For his latest Fendi show, Kim Jones was inspired by his morning promenades through Rome, from his hotel to his office in the Palazzo della Civiltà Italiana, during which he plugs in his AirPods and imagines passers-by as characters in an imaginary movie. The Eternal City, after all, has provided a backdrop to cinema for more than a century, its global image shaped by Fellini and Sorrentino films. It’s one of those places, like New York or Tokyo, that invites outsiders to project a fantasy onto its grand architecture and local cast of characters, and though he has now been shuttling between London, Paris and Rome for more than two years, Kim is no exception. “In Rome, there is an elegance in ease and not caring what anybody thinks — that is real luxury,” he explained before the show. “It is about women who dress for themselves and their own lives … It’s not about the spectacle of being looked at but the reality of wearing and the confidence and chicness that comes with it. It’s not about the confidence of being something but being someone.”
I’m loathe to write it, but in other words, the collection he showed was essentially an expression of Quiet Luxury, whatever that means. But wait a minute! Isn’t Fendi the house that popularised loud logomania with its interlocking double-Fs, opulent furs and bestselling It-bags? Well, yes. The set for the show was a maze of towering sculptures of Fendi handbags — the Baguette, the Peekaboo, the Spy — rendered in maquette white as if to suggest a blank canvas, carte blanche.
The collection was devoid of logos for the most part, instead focusing on a wardrobe of neat tailoring, slinky knitwear with cardigans prepping draped over the shoulders, classic car coats and geometrically panelled dresses that suggested nods to Italian futurism or Bauhaus graphics. The logos that were on display were abstracted, the classically earthen shades of Italian leather craftsmanship appeared as Kim’s take on a 90s puzzle-print of the house’s double-F monogram, pulled from the archive and revived in patchworked panels of napa leather bonded on coats and dresses. They came alongside easy-to-wear wardrobe staples like cardigans, washed-silk dresses and a plethora of sinuously knitted dresses in distinctly Italian primary hues — limoncello yellow, pomodoro red, Santa Maria blue — the result being somewhere between a chocolate box filled with fruity candy.
This was a collection that was about clothes, the directness of dressing, a wardrobe for women who want to be the main character in their own movie. Much of it was luxurious of course — shearling corduroys, kid mohair tailoring, exotic lizard ballet pumps, sculptural jewellery by Delfina Delettrez Fendi — and but it still flew under the radar as finer details that deserved closer inspection. It was an affirmation of the maxim that by wearing something simple, interestingly designed and soft to the touch, you quickly learn what you yourself are made of.
