Sarah Burton’s first runway for Givenchy had already betrayed signs of an over-manufactured sensibility, and her second confirms the slope: a couture of loud affirmation in the Chiuri vein, believing itself feminist simply because it exhibits. The clients, living trophies of this supposedly liberating fashion, paraded that evening in a pale yellow duchesse satin pea coat, cinched in black, as if to proclaim loudly and clearly their right to ostentation.

We are told of the lightness of deconstructed jackets, now reduced to the limpness of a cardigan, as though stripping away all structure were synonymous with freeing women. Progress indeed! Erase poise to better expose. And that coat-dress of once majestic curves, now undone, its lapels ripped from the shoulders to let fall, miserably, the straps of a bra. Emancipation served up as freedom at any price, under the pretext of deconstruction.

The full vocabulary is there: gaping collars, slanted jackets, hems hitched up, skirts dragged barely below the navel like a misfitted cloth fastened in haste. The body is no longer celebrated but turned into a noisy battleground of claims, a loud textile manifesto that mistakes provocation for power. Burton herself admits it: “the mind for business, the body for sin.” Thus the message of female power reduced to a shop-window slogan, Marilyn Monroe recycled in black-and-white motif to wrap a counterfeit ideology. Continue reading →

The procession of “Owensgroupises” filed in line with quiet discipline, awaiting their oracle. True to his fierce singularity, his models stepped onto the still waters of the Palais de Tokyo fountains, like an ancient procession crossing a mirror of azure. Hieratic figures, draped in modern boldness, they wore trouser-boots so towering they could make the ” Burj Al Arab” blush. Thus, the swell of skirts embraced the wind of sails for shipwrecked souls. Continue reading →

Wednesday evening, Olivier Rousteing raised, on the edge of the sumptuous ballroom of the InterContinental in Paris, a singular ode to femininity. His collection, stripped of the armors that once made the glory of the “Balmain army,” allowed itself to be caressed by the sea breeze. As in the days when Yves Saint Laurent, in the ochre gardens of Marrakech, transfigured the desert into a palace of colors, Rousteing too seemed to seek the impulse of a fashion that breathes, that pours out, that surrenders. Continue reading →

Fendi has made its choice sorry, the Lord has spoken and it is Maria Grazia Chiuri who takes over the artistic direction of the Roman house. This appointment comes in the midst of a chaotic reshuffle: Kim Jones’s departure, once expected to embody the creative breath of both haute couture and ready-to-wear, has left a void that Fendi is now scrambling to fill. Silvia Venturini Fendi, meanwhile, has been asked to step back, relegated to the more symbolic role of honorary president but given her last collection, this hardly comes as a surprise.

The thorny question remains: is Maria Grazia Chiuri truly the embodiment of Fendi’s future? Her years at Dior left a mixed legacy. Celebrated for her feminist slogans, criticized for a style often deemed repetitive, the Italian designer has hardly achieved unanimity. Before that, at Valentino, she worked in tandem with Pierpaolo Piccioli… and some still wonder whether she was ever truly the soul of the duo. Continue reading →

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This collection was born from a secret oath between the splendor of yesterday and the vigor of today (says the designer). From the magnificence of the French court, she borrowed grandeur, brocades, solemn braids, and radiant crosses; but instead of letting them slumber in the dust of palaces, she set them against the wild momentum of our century, so that they might clash and fertilize one another in a dazzling embrace.

Each garment is a burning cuirass: it protects, it adorns, it proclaims. It is a silent language that crosses the centuries, a grammar of drapings and symbols that speaks to restless souls. She has shaped these armors with regenerated fabrics, proud cuts, signs carved like prayers, questioning humankind about its time, its identity, its spiritual quest, at the heart of a storm-stricken world.

Three breaths preside over this edifice: the quest for the invisible, the defense of one’s own, the impulse of combat. Three immemorial forces, engraved in the human soul since dawn, which she has translated into silhouettes, into icons, into attitudes standing like statues of flesh amidst the crash of the present. Continue reading →

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On Wednesday in Milan, Silvia Venturini Fendi unveiled a motley collection for Fendi, bursting with flowers and references to the 1990s. The exercise is clever: taking what, until yesterday, was considered “cheap” elastic cords, adjustable straps, flimsy windbreaker zippers and elevating it to the status of a new chic ornament on Calais lace “made in China.” Luxury has always loved recycling the banal since the man from Toledo, provided it’s wrapped in a carefully crafted narrative and staged with theatrical flair. It was as if we were laying the first stone of a memorial dedicated to the victims of stoning.

This is anti-fashion, a kind of “Haute Ready-to-Wear Couture” for shapeless school smocks worn three days in a row, destined, with Micron’s blessing, to become the uniform of Catholic institutions. As for trousers, we’re talking about sweatpants desperately trying to slip into the category of wardrobe “essentials.”  Continue reading →

Summer not the heatwave one, but the world’s summer that clings to old Britpop rags. Shabby tracksuits and drooping polos with fishtail parkas dragging through the mud like the Gallaghers, priests of nothing and celebrants of noise…

Iceberg, or the runway with its puppets on the podium, parading with arms crossed, hard but empty stares, and shoes in hand against doll-like stilettos replaced by flat, soulless sandals… all this to play “90s youth.” A fake rebellion, collars buttoned up to the throat, for bourgeois ladies as spotless as a sink, with knobby knees discreetly hidden—because the Bible doesn’t make the monk.

And the music—Champagne Supernova—closing the show, nostalgia for the zombies. Of course, it has to be, since the English love their mud as much as their noise. But James Long, the rag maestro, sly as an iceberg, sniffed out Milan and the polite chill of luxury, diving deep and dripping money from every seam and button…

That is the world we applaud, we buy, we forget, and will endlessly reproduce again in 25 years.

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What are American designers dreaming of for Spring-Summer 2026? In a world clouded by uncertainty, fashion has chosen to breathe in lightness. Clients crave a sense of ease embodied in the billowing harem pants at Michael Kors, the sensual knit dresses at Proenza Schouler, and the whisper of soft pink blouses at Rachel Comey. Between bold statements and subtle trends, here’s the ultimate best of from New York Fashion Week.

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To convey the full “Gucci spirit,” Demna imagined a series of characters gathered under the name “La Famiglia,” each with their own personality and distinctive attitude. In collaboration with Francesca Bellettini, the newly appointed president and CEO, the designer chose to unveil a look book photographed by Catherine Opie on Monday, ahead of the short film The Tiger, directed by Spike Jonze and Halina Reijn, which will be presented Tuesday evening in Milan. Continue reading →

What a vile farce, what a grandiose comedy this televised mass for that Maga YouTuber, this liturgy of a stuffed corpse in global broadcast! They shower him with incense, they weep like hysterical church ladies before the coffin of a cardboard prophet, a racist antisemite disguised as a universal martyr! We are force-fed with violins and rancid speeches, as if the sanctified carrion could wash away our collective sins!

And so, the uncultured American masses, flabby-bellied, stuffed with slogans and images, hypnotized by the media liturgy, applaud, cross themselves, click like, share, and the next day return to their supermarket errands, their debts, their petty miseries! That’s the real miracle: turning the vile into the sublime, infamy into heroism!

Malraux once said: the 21st century will be religious… but who could have imagined it would come in this grotesque form, this morbid fair, this circus of sanctified corpses and politicians in vestments? The border between politics and religion? It’s already shattered! The rulers kneel, the priests bless, the cameras broadcast: everything dissolves into the same stinking stew of hypocrisy! Continue reading →

Enough! Let us put an end to this travesty of style’s History, dressed up only to amuse the fashionable gallery. Gothic was not born in some backroom of Central Saint Martins between two Instagram selfies and a sponsored “rebellious” performance. No: it was conceived, forged, and imposed on fashion by Jean-Luc Amsler. Full stop.

And now we’re supposed to swallow the idea that Dilara Findikoglu with a name fit for a roadside inn is the high priestess of darkness? What a farce! Here is a designer who proclaims herself subversive, yet only extends her hand to the market like a carnival barker. Her so-called “punk” is nothing but a runway special effect, her “feminism” a Turkish sales tag, and her “gothic” a kind of watered-down carnival for gullible spectators.

Her grand show “Cage of Innocence”? A cage indeed: one where imagination is locked up and reduced to a Versailles-style amusement park backdrop. Marie-Antoinette had her Hamlet of the Queen, Findikoglu will have her Disneyland of lace-clad anguish. Add a little pink, a little white, just enough to reassure investors and clients and voilà, “radicality” becomes Instagrammable! Continue reading →

Kering seems to have found the miracle cure for all its problems: changing (yet again) the CEO at Gucci. After nine months in the role, Stefano Cantino—barely the length of a maternity leave or two fashion seasons—has already been shown the door. Apparently, in luxury, instability is the new must-have accessory.

The new star in sight? Francesca Bellettini is being touted as “one of the most accomplished executives,” a former Goldman Sachs alum—in other words, the perfect candidate to wear impeccable suits while juggling Excel spreadsheets. Her arrival is being sold as a “crucial moment” by Luca de Meo, Kering’s new boss, who hasn’t even had time to set down his office plant before launching into a full-scale clean-up. Continue reading →

So here we are, presented with yet another temple of luxury, erected like a manifesto of ostentatious grandeur, with its seven levels piled up like the vanities of a world already overfed. A design gallery, two culinary spaces, an interior studio… it reads like a catalog of desires packaged in marble and glass. Paris, once again summoned as a postcard backdrop, finds itself ordered to host this transatlantic hybrid: half American dream bunker, half French palace of illusions.

And already, the specialized media wave their censers: “success,” “innovation,” “international clientele”… As if the philosopher’s stone of high-end retail had just been discovered. But what revelation is there, other than the repetition of the same equation? Money, staging, a hint of lifestyle, and the illusion of endless refinement. One almost regrets that the Lord Himself did not do this with La Samaritaine. Continue reading →

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She steps into the role after Mathieu Baboulène, and will now report to Caroline Deroche Pasquier, who joined Versace last year as vice president of global communications following a celebrated tenure at Bottega Veneta.

True to her Kering roots, Hautcoeur moved to London in 2021 to take on the role of head of communications for Northern Europe at Bottega Veneta. A strategic position at the heart of a house on the rise, it allowed her to sharpen her expertise across key markets. Continue reading →

Never, since the blissful hours when my childlike soul wandered along the shores of Saint-Malo with my kittens, had my body known such affliction. Brittany, mother of winds and waves, had given me back, along with the copper glow of summer days, the dryness and tugging of its salty nights. My skin, once supple as a morning leaf, bore the marks of a blazing sun, stinging sand, and a bitter breeze. My heart, faithful to the sea’s promise, nonetheless found itself captive within this tormented body.

It was then, amidst my dismay, that Topicrem Ultra-Moisturizing Body Balm appeared, like a remedy to earthly woes. Its formula, rich in shea butter and beeswax, became a soothing anointment for my wounded skin. From the very first application, it dispelled the arid veil covering my flesh, and the promise of forty-eight hours of softness became a tangible reality. The skin, once rough and flaking, regained the suppleness and velvet touch of a ripe peach. Continue reading →

Printemps Fires Its Boss With the Usual Formula: “Thank You for Your Commitment”

Sometimes there are phrases so moth-eaten from overuse that they reek of formaldehyde, serving only to mask embarrassing realities. Printemps’ press release announcing the departure of Jean-Marc Bellaiche after five years at the helm is a textbook example: “We would like to thank Jean-Marc Bellaiche for his commitment and the successful transformation he has led.” HR translation: “Thanks for dropping by, the door’s over there.”

But Bellaiche didn’t walk into a serene household. He took over right in the middle of the pandemic, when department stores were emptying out and Chinese tourists once the golden goose  were stuck at home. He patched up the leaks, launched e-commerce just as everyone else was pulling down the shutters, and even splurged on a New York opening at the imposing One Wall Street, as if to remind the world that Printemps still liked to dream big. Continue reading →

A peaceful farewell rises for this breath of elegance: on the morning of September 4, 2025, a light went out. Giorgio Armani, in his ninety-first year, has departed, surrounded by his loved ones, leaving upon the fabric of time the indelible imprint of a style that has become memory.

Like a star whose path spans the centuries, he glided through the eras, reinventing masculine and feminine forms, imposing upon fashion a new physiognomy—simple and sublime at once. His vision, fluid and solemn like an ancient river, unrolled over the world an invisible carpet: from Milan to Hollywood, reaching even into the very souls of those who wore his creations as one might don a poem. Continue reading →