Let’s imagine, just for a moment, that we are completely unaware of Miuccia Prada, Miu Miu, or any intellectual context surrounding them. In this state of innocence, we can simply appreciate the show without any preconceptions: ‘Ah, those elegant long coats! Smartly tailored suits. Vibrant colors. Pencil skirts making a comeback. Cozy knitted cardigan jackets. And those charming rose-printed dirndls. The ’50s/’60s dresses—utterly delightful. But wait, is that fur?’

This collection features practical, wearable, and unpretentious clothing (except for the shearling ‘fur’ lookalikes). People of different generations sported these cheerful designs. And yet, despite our simplicity, we must acknowledge Mrs. Prada’s complexities. For instance, there was a thought-provoking video installation by Cécile B. Evans, exploring the fate of memories stored in digital devices after an apocalypse. A lone scientist-translator, perhaps the sole survivor, tinkered with retrieving a woman’s memories. An old hand-held video camera floated through the scene like a lost spaceship, ultimately resulting in the woman’s brain seemingly downloaded into a digital hamster—no humans in sight.

Afterward, the screens dissolved into a bleak flurry of static, reminiscent of a scene witnessed just two days prior during the Balenciaga show. In this moment, the significance of preserving memories and cherishing our humanity felt more crucial than ever. It became nearly impossible not to perceive the collection’s components as pages extracted from Miuccia Prada’s personal Milanese chronicle.

Her excellency meticulously reshaped recollections of the slim, double-breasted coats from the late ’60s and early ’70s that inaugurated the show. The strands of pearls hung slightly askew, exuding a discreet charm. Notably, a searingly good lady-suit in neon green caught the eye, while faux mink garments playfully mimicked their genuine counterparts once ubiquitous along Via Montenapoleone during winter.

Also present was a maid’s white cotton uniform coat—though one wondered if it belonged to a seamstress—worn either independently or layered beneath a superb gray menswear wool three-button coat.

And then there were the baby clothes: diminutive dresses and woolly cardigans paired with vibrantly ribbed tights. When Mrs. Prada emerged at the show’s conclusion, her words were succinct but pointed: ‘I consider them classics. Anyone can choose to be a child or a lady by donning these pieces. Each morning, I decide whether to embrace my 15-year-old self or embody the essence of a lady nearing the end.’

Regarding the connection to the video content commissioned from Evans, Mrs. Prada attributed it to pure creative serendipity. ‘I had no knowledge of her work. Yet, when you engage with the contemporary world, disparate individuals across various domains often converge on similar themes.’ A memory to be tucked away indeed.