Valentino Reminded Me Why I Fell in Love With Fashion

Alessandro Michele's Spring/Summer 2027 collection was extravagant, eccentric and gloriously uninterested in being sensible. I loved every minute of it. I'd wear every single thing.

Somewhere between the enormous bows, the improbable color combinations and the sort of eveningwear that requires both confidence and a reasonably wide doorway, I realized how much I was enjoying Valentino. Not politely admiring it. Not appreciating the craftsmanship while mentally calculating which pieces might translate into a commercial wardrobe. I was genuinely excited by the clothes, which is a surprisingly refreshing feeling during a fashion month that can occasionally resemble an extremely expensive exercise in convincing women they need another excellent pair of trousers.

Alessandro Michele's Spring/Summer 2027 collection was presented at Paris's Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève, where guests were asked to bring books to donate. The concept drew on the idea of the antilibrary, a collection of unread books representing everything we have yet to discover. Michele translated that into fashion as a wardrobe of possibilities, of different people we might become and different lives we might imagine inhabiting. It was an elaborate intellectual premise for a collection featuring feathered skirts, enormous jewelry and spectacularly impractical dresses, but I rather liked that too. Fashion doesn't always need to justify its extravagance with philosophy, although Michele is clearly delighted when he can do both.

Fashion has become terribly concerned with being useful

One of the things I find increasingly tiresome about contemporary fashion is the relentless emphasis on wearability. Every collection seems to need an explanation of how easily it will integrate into our existing wardrobes. We're encouraged to admire investment pieces, versatile separates, elevated essentials and clothes that transition effortlessly from day to evening. Apparently, the ultimate achievement of modern design is producing something that requires absolutely no thought whatsoever.

I understand why this language exists. Luxury fashion is expensive, customers want value and brands need to sell clothes rather than simply produce beautiful runway photographs. But I don't believe every collection needs to solve a practical problem. Sometimes I want a designer to introduce a problem I didn't previously have, preferably involving an enormous skirt and the sudden realization that none of my existing shoes are remotely appropriate.

Valentino offered precisely that kind of pleasure. There were sculptural skirts, dramatic evening gowns, vivid lace, exaggerated bows, feathers, satin and enough color to make the neutral wardrobe enthusiasts slightly uncomfortable. A particularly wonderful hot-pink strapless gown revealed an extraordinary circular ruffle at the back, complete with a black bow. It was theatrical without feeling like a costume, and the construction made the drama feel intentional rather than merely decorative.

What impressed me wasn't simply the abundance. It was how Michele used proportion to create tension. A relatively controlled bodice could explode into volume below the waist. A sharply defined jacket could sit against something delicate, romantic or unexpectedly colorful. There were moments when the clothes seemed almost to argue with one another, yet the overall effect was strangely harmonious. That ability to make conflicting elements coexist is one of the reasons I've always found Michele interesting.

The colors were doing things I thoroughly approve of

I have very little patience for the idea that sophisticated dressing requires a restrained palette. Neutral colors can be beautiful, of course, but sophistication is not a synonym for beige, and a wardrobe doesn't automatically become more tasteful because everything matches.

Valentino's color combinations were among my favorite aspects of the collection. Lilac appeared with yellow, saturated pink collided with green, and combinations that might sound questionable when described aloud became completely convincing once assembled on the body. Michele understands that color can change the emotional character of a garment. A conventional silhouette becomes something entirely different when the palette refuses to behave conventionally.

What I particularly appreciated was that the colors weren't always arranged to produce obvious prettiness. Some combinations had a deliberate awkwardness, and that made them more interesting. I love clothes that challenge my immediate instincts, especially when the result makes me reconsider combinations I might previously have dismissed. The best runway styling doesn't simply show you something beautiful. It changes what you think might be beautiful.

And Valentino did that repeatedly.

Michele's Valentino is not Valentino Garavani's Valentino, and that's fine

One of the more persistent conversations surrounding Alessandro Michele's appointment has been whether his aesthetic is sufficiently Valentino. It's a reasonable question. Valentino Garavani established a house associated with exceptional elegance, couture craftsmanship, romance and a particular vision of feminine glamour. Pierpaolo Piccioli subsequently developed that legacy through his own remarkable command of color, volume and emotional simplicity.

Michele arrives with an entirely different vocabulary. His work is historically referential, eccentric, layered and deeply interested in the relationship between clothing and identity. At Gucci, he made fashion feel like an elaborate collection of characters, each assembled from different decades, cultural references and occasionally questionable accessories. You could recognize his work immediately, which is both an enormous creative advantage and a potential problem when taking over a house with such an established identity.

I understand the criticism that Michele sometimes brings too much of himself into Valentino. There are certainly moments when his instinct for accumulation threatens to overwhelm the clothes, and I don't think every styling decision improves a look. A beautiful garment can occasionally disappear beneath an enthusiastic collection of accessories. At some point, even I would suggest removing a necklace, although admittedly only after considerable deliberation.

But I don't want Michele to spend his tenure producing respectful interpretations of Valentino's archives. We already have the archives, and they are magnificent. What interests me is what happens when his particular eccentricity encounters the house's tradition of glamour.

This collection suggested a much more convincing relationship between the two. The romance remained, the eveningwear had genuine presence and the clothes retained the sense of occasion that has always been central to Valentino. But the elegance was interrupted, complicated and occasionally made wonderfully strange. Rather than treating the house's heritage as something untouchable, Michele seemed increasingly comfortable playing with it.

That is where I think his Valentino becomes exciting.

I don't need to want every piece in my wardrobe

There's an important distinction between loving a collection and wanting to wear everything in it. I can admire a spectacular gown without imagining where I would wear it, just as I can appreciate an exceptional piece of tailoring without feeling any desire to own it. Fashion criticism becomes rather limited when every design is evaluated according to whether it would work in the critic's personal wardrobe.

That said, Valentino produced plenty of things I would happily make room for. The sculptural skirts, unexpected color relationships, dramatic accessories and tension between feminine decoration and sharper tailoring speak directly to the way I enjoy dressing. I could immediately imagine taking individual elements and combining them with things completely outside Michele's proposed looks. That's usually a very good sign. A collection has succeeded in stimulating my imagination rather than simply presenting a finished outfit for me to reproduce.

The accessories were particularly dangerous territory. Oversized necklaces, opera gloves, dramatic hats and extravagant embellishment all contributed to the collection's personality. I have always believed accessories should do more than politely complete an outfit, and Michele clearly agrees. Some of his styling was excessive, certainly, but excess can be a useful creative tool when it encourages us to reconsider the proportions and relationships we normally take for granted.

Would I wear every look exactly as it appeared on the runway? Absolutely not. Would I happily spend several hours dismantling those looks in my imagination and rebuilding them into something personal? Without question. For me, that's a much more meaningful response than simply identifying which pieces are commercially wearable.

There is a difference between extravagance and imagination

Of course, maximalism isn't automatically interesting. Adding more fabric, more accessories, more decoration and more historical references doesn't necessarily produce better design. Fashion has no shortage of collections that mistake visual noise for creativity, and an elaborate presentation can sometimes conceal a rather ordinary idea.

What made Valentino compelling to me was the relationship between its theatrical elements and its underlying design. The strongest looks had clear silhouettes, considered proportions and a sense of movement that made the embellishment feel purposeful. A dramatic skirt worked because of its shape, not simply because it was large. An unexpected color combination succeeded because the garments themselves created a convincing relationship.

I wouldn't argue that every one of the collection's 80 looks achieved that balance. There were moments when the styling became unnecessarily busy, and a tighter edit might have allowed certain ideas to register more clearly. Michele's greatest strength, his ability to imagine seemingly endless variations of character and identity, can also make it difficult to establish which ideas deserve the most attention.

But I would much rather watch a designer wrestle with an excess of imagination than one whose primary creative ambition appears to be producing another commercially reassuring wardrobe. Valentino gave me things to examine, question, reconsider and occasionally covet with absolutely no reasonable justification.

That is a considerably more enjoyable way to experience a fashion show.

I want fashion to make me feel something

Perhaps what I loved most about Valentino was its complete commitment to the emotional pleasure of clothes. Not every collection needs to be provocative, conceptual or commercially revolutionary. Sometimes it can simply remind us that fashion is an extraordinary creative medium, capable of producing beauty, humor, surprise and desire through fabric, proportion and imagination.

Michele's collection made me want to experiment. It made me reconsider colors, think about volume and imagine new ways of wearing things I already own. It also made me want several things I absolutely do not need, which I consider a perfectly respectable response to an excellent fashion show.

I don't expect everyone to love this Valentino. Michele's aesthetic is divisive, and I understand why some people prefer the more disciplined elegance associated with previous chapters of the house. There is a legitimate argument that Valentino needs a clearer visual identity, and commercial success will ultimately require more than spectacular runway moments.

But fashion would be desperately dull if every designer approached those challenges in the same way. We need restraint, precision and beautiful simplicity. We also need designers willing to produce extraordinary, occasionally ridiculous things that make us question why we've become so committed to looking effortlessly appropriate.

Valentino reminded me that getting dressed can still be an adventure. It doesn't always need to be tasteful in the most conventional sense, and it certainly doesn't need to be easy. Sometimes the most exciting clothes are the ones that require a little negotiation, a willingness to look different and perhaps some advance planning around doorways. And if Alessandro Michele wants to keep making those clothes, I'll very happily keep watching.