighty enough to sue him out of existence for copyright infringement, and Mr. Abley, 26, is no fool. After his show, in the backstage area, he said that he has received input from Disney and takes it into account for his designs.

LONDON — In this city, men’s fashion week wends inevitably, ineluctably to the pub. That British institution (unlike the suit, the coat, the tie, the shoe and almost any other institution that intersects with the twice-yearly men’s wear shows here) is all but impervious to change.

So it came as a relief on Saturday night, with the men’s collections in full swing, to head for the Lady Ottoline in Bloomsbury for a post-show pint. Unlike women’s fashion week, where the stakes and tensions can run heel-high, during men’s wear, the gathered masses will pack in elbow-to-elbow and drink.

One of Mr. Abley’s models wore a white T-shirt with the words “Super Dooper Storm Trooper” emblazoned across the front. Another wore a furrily textured shirt with the word “Chewy” across the front — a reference to Chewbacca, the beloved, if inarticulate, Wookiee sidekick to Han Solo. There was even a small backpack that featured the face of the least popular character in the “Star Wars” universe, Jar Jar Binks, a Gungan alien in the series’ 1999 installment, “Star Wars: Episode I: The Phantom Menace.” (His manner of speaking, a kind of Bahamian patois, earned the wrath of critics and even many die-hard fans.)

After the fashion news media and other invited guests entered the building, Mr. Abley’s minions handed extra tickets to a group of young enthusiasts, many of them with nose rings, who were in a standby line.

“They’re quite happy to let me do what I want creatively,” Mr. Abley said, while the male and female models who had worn his latest creations were in various stages of undress nearby. “Their people sometimes have suggestions and marketing ideas, but they trust me.”

From the start, his playful take on streetwear has included references to the Disney movies he loved as a child, including “The Sword in the Stone,” “The Jungle Book” and “The Little Mermaid.” (The designer, who says he visits Euro Disney as many as nine times a year, also has a tattoo of the cartoon bluebird from a 1946 Disney animated feature, “Song of the South,” on the left side of his neck.))

With his oddball designs, Mr. Abley, a man with a shy manner who blushes easily, is a long way from the fashion establishment. But with a patron like Disney, he may, like the ragtag rebel bunch that took down the evil Galactic Empire in “Star Wars: Episode VI: Return of the Jedi,” find himself in power one day, with all the delights and difficulties that go with it.

Many had the Dada inflections of found poetry: one collection’s “polysyllabic masculinity,” another’s “caddish flamboyance.” But only a few shows rose to the level of must-see.

“I thought it was a bit scary, becoming so serious,” Mr. Green said. “Being a serious business and having a creative freedom, freedom of expression, I feel it can be a fight between the two.”

Is it too soon for Mr. Green to look back and reiterate what first made him great? Maybe so. You felt that the weight of all that interest, hype and buzz may have oppressed him. So he designed what he called “an escapist kind of collection,” harking “back to the energy when I was at college, that graduation energy.”

In 2012, when the designer was two years out of Ravensbourne college in London, he founded his namesake label and was soon part of a group show at the Topman-sponsored MAN runway at London Collections: Men.

But an avalanche of accolades followed, including a slot in the running for the LVMH Prize two years in a row. With more eyes on him than ever, Mr. Green hasn’t lost his nerve.

While other, more established labels, such as Burberry and Tom Ford, attracted sharp-dressed high rollers to their runway pageants and store presentations, Mr. Abley drew a motley crowd to his more humble show, which took place beneath harsh lights in a gray-painted basement of the Victoria House in central London and which featured music that relied on a sample of “Bucky Done Gun,” a beat-heavy horn-laden M.I.A. track from 2005.

You missed some of the bravado of his earlier outings, even as you appreciated this one. That sense of boldness was absent, too, in collections that seemed worthy but slight.

Their quality didn’t come down to how caddish their flamboyance or how multisyllabic their masculinity. (Though I can report, having tried, that it is extremely difficult to compress masculinity into a single syllable.) It was more to do with how successfully they managed to plot a course between the creative and the commercial — which might be to say, the scruff and the polish.

That juxtaposition of funk and finesse — as one local magazine editor put it, the difference between men’s fashion week and women’s is that for women’s fashion week, he washed his whole body, not only under his arms — is what has given the men’s shows here a welcome sense of possibility and surprise.

Christopher Shannon, on the smaller end of the spectrum, did it well, with a show like an all-night rager. His models’ faces were bearded with snowy drifts of mousse, as though they had come direct from a frat-holiday foam party. But give the lads a shower and the collection came forward as crisp, sporty and salable, full of the novelty knitwear that Mr. Shannon does a brisk business in.

Mr. Anderson is another. Tellingly, he imagined his collection as the work of “a boy in his bedroom who had no friends, trying to build his own kind of world.” The result was cultish, but convincing.

The film series is scheduled to return to screens, under the auspices of its new owner, the Walt Disney Company, on Dec. 18, with “Star Wars: Episode VII — The Force Awakens,” which has a blockbuster budget of a reported $200 million.

Asked if he had reached an agreement with Disney to create a “Star Wars” clothing tie-in, Mr. Abley said: “I can’t comment on that. But there might be something in the pipeline.”

“As you would expect,” Mr. Bailey said, “we have the in the showroom very simple, beautiful, classic white poplin shirts with a little bit of lace on them.”

Christopher Bailey called his new collection “Straitlaced,” a winking nod to its mix of trim tailoring (thanks to a new suit shape, the Chelsea) and lace: lace shirts and clipped lace ties, lace tank tops and lace-trimmed trench coats.

But men’s wear here, as a business and as a statement, is becoming more serious. (The British Fashion Council emailed all its registrants a report bursting with figures to cite for anyone after statistical proof.) London Collections: Men, once the fledgling new kid on the block, is no longer either fledgling or new.

The Lady had been booked by Coach, in celebration of its freewheeling, psychedelic but ultimately digestible collection, and not a moment too soon. After six to eight hours of fashion shows — roasted awake in the morning by a klieg-light rotisserie then ground through gridlock traffic from hither to yon, Charles Jeffrey’s afternoon-long club-night at the Institute of Contemporary Arts to Tom Ford’s tony Belgravia shop — you’re edge-of-tears grateful for a lager.