Marco De Vincenzo loves a metaphor. Like, really loves one. This season he described the collection as a wave—between rigor and explosion, control and abandon, sharp lines and total release. Which feels right, because watching Etro right now feels a bit like watching something inhale… and then completely lose its mind. “Its bohemian side resurfaces,” he said, “hyper-colored, maximalist, a little mad.” And yes. Mad, but in that intentional, self-aware way. In De Vincenzo’s telling, Etro is basically an ouroboros—a decorative universe endlessly feeding on itself, regenerating, looping back, never getting bored. Somehow neither do we.

The show didn’t start feral. It started… composed. Almost polite. Tailored, menswear-leaning looks set the tone, but with a mischievous glint in the eye. Scarves threaded through slits at the back of jackets to act like built-in martingales. Peacoats that felt vaguely sea-wolf-ish, spliced with corset-style inserts because why not. De Vincenzo has fully mastered Etro’s maximalist grammar at this point, but here he deliberately lowered the volume—dusty, muted colors, autumnal, restrained. Like he was holding something back on purpose.

And then—slowly—the collar loosened. The body came into focus. Sheers crept in. Shapes hugged closer. Things started to feel… less behaved. That’s when the “furs” showed up—wild, unruly, gleefully excessive—pushing the collection straight into color and pattern with zero interest in restraint. Important note: they weren’t actually fur. They were insanely intricate wool constructions. “The effect is crazy,” De Vincenzo said, clearly enjoying himself. Wool, he explained, doesn’t even try to politely mimic real fur, and that’s exactly what makes it feel subversive. Texture as rebellion. Love that.

By the finale, any pretense of control was gone. Exuberance had taken over and wasn’t apologizing. Wool crochet exploded into a full-blown menagerie—handmade dresses densely embroidered with three-dimensional exotic creatures roaming across saturated, electric surfaces. In De Vincenzo’s Etro, decoration doesn’t just decorate. It multiplies. It spreads. It takes over the room.

If at the beginning of his tenure he had to learn how to surrender to Etro’s extravagance, now he’s clearly enjoying the ride. The closing looks—pure riot: sequins, feathers, color everywhere—felt joyful, instinctive, unapologetic. The kind of clothes that don’t ask if it’s too much. They already know the answer.