There are some songs that should probably come with a warning.

Chris Isaak’s Wicked Game is one of them.

You know the song. That voice. That guitar. That particular combination of desire, regret and very bad decisions. It has spent more than three decades making perfectly innocent situations feel faintly dangerous.

So naturally, Gucci has given it to Kate Moss.

In And We Shall Dance Again, the new short film for Gucci’s Primavera campaign, Moss stands in front of a room full of strangers and lip-syncs her way through Isaak’s 1989 classic while everyone around her slowly begins to fall apart—in the best possible way. People stare. People hesitate. People move closer. And eventually, almost imperceptibly, the room becomes a dance floor.

It is sexy without really trying to be sexy.

Which, frankly, is much harder.

Directed by Johan Renck, the film is the latest piece of Demna’s emerging Gucci universe, and it is perhaps the clearest indication yet that this new chapter isn’t interested in shouting. After the maximalism, theatricality and internet-breaking excesses of recent Gucci eras, there is something surprisingly restrained about it.

A room.

A song.

Kate Moss.

People falling in love.

That’s basically it.

And somehow, it works.

Moss is, of course, the perfect person to stand in the middle of this strange little social experiment. She doesn’t really need to do anything. She has spent most of her career understanding that the most powerful thing a fashion image can sometimes contain is a person who looks as though they might leave at any second.

Here, she wears the black sequined Gucci dress she first appeared in during Demna’s debut Gucci show in Milan earlier this year—a slinky, body-skimming thing with long sleeves, a high neck and a dramatically exposed back. On the runway, it came with an unmistakable nod to Tom Ford-era Gucci: the logo thong deliberately visible underneath.

On Moss, it feels less like nostalgia and more like a continuation.

Because Kate Moss has always existed slightly outside fashion’s normal timeline. She was there when the 1990s invented the idea of the supermodel as cultural phenomenon, and she somehow never became trapped inside the decade that made her famous. She can wear something that references Tom Ford’s Gucci, stand inside a film directed by Johan Renck, lip-sync to Chris Isaak and still look completely contemporary.

That’s quite a trick.

But then Renck knows exactly what he’s doing.

There is something wonderfully awkward about the beginning of the film. Everyone is watching everyone else. Nobody quite knows where to look. Moss performs to the camera while the room sits in a kind of collective social paralysis.

And then Wicked Game starts doing what Wicked Game does.

People begin to look at each other differently.

A glance becomes an invitation. Someone moves closer. Another couple forms. The stiffness dissolves. Eventually, the entire room gives in to the music.

Gucci describes Primavera as being about rebirth, renaissance and the transformative power of falling in love. And that could very easily have become unbearable. Fashion campaigns have a long and occasionally embarrassing history of trying to explain LOVE to us in capital letters.

This one doesn’t.

Instead, it simply shows what happens when people stop standing around and actually connect.

Which makes the film feel oddly relevant.

We live in a moment in which so much of fashion exists through screens: faces perfected by algorithms, bodies flattened into content, relationships reduced to likes, follows and whatever the hell a “soft launch” is supposed to mean this week.

And then Gucci gives us a room full of people who actually have to look at one another.

No phones.

No scrolling.

No algorithm deciding who they should find attractive.

Just chemistry.

It’s a surprisingly human idea for one of the world’s biggest fashion houses.

And it fits neatly into what Demna seems to be doing with Gucci.

His first Gucci collection introduced a new vocabulary of silhouettes, textures and materials, but the bigger shift may be cultural rather than purely aesthetic. There is a sense that Demna isn’t trying to make Gucci look younger. He’s trying to make it feel alive again.

That’s an important distinction.

Because fashion doesn’t necessarily need another “new Gucci.” It needs a Gucci that feels like it has somewhere to go.

The campaign’s accompanying portraits, photographed by Michal Chelbin, reinforce that idea. Shawn Mendes, Alex Consani, Tom Brady, Jin, NINGNING, Xiao Zhan, Rico Nasty and others appear in intimate compositions inspired by Renaissance painting. There is something deliberately old-fashioned about the grandeur of the images, but the people inhabiting them are unmistakably contemporary.

It’s another tension that Demna seems particularly interested in: old and new, sacred and slightly ridiculous, elegance and sex, history and whatever is happening on TikTok this morning.

And then there is Kate.

Because really, this whole thing belongs to her.

There is something almost funny about asking Kate Moss to lip-sync to Wicked Game in 2026. Not because it feels dated, but because it feels so obvious that you wonder why nobody thought of it sooner.

She has spent decades being photographed as the object of desire. Here, she becomes something slightly different: the person who triggers it.

She sings.

They watch.

They fall for each other.

And she remains completely, gloriously unfazed.

That’s Kate Moss.

Maybe that’s also what makes the film feel so distinctly Gucci. It understands that seduction is more interesting when it isn’t explained. The dress doesn’t need a paragraph. The song doesn’t need an introduction. Moss doesn’t need a backstory.

Everything is already there.

The black sequins catch the light.

Isaak’s voice fills the room.

Someone looks at someone else.

And suddenly, everybody is dancing.

There is a lovely irony in calling this And We Shall Dance Again, because fashion has spent the last few years telling us to dance constantly. Dance for the campaign. Dance for the TikTok. Dance for the algorithm. Dance because the brand needs engagement.

This feels different.

This is dancing because you’ve finally found someone worth dancing with.

And maybe that’s the real message hiding underneath all the glamour, the sequins and the impossibly perfect cheekbones.

Gucci isn’t asking us to fall in love with a dress.

It’s asking us to fall in love with something.

Anything.

Someone.

The moment.

The possibility that, occasionally, putting down the phone, looking across a room and saying absolutely nothing can still be enough.

And if Kate Moss happens to be standing there singing Wicked Game when it happens?

Well.

That’s Gucci.