In the vast tapestry of fashion, where threads of gold intertwine with destiny and legacy, there emerges a quiet yet resolute heroine: Tyler Ellis, daughter of the illustrious Perry Ellis.
Born beneath the radiant skies of Los Angeles, then called toward the ancient stones and hidden ateliers of Florence, she moves like a traveler between two realms: that of absent memory and that of absolute creation.
For her father, taken too soon in 1986, remains for her an almost mythical figure, a king whose voice she never heard. And yet, his imprint travels through time, etched not in memory, but in work. On the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of the house of Perry Ellis, she confesses with a candor both humble and heroic: she holds no memory of him… yet she wears his legacy like an invisible armor.
Thus begins her quest.
Guided by the stories of her peers, by the whispers of her mother, and by the living archives of past creations, she learns to read the gestures of the departed master. She discovers an art shaped by near-magical precision: a hem raised by two centimeters, a belt placed like a seal… and suddenly, the ordinary garment is transformed. This power of detail becomes her talisman. Continue reading
You recognize Bella Hadid as she arrives at a party on this fashion planet where even black holes have a dress code.
Vestiaire Collective is strengthening its tech division with two strategic appointments, as its new chief executive officer, Bernard Osta, aims to accelerate innovation and move the luxury resale platform closer to profitability.
With its brushed steel gleaming like a freshly polished wing, its paddock-style concrete, and its flashes of red leather worthy of a bucket seat ready to take a splash through Eau Rouge, the new Ferrari Lifestyle flagship is clearly no longer a boutique. It’s a permanent qualifying lap.
Hair experimentation has become Cardi’s trademark. At 33, the rapper, actress, entrepreneur, and trophy-wielder parades through a carnival of transformations where gaudy wigs and excessive makeup pass for identity. On red carpets and runways, she flaunts high-impact “looks,” supposedly unfiltered, that thrive above all in a society obsessed with glitter and vulgarity. 
At Paris Fashion Week, people usually come to showcase a style. Then there’s Jaden Smith, who seems to have decided to show up… with his housing slung over his shoulder. Yes, the son of Will Smith, now apparently the creative director of “Loubou Catin.”
In the perpetual carousel of creative leadership in fashion, change is almost a house tradition. This time, the shift comes at Etro, where Marco De Vincenzo is stepping down from his role as creative director after several seasons shaping the brand’s aesthetic.
This season, the house of LITKOVSKA appears for the first time on the official calendar of the Paris Fashion Week with its Autumn-Winter 2026/27 collection, FIREFLY. It is born from a fragile, almost nocturnal image: that of a stubborn light that refuses to disappear.
In the vast machinery of luxury, certain details chime like small bells in a silent corridor. At times, a simple moment, almost furtive, can spark a thousand hypotheses. The appearance of looks reminiscent of Rick Owens among the first models in the Louis Vuitton collection designed by Nicolas Ghesquière was, of course, not insignificant to attentive observers.
Parisian fashion possesses a curious talent for social metamorphosis. It often begins in a spirit of almost joyful insolence, a provocation that is vaguely sexual, vaguely artistic, and then, with time, it gently settles into the comfortable districts, where the trees are neatly trimmed and the dogs perfectly vaccinated.
As if the Parisian night had opened a notebook of dreams, Seán McGirr presented his fifth collection for Alexander McQueen not as a simple runway show, but as a strange ceremony of visions.
Perched at the prow of Celine, Michael Rider, who is not the “Cup” but holds the cut, did not summon ghosts nor ask the hangers to whisper the secrets of his predecessors. No séance in the wardrobes. No turning tables between two clothing racks. No. Rider chose the most straightforward liturgy of contemporary fashion: to sell. To sell as one beats time. Wearable, profitable. The Lord will surely be pleased.
The show by Chinese designer Caroline Hu was said to be a striking demonstration of her talent for craftsmanship and storytelling. Striking indeed. Like a cold draft in a couture salon.
The sun, that worldly critic of Parisian high society, had decided to attend the show. It blazed with the insolence of a poorly aimed spotlight, turning the Tuileries Garden into an incandescent tearoom borrowed from Piton de la Fournaise. The traditional tent had vanished, exiled like an idea deemed too timid. In its place stood a mirrored architecture, delicate as a mischievous jewel, encircling a small octagonal lake. A runway hovered above the water, suspended between sky and reflection. My neighbor leaned over and whispered, “It’s the fashion duck pond.”
To celebrate twenty years of his career, Erdem Moralıoğlu unveiled a collision of genres so extravagantly theatrical one might have sworn Madame de Pompadour was flirting with a punk in a post industrial club beneath a Bohemian crystal disco ball. In a world where the economy feels like a corset laced too tight, his devotion to couture borders on romantic heroism. London, ever eager to applaud its prodigies, watched him as one watches an alchemist turn anxiety into embroidery.
Remember the 19th-century rentiers… those legendary creatures who invented the revolutionary concept of “doing nothing and being adored for it.” They lived off their rents like dragons on their gold, got up at noon, ate with the air of a Greek tragedy, and wondered why the world didn’t admire them enough. Society, they claimed, was “unjust”… especially for those who actually had to work.