There is a change going on in fashion. The safe allure of quiet luxury, the kind of luxury that was as local a specialty as risotto alla Milanese, seems less and less consistent — a kind of relaxed, neutral approach to self-expression that no longer responds to the world’s increasing urgency. This looks less like a panacea than a tradition.
It began in January, back in couture, when John Galliano’s Maison Margiela show with its extreme theatricality and intense emotion acted as a wake-up call after seasons of being carried away by the camel. It continued in New York, at Willy Chavarria, who set up a family table with folk intentions. And in Milan, he was picked up by Francesco Risso at Marni, who boiled fashion down to its essence so he could start again.
By white papering a cave of rooms under a railway line so that it looked like some kind of Petri dish, Mr. Risso gave birth to a very elegant primal scream. Shapes nodded to paper doll versions of couture tropicals, so New Look skirts, cocoon dresses, egg coats all looked like they were made from construction paper (or a leather or wool version of it), and a velvet print looked like graffiti. Outerwear had caveman hair and mini dresses were covered in swirls of paint. These outfits wouldn’t be easy to wear, but they will definitely get you out of your rut.
As a result, they leave a lot more — well, normal, for lack of a better term — clothes on many runways that look like remnants of a different era, like bolt-holed wardrobes for masters of the universe in New Zealand where they plan to sit out the apocalypse in solo glory. offline, and fa! in the rest of the world. Not such a good look anymore.
Gucci’s bet
Or so I felt, anyway, watching Sabato De Sarno’s second Gucci show. There’s nothing wrong with what it does: it’s crystal clear and concise. Mr. De Sarno believes, very strongly, in the leg, tailoring and the fragile slip dress (it’s on trend here, along with leopard print, thigh-high boots and fluffy shoes). He believes in shorts and the platform loafer. But he’s very upfront about the fact that his ambitions aren’t much bigger than making really cool clothes. It is one, not bad, thing for a designer to refuse to be a dictator. Another thing is that he is so cautious that without a logo he can disappear. This approach took a brand that was one of Milan’s magnetic poles and made it trivial.
If you’re looking for a bit of effortless glam, great — check out Mr. De Sarno’s hem coats covered in sequins and sequins and grandpa knits with a little sparkly fringe. They are amazing, just like the heavy cuffed trousers at Matteo Tamburini’s debut at Tod’s were perfect. But Mr. Tamburini’s big idea was belt buckles in the shape of car grills and leather shoes with carwash fringes, because — driving shoe! Take it? In both cases it is not enough.
Sure, there’s a theory that when life is complicated, fashion should be easy. But it also shouldn’t be easy to forget. The longest catwalks and the most glamorous celebrities can’t fill this gap.
That’s why the little moments of weirdness at Ferragamo and Bally stood out among the otherwise well-intentioned wardrobe: the gorgeous coats hanging two sets of belts down the back at Ferragamo, and the ravishing, over-the-top collars on an evening suit. the fur skirts exploding from a proper woolen dress at Bally, and the studded skirts and vests that featured, along with the obvious punk references, little cows. Really: cows. Moo.
Now designers Maximilian Davis (Ferragamo) and Simone Bellotti (Bally) just have to go further. Lucie and Luke Meier did it at Jil Sander — all the way, actually, cutting everything in an exaggerated curve so that suits, coats and dresses look like sci-fi bed jackets, often in cartoony colors and often quilted or padded. Not that this was a new variety of comfort wear (honestly, quite). It’s more like what to wear for a soft landing after a moonshot.
The Great and the Terrible
Dream big. Stronger. That’s the point. Interestingly, Jil Sander is part of Only The Brave, Renzo Rosso’s conglomerate, which also owns Margiela, Marni and Diesel, a brand that made its own statement at the opening of the Milan shows. For years the group’s name felt more like a goal to keep striving for than a reality, but suddenly it’s starting to seem like an accurate description. One that could define not only the company, but the moment.
To that end, Mr. Rosso can look to Sunnei, the upstart conceptual brand based in Milan, where clothes are beginning to respond to the social commentary surrounding them. This season, for example, designers Loris Messina and Simone Rizzo exposed the inner lives of the models by exposing their thoughts to the soundtrack – ‘Breathe. Breathe. Don’t close your eyes.” “Oh my god, my stomach rumbles. God, I can’t wait to eat some pasta” — while covering their outer selves in padded opera plushies and strips of unbuttoned carpet — well, carpet. They were cool.
Which is why Donatella Versace’s retreat into the archive via ’90s power punks at Versace and Peter Hawkings’ retro formula at Tom Ford was so disappointing. Ms. Versace and Mr. Hawkings can cut rock star jackets. They like a bit of squealing. But it’s like it’s on rewind. The result is less safe than stale.
And that’s why Matthieu Blazy’s Bottega Veneta, with its twisted approach to the everyday, evoking intense detail and emotion, is so compelling.
Mr. Blazy doesn’t just make a coat, he pinches the seams of his arms from neck to wrist so they rise up, creating a kind of two-dimensional frame that makes the wearer look like a self-portrait. She drapes silk dresses with passport stamp prints to become a portable travel guide. Cuts the skin into Yeti hairs. And it finishes with a simple black shirt with a fur cord and layers of fringe so it almost bounces on its own: business on top, party underneath. Soul all the way.