There is something slightly funny about watching a collection called Quando Nessuno Guarda — “When No One Looks” — in the middle of Milan, because obviously everyone is looking. Everyone is looking. That is, after all, the whole point of a fashion show.
There is something slightly funny about watching Demna make Gucci quieter. This is the man who spent years making fashion feel like it had been thrown into a blender, then somehow turned the mess into a cultural event. So naturally, when he arrives at Gucci and starts talking about proportion, product, classic wardrobe pieces and the pleasure of simply making something beautiful, my first thought is: Wait… Demna? Are you okay? And then the clothes come out.
There are fashion shows where you sit there quietly taking notes, trying to understand what the designer is saying. And then there are Roberto Cavalli shows where you basically need to hold onto your chair. OH MY GOD. Leopard. Tiger. Zebra. Flowers. Gold. Pink. Coral. Crystal. Feathers. Low waists. Bare stomachs. Sheer chiffon. Denim covered in things. More leopard. Then some more leopard because, apparently, we hadn't quite got the message.
There are clothes you look at and immediately understand. And then there are clothes that make you think about your own wardrobe, which, honestly, can be much more dangerous. Because somewhere between the first camel coat and the last black dress at Max Mara, I started thinking about belts. Not in the boring accessory of the season kind of way. More like: why are we so obsessed with pulling things in? Why do we spend all this time making clothes bigger, softer, looser, more comfortable — only to take a belt and say, actually, no. Here.
There was something about walking into the Etro show and seeing a field of wheat sitting beside a concrete runway that made me think, okay, I know where this is going. Except I didn't. And actually, that's probably the point. Because Etro has always been a house that wears its references on the outside. Paisley, embroidery, jacquard, colour, travel, a little bit of bohemia, a little bit of romance — all those things we've come to associate with the Etro universe. You usually know where you are almost immediately.
I think I'm becoming slightly obsessed with clothes that don't immediately tell you what they're trying to do. You know the ones. They walk out and you're waiting for the big moment — the print, the enormous silhouette, the thing you're supposed to screenshot — and instead you get a coat.
There is something about Diesel that makes me want to be a little reckless. Maybe it's the denim. Maybe it's the sex. Maybe it's just that particular Diesel feeling of what if we stopped pretending clothes have to behave? But watching this collection, I kept coming back to one thing. Something underneath is always trying to get out. And once I noticed it, I couldn't really unsee it.
I think Prada is at its most interesting when it refuses to give you the answer straight away. You see something. You think you understand it. Then you look again and — oh. No. There’s something else happening underneath. And that feeling runs through this collection almost obsessively.
I think I finally understand what Daniel Lee is doing at Burberry. And honestly, it took me a minute. Because Burberry has always been very good at being Burberry. The trench. The check. The Britishness. The rain. The countryside. The whole beautifully organised fantasy of looking effortlessly put together while secretly carrying seventeen things in your bag and probably being late for something. But this season felt different. A little messier. A little stranger. A little more alive. And OH MY GOD, the colour.
I have a problem with Alexander McQueen. I keep looking at the pictures. Not in the normal scroll, like, save, move on way. I mean properly looking. Going back. Zooming in. Staring at that horn. Looking at the satin. Looking at the ridiculous volume of that skirt and thinking, okay, but why does this actually make sense?
