As the curtain went up in the pitch-black theater, glowing red words ran like an English Lit ticker tape across a black digital screen — “eccentricity, gothic, occultism, Madame Butterfly, existentialism” — in a continuous, random and unceasing stream. Then a woman in a Harlequin ball gown, with a skirt so big it seemed more like a tent with a torso on top, materialized out of the dark. She made her way from stage left, walking slowly to the center where she turned to face the audience, then exited stage right. This exact choreography would repeat itself 48 times throughout the show as an operatic voice sang a mournful cathedral song.
So went “Vertigineux,” or “Dizzy,” Alessandro Michele’s first couture show for Valentino, the brand he joined last year after parting ways with Gucci. And it wasn’t just his Valentino couture debut, it was his first couture, period.
There was excitement in the air. Despite the current seismic shifts in fashion, it’s not often that the couture, the most elite and expensive sector, gets a shot of new blood. Especially from a designer who has a history of changing how people dress.
Giorgio Armani had celebrated the 20th anniversary of his Armani Privé the day before the Valentino show, and viewing the signature parade of 93 star-dusted suits and slinky, chinoiserie-inspired gowns was a reminder that, back in 2005 when he dared breach the barriers of the couture, he was viewed as an arriviste (now he’s the establishment, with a hôtel particulier of his own to show for it). Chanel’s new designer, Matthieu Blazy, will start later this year; for now, the studio team offered a smartly light-handed take on the classics: mini bouclé suits and swishy 1920s tea dresses in Jordan almond shades.
That left room for some new ideas. Maybe Mr. Michele would have them. Maybe he would, at least, get beyond the corset, which has become the most ubiquitous item of the season on almost every runway (it is, after all, the fashion version of Ozempic). Ludovic de Saint Sernin even based his whole guest designer stint at Jean Paul Gaultier on the undergarment: corsets in leather, lace or brocade; corsets romantic, provocative and tough. Even corsets for men.
Though the most interesting take belonged to Gaurav Gupta, who added his instantly recognizable mythological swirls to a bustier worn with oversize trousers, like a nymph come down to Greenpoint. The designer is becoming known for his statement-making red carpet gowns (Megan Thee Stallion was in his front row; Usha Vance wore one of his looks during the recent U.S. presidential inauguration) but the restraint demanded by daywear gave him a dose of unexpected cool.
Still, it wasn’t as unexpected as the fact that upon entering the Valentino show, guests found a 200-page “script” on their chairs that contained a meditation on “the poetics of the list.” One that also included a quote from the Italian philosopher and novelist Umberto Eco and then list upon list of yet more words for each outfit, more than 50 for the first look alone. Clearly something different was in store.
That’s one way of putting it.
What transpired was, in fact, an exercise in designer self-indulgence — a fancy dress party of Shakespearean costume dramatics adorned in the pomp and circumstance of the intellectual. For all the incredible work and thousands of seamstress hours and fabulous materials that went into each piece (1,300 hours in the first look alone, according to the show notes), if the emperor got some new clothes for a royal cosplay convention, they might actually look like this.
Like, for example, Marie Antoinette playing an English governess romping through the fields of Le Petit Trianon in a floral silk chiffon shirtdress with a giant panniered skirt. Or the Queen of the Prairie in a patchwork ball gown complete with Elizabethan ruffs at the neck and wrists. Or a Hussar in metallic jacquard pantaloons and matching feather headdress.
Even the occasional day look, and there were some, seemed to have been unearthed from 1960s movie sets at Cinecittà studios in Rome (or the Valentino archives, as in the case of one narrow black dress with a panniered turquoise overskirt, inspired by a look from 1985).
When Mr. Michele brought his big-tent, more-is-more, vintage bricolage to Gucci, it seemed like a relief after the nouveau riche-ness of that brand’s previous incarnation. In the context of Valentino couture, the balance has tilted away from something for everyone (even though Mr. Michele’s use of models that spanned the decades was laudable) and toward old-fashioned excess. At the end of the show, the digital screen started glitching dramatically as strobe lights came on and all the models walked out into a windstorm.
At a news conference later Mr. Michele, his hair in two Heidi braids, perched on a thronelike tapestry-covered gilded chair and explained his affinity for lists, which he said originated in his childhood and was “a way of bringing order to my apparent disorder.” Fair enough, but where was the customer in all that? Maybe struggling to get her dress through the door.
It’s not that couture needs to be practical, or even realistic. But it should show some sensitivity to the modern condition. Otherwise it’s just a museum piece.