This haute couture season proves that fashion indeed needs a reset – and the seismic shift of designer departures and new appointments is a healthy cleanse of the system. Chanel’s final pre-Matthieu Blazy show, coming from the overstayed, post-Virgie Viard studio, looked and felt like a parade of dusty, beige utensils that found their way out of a cupboard. Demna‘s final act for Balenciaga, although high on farewell emotions, did convince me that it’s really time to move on. Whatever his Gucci will be, it should definitely operate on a different methodology than the one he created at Balenciaga. It’s understandable he chose to close his chapter at the maison with a collection that was one big bowl of reheated nachos, from the model casting (from synonymous-with-the-brand Isabelle Huppert to on-the-nose Kim Kardashian) to the line-up’s overall look, a Frankenstein hybrid cross-pollinated by the Georgian designer’s idiomatic volumes and proportions, and Cristobal’s archival tropes. But somehow I hoped Demna’s Balenciaga fin would be a one last conceptual stretch, like a dress made from hundreds of meters of taffeta draped on the model a few minutes before the show, or the memorable “Parliament” show.
Nevertheless, here’s to Demna’s new chapter at Gucci, and as for Pierpaolo Piccioli: the Balenciaga floor is yours.
Collage by Edward Kanarecki.
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Sparking a shock effect is obvious as day for Daniel Roseberry and his vision of Schiaparelli; ultimately, it was Elsa who coined Shocking Pink. Yet there was nothing pink about the autumn-winter 2025 haute couture show. Roseberry continues to examine radical restraint – of the woman’s body, rather than the discipline of dress-making or tailoring – and this collection felt darker than usual. It referred to Schiaparelli’s late 1930s collections, which were peak surrealist – but also carried a sense of growing melancholy and unrest, as if they foresaw the upcoming tragedies of Second World War. There are many indicators that the world we know today is off to a burning, unstoppable crisis, so it’s no wonder why Roseberry is in a gloomier mood. But then there’s the shocker that lets the mind escape for moment: amidst the corseted matador suits, body-morphing padding, hourglass shapes and heavily embellished gowns, a red corseted satin dress constructed with a fake torso and breasts in the back, with a pulsating (as in for real, not trompe l’oeil) red rhinestone heart necklace hanging just below the nape of the model’s neck. The sight was both sinister and highly body horror, somewhere between “The Substance“, “Death Becomes Her” and “Suspiria“. But it also screamed: madame couture has arrived.
Collage by Edward Kanarecki.
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