The house of Balenciaga, founded by the master of Getaria, is entering a new era. From now on, it is the Italian Pierpaolo Piccioli, former artistic director of Valentino, who takes the helm. A bold turning point for the historic brand, known for its avant-garde spirit and mastery of volume.
When Pierpaolo Piccioli landed in Paris to assume his new role as Balenciaga’s creative director last June, he went straight from the airport to the brand’s archives, where he spent three days eagerly studying dresses he had only ever seen in photographs. Continue reading
Sarah Burton’s first runway for Givenchy had already betrayed signs of an over-manufactured sensibility, and her second confirms the slope: a couture of loud affirmation in the Chiuri vein, believing itself feminist simply because it exhibits. The clients, living trophies of this supposedly liberating fashion, paraded that evening in a pale yellow duchesse satin pea coat, cinched in black, as if to proclaim loudly and clearly their right to ostentation.
Fendi has made its choice sorry, the Lord has spoken and it is Maria Grazia Chiuri who takes over the artistic direction of the Roman house. This appointment comes in the midst of a chaotic reshuffle: Kim Jones’s departure, once expected to embody the creative breath of both haute couture and ready-to-wear, has left a void that Fendi is now scrambling to fill. Silvia Venturini Fendi, meanwhile, has been asked to step back, relegated to the more symbolic role of honorary president but given her last collection, this hardly comes as a surprise.
Big bows and old lace that’s about as faithful a summary as you can get of Nicolas Guesquière’s latest show for Vuitton. The staging is as stable as a Windows 98 system on life support, swinging between awkward hybrids and copy-pastes from Milan Fashion Week. You can tell the inspiration made a pit stop at Malpensa before taking off.
This collection was born from a secret oath between the splendor of yesterday and the vigor of today (says the designer). From the magnificence of the French court, she borrowed grandeur, brocades, solemn braids, and radiant crosses; but instead of letting them slumber in the dust of palaces, she set them against the wild momentum of our century, so that they might clash and fertilize one another in a dazzling embrace.
On Wednesday in Milan, Silvia Venturini Fendi unveiled a motley collection for Fendi, bursting with flowers and references to the 1990s. The exercise is clever: taking what, until yesterday, was considered “cheap” elastic cords, adjustable straps, flimsy windbreaker zippers and elevating it to the status of a new chic ornament on Calais lace “made in China.” Luxury has always loved recycling the banal since the man from Toledo, provided it’s wrapped in a carefully crafted narrative and staged with theatrical flair. It was as if we were laying the first stone of a memorial dedicated to the victims of stoning.
Summer not the heatwave one, but the world’s summer that clings to old Britpop rags. Shabby tracksuits and drooping polos with fishtail parkas dragging through the mud like the Gallaghers, priests of nothing and celebrants of noise…
To convey the full “Gucci spirit,” Demna imagined a series of characters gathered under the name “La Famiglia,” each with their own personality and distinctive attitude. In collaboration with Francesca Bellettini, the newly appointed president and CEO, the designer chose to unveil a look book photographed by Catherine Opie on Monday, ahead of the short film The Tiger, directed by Spike Jonze and Halina Reijn, which will be presented Tuesday evening in Milan. 
What a vile farce, what a grandiose comedy this televised mass for that Maga YouTuber, this liturgy of a stuffed corpse in global broadcast! They shower him with incense, they weep like hysterical church ladies before the coffin of a cardboard prophet, a racist antisemite disguised as a universal martyr! We are force-fed with violins and rancid speeches, as if the sanctified carrion could wash away our collective sins!
Enough! Let us put an end to this travesty of style’s History, dressed up only to amuse the fashionable gallery. Gothic was not born in some backroom of Central Saint Martins between two Instagram selfies and a sponsored “rebellious” performance. No: it was conceived, forged, and imposed on fashion by Jean-Luc Amsler. Full stop.
Kering seems to have found the miracle cure for all its problems: changing (yet again) the CEO at Gucci. After nine months in the role, Stefano Cantino—barely the length of a maternity leave or two fashion seasons—has already been shown the door. Apparently, in luxury, instability is the new must-have accessory.
So here we are, presented with yet another temple of luxury, erected like a manifesto of ostentatious grandeur, with its seven levels piled up like the vanities of a world already overfed. A design gallery, two culinary spaces, an interior studio… it reads like a catalog of desires packaged in marble and glass. Paris, once again summoned as a postcard backdrop, finds itself ordered to host this transatlantic hybrid: half American dream bunker, half French palace of illusions.
The zipper, commonly called a zip, is today an everyday object, found on jeans, bags, coats, or even shoes. It is so widespread that we almost forget it was the result of a patient invention, the fruit of several attempts before becoming established.
