The enchanted green carpet? That’s Gucci. The shape of the runway, a circle bisected by the inner dash of the G? That’s Gucci, the design of its 1970s “Blondie” logo. The models’ fluoro purple tights and feathered hobo bags? Mega Gucci. Jannik Sinner catching up on tennis stats with François-Henri Pinault? As Gucci as it gets. Inside the Gucci show, it’s all Gucci.
At Milan Fashion Week, the brand is always more powerful than the creative director. The city has built and welcomed so many legendary fashion brands that have transitioned from family businesses to global powerhouses to something even more powerful: ideas. No brand exemplified this idea more than Gucci. To be Gucci is to feel Gucci.
And inside the broody, mirrored-ceiling show space, you couldn’t help but feel kinda Gucci. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush of mere minutes ago getting off a flight at Linate airport, scooping up all my bags into the front seat of a sedan with my friend writer Susie Lau, and speeding to the Gucci show with minutes to spare. (OK, we did stop for pizza, but girls gotta eat!) The frenetic energy—Milan Fashion Week beginning; all the Americans who deemed London’s shows not important enough for them to attend, finally descending on European soil all fresh faced and ready to gossip; the hordes of fans with balloons screaming as Jin and Jessica Chastain showed up—flowed into the show.
Bergdorf Goodman’s Linda Fargo was standing in front of a GG logo on the wall, filming herself selfie-style. Into the camera she whispered, “I’m definitely expecting a big change” and for the first time at fashion week, yes, I actually believed anything was possible.
“We’re about to get so Gucci right now” I thought as I circled the Blondie Logo show maze. Everyone was indulging in the sort of neck craning that says something better is always juuuuuust over there. Was that Pixie Geldof? Oh yeah. That guy too, he’s on a TV show, two friends next to me confirmed. A very fancy magazine editor who I didn’t even think had Instagram complimented i-D’s Instagram. A compliment? Very Gucci.
With a roll on the timpani the show began. Justin Hurwitz composed a cinematic electro score played by a live band and the models began their journey through the Gucci labyrinth. Clink clink clink their heels on the mirrored runway. Flooooosh their silk neckscarves that ribboned behind them. Squeeze! Their hands tightly wound on the duffel bags and big hobos they toted. Bright slip dresses and old money colored faux furs gave the womenswear collection a Margot Tenenbaum spirit. For the guys, minty minimal tailoring and printed oversize Macks.
The best part of this Gucci show was its liberation from the total look, a plague that has sickened many of the best runways of late. No one wears head-to-toe maroon, sorry! Nor all logo print all over, nor an entire joutfit. The coolest dressers in the world have a magpie sensibility—something Gucci once championed—and here again you could feel eclecticism trickling back onto the Gucci catwalk, a melange of colors and personalities blending in catsuits and aviator glasses.
Just as the show concluded and the studio team took their bow in matching green sweatshirts, a dog in the front row let out an approving bark. It wasn’t the only praise. For the first time in my life (and my 15-year career as a fashion reporter) my mom texted me about a show during the show. At 8 a.m. she woke up to watch the Gucci livestream. (Was she, like me, looking for her crush Dev Patel, too?) “I keep looking at all the instas trying to find you! LOL I thought the music was fabulous! Must have been fun to be there in person! Love you!” Love you too, mom.
Everything in the world sucks. Allow yourself a little treat—it’s Gucci.