THE BELGIUM PRINCE LAYS DOWN HIS ARMS

The Belgian prince of Saint Laurent is laying down his arms. This Friday, in a press release so brief it borders on insolence! Ten years of reign, and not a single crocodile tear: Kering salutes, Charbit thanks, Luca de Meo “expresses his gratitude,” and the curtain falls.

The final runway show? A solid-gold funeral under three giant chandeliers and a flashing Eiffel Tower: “the swan song,” people whispered. The swan is dead; the entire court is there, impeccably groomed, faces grave, well-rehearsed formulas, condolences already wrapped up. One could not dream of a more beautiful ceremony to bury a reign without unsettling the shareholders. Gratitude has become the official fragrance of corporate divorces, but it isn’t the swan’s cry that I hear, but rather the duck’s quack.

The prince reigned over his kingdom of leather, night, and desire for ten years, with that funereal solemnity of which Saint Laurent made a religion. However, velvet empires have their cracks, crowns their wear and tear, and the gods of clothing their expiration dates. Creative genius itself must now present its quarterly results on an Excel spreadsheet before claiming immortality.

There is something deeply dynastic about this industry that claims to thrive on novelty. We think we are celebrating breakthroughs, yet we continuously restore lineages. Heirs succeed heirs, artistic directors move from one palace to another, houses change their narratives, but the court remains.

Who will inherit the throne? Chemena Kamali, the daughter of the house, returning from Chloé like one returns to their first loves or perhaps their first crimes? The figure: 2.64 billion euros, a six percent drop in 2025; but then again, Gucci is collapsing much lower. In Paris, they call that glory. As for Vaccarello, he will go to New York on November 2nd to receive his laurels as a fallen king, crowned on the eve of his downfall the ultimate irony!

FM