Alessandro Michele’s haute couture debut for Valentino was not merely a fashion show—it was a time machine. Titled Vertigineux (Vertiginous), the Spring-Summer 2025 collection, presented in Paris, spun a hypnotic tale of nostalgia, craftsmanship, and sensory overload, proving that the designer’s much-debated maximalism is not just compatible with Valentino’s legacy, but essential to its reinvention. From the moment guests entered the venue—a black-box theater with a blood-red screen flashing numerical codes reminiscent of mid-century couture salons—it was clear Michele had orchestrated a rebellion stitched in silk.
The enfant terrible of Italian fashion, known for transforming Gucci into a kaleidoscope of vintage-inspired eccentricities, faced skepticism when appointed to Valentino. Critics questioned whether his “more is more” philosophy could harmonize with the maison’s refined Roman elegance. Yet Michele, ever the archivist, turned to his own childhood for answers. As a boy in 1970s Rome, he’d lose himself in his mother’s wardrobe, marveling at taffeta ballgowns and sequined relics. For Vertigineux, he channeled that wonder into Valentino’s archives, reworking its DNA with a disruptor’s glee.
Guests received a pale blue box containing three artisanal soaps and a cryptic 200-page book—a poetic preamble to the spectacle. The first model emerged in a collage-like gown, its emerald, crimson, and ivory panels hand-stitched over 1,300 hours. It was a declaration: Michele’s couture would be labor-intensive, decadent, and unapologetically dramatic. Patchwork dominated, with A-line dresses pieced from clashing silks and tulles, their structured skirts reinforced with creoline—a stiff fabric typically reserved for historical reenactments—to create bell-like silhouettes that swayed with each step. Sequins cascaded like shattered stained glass; ostrich feathers trembled as if alive.
Michele’s 48 looks were engineered for the digital age—garments designed to break the internet. A metallic mini-dress glowed like liquid mercury, while a trompe l’oeil gown printed with baroque tapestry motifs seemed to pixelate under the strobe lights. Yet the true crescendo came in the finale: models in billowing capes and sculptural trains battled artificial gales, their garments rippling like sails as lights flickered manically. The effect was vertigo incarnate—a sensory overload that left the audience breathless.
When Michele took his bow, wearing a whimsical wool coat embroidered with cartoonish elephants paired with jeans, it felt like a cheeky manifesto. Here was a designer who’d smuggled irreverence into haute couture’s sanctum, blending Valentino’s aristocratic heritage with downtown romp. His collection celebrated contradictions: meticulous handwork collided with viral-ready spectacle; archival reverence met punkish deconstruction. Even the beauty looks—models with slicked-back hair and smoky, disheveled eyeliner—whispered of late-night escapades.
Vertigineux was more than a debut—it was a coup. Michele didn’t just honor Valentino’s past; he hurled it into the future, proving that couture can be both a relic and a revolution. As the lights dimmed, one thought lingered: In a world obsessed with minimalism, excess has found its most eloquent advocate. And fashion is all the richer for it.
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