During the nineteenth century, whilst the middle classes were establishing themselves in Europe and a renewed interest in the history of bygone eras was taking hold, a particular form of collecting became widespread amongst artists: that of antique garments. While fabrics and garments had always been present in painters’ studios as tools for studying drapery and rendering fabrics realistically, it was above all with the rise of anecdotal and historicist genre painting that period costume came to play a central role. The narrative credibility of the painted scenes required strict adherence to the historical and social context, prompting artists to seek out, purchase and collect authentic garments: incidentally, those from the 18th century were more readily available on the antiques market. This practice gradually transformed the artists’ studios into veritable modern Wunderkammern, where not only garments but also accessories, musical instruments, weapons, furniture and works of art served as tools of the trade and, at the same time, as collectable items. With the decline of genre painting in the early 20th century, many of these textile collections were dispersed; some, however, managed to find their way into museum collections in a significant way, contributing to the emergence of the first fashion museums in Europe. (…) Like the textile collections of the Victoria & Albert Museum in London, the formation of the City of Milan’s costume and fashion collection has its roots in the final decades of the nineteenth century, within a cultural context strongly shaped by the debate on industrial art and the educational value of the applied arts – a debate in which even fabrics, garments, lace and embroidery were conceived as exemplary models intended to elevate the taste and training of artisans. Although the 1874 Historical Exhibition of Industrial Art failed to bring about the establishment of a fully-fledged museum as had been hoped, it played a decisive role in highlighting the importance of private collecting and in facilitating the inclusion of textile artefacts in the city’s cultural heritage. Between the late nineteenth century and the early twentieth century, thanks to increasingly systematic donations and acquisitions, this heritage was progressively enriched with garments, accessories and textiles of great historical and artistic value. (…) A significant milestone in the growth of the textile section of Milan’s Civic Collections of Applied Art occurred in 1934, when Maria Caronni Lomazzi decided to put up for sale the collection of the painter Pompeo Mariani, which she herself had inherited from her mother, Marcellina Caronni, the artist’s wife. This collection originated largely from the collection of Mariani’s uncle, Mosè Bianchi, who was also a painter. (…) Although the then director of the Civic Museums, Giorgio Nicodemi, was unable to acquire the entire collection that had belonged to Mariani in one go, the purchase by the Municipality of Milan should nevertheless be seen as an effort to prevent its total dispersal – a fate that did, however, befall the collections of other contemporary artists. (…) In 1935, when the Milan Museum opened at Palazzo Sormani, the most valuable men’s and women’s garments from Mosè Bianchi’s collection were exhibited to illustrate the customs and traditions of the 18th century. (…) This collection should be interpreted both as a documentary source for Neo-Rococo painting—which was in vogue in Europe, and in France in particular—and as a repertoire of reusable objects with which to create multiple compositional variations for paintings on the same subject. Crucial to Bianchi’s artistic development was his stay in Paris in 1869, which enabled him to observe the working methods of artists such as Jean-Louis Meissonier and Mariano Fortuny y Marsal (father of Mariano Fortuny y Madrazo, ed.) and to become acquainted with the circle gravitating around Adolphe Goupil. In France, he certainly came into contact with textile collections of great significance, such as those of Fortuny himself and of Albert Goupil, Adolphe’s son – emblematic examples of collecting that served the practice of painting. Similar experiences can also be found in Italy, where artist-antiquarians (and sometimes dealers) possessed collections comprising various objects of applied art, including costumes and textiles. One might think, for example, of the vast collection of Attilio Simonetti in Rome or that of Giuseppe Bertini, Bianchi’s teacher at the Brera Academy in Milan. Similarly, Eleuterio Pagliano’s collection of antiquities, housed in his studio in the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, comprised antique furniture, textile artefacts (tapestries, fabrics, costumes) and musical instruments – all objects that subsequently appear in his paintings. Given how frequently they are depicted, it is reasonable to assume that Pagliano owned a green andrienne (or robe à la française), the one worn by the model in the paintings Estate di San Martino, Nel mio studio and Lezione di Geografia. Another 18th-century women’s gown in lighter shades – perhaps another example from her collection – appears in at least two paintings; it is depicted in the work known only through the prints Un inventario / La rivista dell’eredità and in one of the two Giocatrici di volano (whereas the opponent is dressed in the usual green andrienne). It is well known that other painters from the Milanese circle – including Eliseo Sala, Gerolamo Induno and Sebastiano De Albertis – also kept wardrobes of antique costumes in their studios, using them both as tools of the trade and, at the same time, as symbols of cultural prestige. The studio thus became a hybrid space, part artist’s studio, part private museum and part venue for social representation. Many artists, foremost among them Pagliano, developed their taste for antiquities partly thanks to their close ties with leading figures in the textile industry, such as the Mylius family and Francesco Ponti. Visiting their residences, which were effectively house-museums, provided the artists of the time with a fundamental visual repertoire. 

Not every alteration that emerges following an incident, for example, is necessarily attributable to that event. And even restoration can involve difficult choices: in the case of the Maine Museum, some original linings, which were too fragile, were removed and preserved separately. This gives rise to a fundamental principle: the best incident is the one that never happens. Prevention can extend to consultancy through consultation with archivists, conservators, collection managers and the company’s risk manager. The value of a historic garment lies not only in the cost of the materials but also encompasses intangible aspects: rarity, provenance, creative heritage and the fashion house’s identity. After all, dangers do not always manifest themselves in spectacular ways. Sometimes they operate silently.

Moisture can promote the hydrolysis of certain polymers, particularly certain polyurethane coatings: a jacket may become sticky or start to flake even if it has never been worn. Visible light and ultraviolet rays can cause discolouration and a loss of fibre strength; oxidation can contribute to yellowing and brittleness. An illuminated embroidery, for example, designed to highlight every detail during an exhibition, risks being damaged by the very light that makes it visible. For the most vulnerable textiles, the Victoria and Albert Museum recommends a maximum illuminance of 50 lux. Appropriate LED lighting, UV control, stable temperature and humidity, and limited display times are therefore not merely curatorial considerations: they are risk management tools.

An object must always be viewed within its environmental context, in relation to the location where it is housed, the proposed display, and the use to which it is put, so as to draw up an integrated prevention and safety plan. Alongside clothing and accessories, insurance cover also extends to document archives, photographs, videos and historical displays, both whilst in storage and during the active phases of handling and transport. Even the rotation of exhibited garments, which helps to reduce cumulative exposure to light, presents a paradox: every instance of handling is, in turn, an opportunity for damage. Bespoke packaging, suitable supports, specialised staff and condition reports before and after each loan are therefore essential.

For some archive garments, static display is the only use compatible with their preservation: wearing them would subject them to excessive strain. This is demonstrated by the attention paid to Gianfranco Ferré’s legacy: an archive comprising thousands of garments and documents, which is the subject of digitisation, maintenance and specialist conservation projects. For conservation purposes, fashion archives are increasingly akin to museum collections, whilst continuing to thrive through exhibitions, research and new creations. The challenge becomes even more complex when looking to the future. The fashion industry is experimenting with smart fabrics, coated materials and biomaterials derived from mycelium or plant by-products. But how much do we know about their stability after twenty or thirty years? An integrated circuit in a garment may lose its functionality without altering its appearance; an innovative material may react to humidity in ways that have not yet been fully documented. Innovation and sustainability alone do not guarantee longevity: we need to understand the material, its history, its possible uses and the limits of its preservation. Protecting an archive therefore means safeguarding not only what a fashion house has created, but also what it may draw inspiration from in the future.

Jean Gazançon

CEO of ARTE Generali

(text compiled by Elena Pozzi, ARTE Generali)

In the first nine months of this year, LVMH’s Fashion & Leather Goods division recorded a 2 per cent decline, which fell to 5 per cent in the third quarter. Gucci saw a 6 per cent decline on a like-for-like basis during the quarter, whilst the Prada Group’s growth stood at just 1 per cent. This slowdown is also reflected in employment and production figures. In the Rimini area, in San Giovanni in Marignano, Aeffe is undergoing a restructuring that may see 389 workers placed on short-time working schemes. Gilmar, which also produces Iceberg, has initiated negotiated settlement proceedings, whilst Fuzzi is under a simplified composition with creditors. In Veneto, the relocation of the logistics hub linked to Valentino from Valdagno is putting 83 jobs at risk. The nearby Riviera del Brenta district, which specialises in footwear, is under scrutiny due to the difficulties faced by companies such as Him Co and Calzaturificio Michielon.

Adding to this picture are the ‘sluggish’ figures from the Manufacture de Souliers Louis Vuitton in Fiesso d’Artico, with 2025 revenues down by 5.1 per cent and a slight reduction in the workforce. These are cases that differ in scale and cause, but which demonstrate how a reorganisation of business activities can have profound consequences for the local areas and the professionals involved. The overall figures on short-time working paint a less uniform picture. According to Confindustria Moda, in the first half of 2026, authorised hours in the textile and clothing industry fell by 29.6 per cent compared with 2025, totalling 17.8 million. However, critical issues for businesses remain: in Prato, according to Ebret, the Bilateral Body for Tuscan Crafts, 200 fashion businesses ceased trading between May 2025 and May 2026. 

In Tuscany, over the past year, the craft sector has lost 1,248 businesses and 7,919 employees: the fashion industry accounts for over half of the fall in employment. “The concern is that a cycle of crises and recoveries will ultimately leave structural consequences,” observes Giordano Fumarola of the national Filctem Cgil. The fall in orders could result in a permanent loss of production capacity if companies close down and skilled workers cannot find employment. Even planning operations has become more difficult: development times are getting shorter, seasonality is less rigid, and demands for traceability and circularity are on the rise. “We used to carry out projects that lasted five years. Today, it is no longer possible to plan for the future,” observes Riccardo Colletti of the national Filctem Cgil. Adapting is necessary, but reducing staff numbers and plant capacity may weaken the ability to respond to the recovery. One solution is to invest in training and internal mobility. This is the approach adopted by the Florence Group, a platform of contract manufacturers established in 2020 and controlled by the Permira fund since 2023. 

The group employs over 4,500 people across nine Italian regions and operates around 70 production sites. This scale makes it possible to consider the transfer of activities between companies, the retraining and redeployment of staff – processes that are more difficult for a small supplier, often tied to just a few clients, to implement. “The luxury sector is undergoing a period of transformation that affects the entire production chain,” say representatives of the group led by Attila Kiss, which, in the two-year period 2025–2026, involved 50 people in job rotation schemes, complete with training and mentoring. A total of 120,000 hours of technical training were provided, including through the group’s twenty-three academies in Italy. Where it was not possible to redeploy workers immediately, social safety nets were utilised, accounting for 1.6 per cent of workable hours. 

These tools do not eliminate market challenges, but they help manage the reorganisation whilst preserving skills and experience within the industrial platform. The relationship between brands and suppliers remains, as fashion houses have a direct impact on production volumes, timelines and organisation. The Hugo Boss case, reported by the German trade press and confirmed to Il Foglio della Moda by those directly involved, is indicative of the tensions that can arise. According to reports, the group is said to have asked certain suppliers, including several Italian ones, for a discount on outstanding invoices in exchange for faster payments. 

This is a case that should not be generalised, but it does highlight the risk of shifting an increasing proportion of the costs of transformation onto the most vulnerable businesses: those that have to cope with falling orders whilst, at the same time, investing to adapt to new regulations and customer demands. The possible recovery in consumption from 2027, as indicated by analysts and trade unions, requires us to think in the medium term. Social safety nets are necessary, but they are no substitute for an industrial strategy. As Riccardo Colletti of the national Filctem Cgil union summarises: “It is not a question of preventing all reorganisation, but of making it compatible with the continuity of the production system”.

At this point, and given that Piccioli chose not to issue a statement via Kering’s press office, instead writing a lengthy ode to bespoke fashion and his time in the industry on his own Instagram account, we would like to reiterate – as we did a month ago – that this absolute genius of imagination, of colour applied to clothing and, last but not least, of consideration for others (even during his long years at Valentino, we saw him value all his collaborators as no one else does), had been approached by Balenciaga with the promise – indeed, the request – to once again make the maison on Avenue Montaigne a beacon of couture, as well as Kering’s sole haute couture house. For Balenciaga – a name he revered – Piccioli had turned down the same offer from Givenchy. The plan, devised by Francesca Bellettini during her time as deputy CEO of the group, made perfect sense. De Meo’s arrival, the manager’s reassignment to focus solely on Gucci – which, incidentally, is still in serious trouble despite Demna – the many debts to be cleared, and the arrival of a line-up of top managers accustomed to working with approaches, methods and choices vastly different from those of the luxury sector (see the decision to entrust Gucci’s Christmas campaign to a music icon like Mariah Carey – certainly beloved by the masses but a world away from this milieu – whilst all the leading brands, from Prada to Dior, are focusing on warm, affectionate atmospheres and cartoons explicitly drawn by hand), have rendered Piccioli’s presence entirely incongruous. It must also be noted that it has not been an easy year for him: caught between a team of very young stylists – Demna’s ‘legacy’ – who were completely unfamiliar with couture, and constantly pressured to produce trainers and sweatshirts that were a world away from his sensibilities, Piccioli was certainly not working in a favourable environment. It became clear last July that things were taking a turn for the worse when, in the hours leading up to his first couture show, we spotted a large laminated leather ‘City’ bag in the corridor: apart from shoes, of course, accessories do not generally feature in couture shows. At a push, perhaps an evening minaudière – those precious, useless little trinkets. The large day-to-day handbag was clearly an order. So, that’s fine. We’ll wait for the next chapter – and the sweatshirts.

One need only look at the collections showcased during the Spring/Summer 2027 fashion weeks to see this: faux fur and shearling worn with a nonchalant air everywhere, from Gucci to Diesel. This has sparked curiosity and questions – dreaded by industry insiders as much as enquiries about next year’s colour of the year at the Christmas dinner – regarding the strategies behind this confusion over materials. Whilst research institutes and the teams organising trade fairs are already promoting the new trends for Spring/Summer 2028 (interesting but still rather abstract concepts such as ‘Metamorphosis’ for Milano Unica and ‘Blossom’ for Première Vision), the calendar has become an increasingly fluid concept – if it can be called that – to the extent that one wonders whether the seasonal division of fashion still makes sense.

Probably so, albeit for reasons other than purely meteorological ones: the term ‘seasonless’ is not a magic formula that can rescue us from the quagmire of an overloaded offering, hyper-fragmented into a thousand capsule collections and, ultimately, confusing. This confusion, coupled with social and economic factors—which we have seen manifest in the devastation and looting across all the regional capitals of central Italy in recent weeks—is driving the end consumer further and further away from fashion products.

The upheaval in the seasonal calendar, which has elevated ‘off-season’ to a stylistic mantra, has at least partly to do with current circumstances: climate change, an international clientele from various latitudes, and the acceleration of production and delivery times. But the frantic attempt to beat competitors to the punch and launch one’s own product early enough to snap up anyone wanting a down jacket in July also plays a part.

And indeed, the pressure on the supply chain is not easing; if anything, it has increased: the constant stream of mini-themed collections, and even monthly launches that respond to current trends (not just in fast fashion) – whilst causing mental and physical exhaustion in the design departments – a painful problem for those experiencing it but one that nobody seems to regard as a priority – are nonetheless costly and have a significant impact.

Whilst it may be challenging for some manufacturers to switch between producing different types of fabric at intervals of just a few months – given the cost of raw materials sourced from critical geographical areas and the risk of holding large stocks of goods in warehouse – we are, on the other hand, seeing an ever-increasing level of specialisation amongst textile manufacturers.  

In fact, there are an increasing number of companies that focus on a single product category, working on personalisation and transforming the company’s DNA into brand recognition and a promise of quality. 

As for international clientele and the needs of various geographical target markets, this requirement is largely limited to luxury brands or those with a strong presence in the contemporary imagination (a decidedly exclusive club). In fact, most brands already sell in very well-defined markets and specific geographical areas, whilst presenting their collections during fashion weeks with global coverage.

Seasonless design is not about overcoming a constraint that limits creativity, but rather something that manifests itself in standardisation, modular clothing and layering – the obvious superimposition – promoted as a novelty: Off the catwalks, no longer garments sculpted from heavy fabrics but hybrids light enough to wear even in mild temperatures, ultra-light wools and heavy cottons that adapt to sudden changes in temperature.

And if you really do want to give in to the allure of a coat with a nostalgic winter feel, it’s worth bearing in mind that you should include ultra-lightweight garments in your collection to wear underneath, reviving an outfit idea that has now become rather repetitive, or other similar tactics, which are more akin to visual merchandising than to style. 

‘Seasonless’ is a lovely concept, but an elusive one, and one that should be guided by a greater focus on quality and style – which takes time and clashes with the supposed need for a constant stream of new content.

At a time when it is proving difficult to forge the strong creative identities that the entire fashion sector needs in order to reinvent itself, the absence of limits – even seasonal ones – does not equate to creative freedom; on the contrary, parameters – ‘containment grids’ – serve to frame garments within a meaningful context. Ultimately – or rather, first and foremost – it is simply a matter of understanding who we are addressing and what their needs are, whether thermal or otherwise. 

Maria Grazia Chiuri’s creative work at Fendi, which draws inspiration from the 1920s and the 1970s, has quickly filtered into high street fashion – see H&M’s holiday campaign

Menniti’s choice is decidedly unexpected, given that for two centuries the silks of San Leucio – or at least those bearing the designation of origin, which is strongly supported by local politicians but is, in truth, rather vague and unknown to anyone unfamiliar with the history of Italy and the textile industry, which is to say almost everyone – have appeared in the halls of power across Europe as decorative elements. “I am well aware that when one thinks of San Leucio silks, one conjures up tapestries in royal palaces and chancelleries,” he says. “However, the first items that Maria Carolina of Habsburg-Lorraine wished to bring to market were precisely those scarves – some as small as today’s carrés, others as large as the fashion of the time dictated for the wealthiest ladies. Let’s start again from there, with a small workshop and made-to-order commissions – or rather, by invitation and upon presentation, as in a club. I’m not interested in drawing in the crowds, partly because we wouldn’t be able to meet their demands: this will be production for connoisseurs.”

This isn’t the first time someone has attempted to revive the Real Sito; to be honest, even back in the founders’ day, things didn’t go well despite the genius behind the venture, so we wish them the very best of luck. After all, it is easy to see why the site exerts such fascination: visitors arriving at the Belvedere, touring the palace with its colossally heavy grey marble swimming pool on the first floor—the work of Vanvitelli and Collecini, two design geniuses—and walking through the factory from the silkworm nursery with its large stove, and from there observing the workers’ cottages, neat and elegant, with a garden on the slope from which, to the left, one can see the Royal Park of Caserta and, opposite, in the distance, the sea. The San Leucio colony was the first – indeed, the only – socialist utopia put into practice in Europe seventy years before the publication of Das Kapital; in short, rather than socialism, it was the Enlightenment in its purest form. It was, moreover, designed and partially implemented by a king, Ferdinand IV of Bourbon, who – despite the nickname ‘lazzarone’ (idler) bestowed upon him for his fondness for mingling with the people, and despite having quashed the Revolution of 1799 in a bloodbath – possessed a refined education and a wealth of innovative ideas; as evidenced by the decree which, in 1817, granted the French entrepreneur Pietro Andriel the exclusive right to hydrogen gas lighting in Naples: the idea remained on paper and it was to fall to his grandson to put it into practice, twenty years later, but the reality was that Naples became the first Italian city to be lit by gas after London and Paris – not Milan, let alone Rome – and that someone had thought of it before the others. Undoubtedly spurred on by his wife, the irrepressible Maria Carolina, who did not disdain female company (Lady Hamilton) and whom we imagine to have been the principal, if not the sole, inspiration behind the Statute of San Leucio of 1789 – for no other European state, certainly not the French revolutionaries who, two years later, would imprison and then behead her younger sister Marie Antoinette, would have done the same for women for another two and a half centuries; King Ferdinand approved and implemented a text which, apart from a few details such as working hours, remains to this day a model of fairness, gender equality and meritocracy. The statute provided for compulsory education for both boys and girls, and included vocational subjects in the curriculum. It provided the inhabitants of the settlement—which the king planned to shape into an ideal city, Ferdinandopolis—with a free house complete with a garden, running water and sanitary facilities, an absolute luxury for the time and not just amongst the working classes; it also provided a dowry and maternity leave for young women, a communal ‘charity’ fund, and guaranteed care for the elderly and the infirm. Inspired by the theories of Gaetano Filangieri, the charter also abolished private property. Enthusiastic workers flocked from silk-producing centres throughout Italy, France and Turkey (which explains why a certain Francesco De Negri, with a Ligurian surname, arrived in San Leucio around 1780, and why the family remained there for over two hundred and fifty years. As Menniti recounts, ‘they were the last to maintain the factory within the Belvedere’). The project was in fact interrupted for the first time ten years later by the outbreak of the Neapolitan Revolution, about which Alexandre Dumas would write so much in subsequent years, then by the birth of the Parthenopean Republic following Napoleon’s invasion and the establishment of Joachim Murat’s kingdom—he too attempted to revive and expand it—and finally abandoned for good with the unification of Italy, when it also lost its special status. From artisans holding a royal licence, upon landing in Milazzo the De Negris had in fact become entrepreneurs: they remained so until about ten years ago, weathering all manner of political and economic upheaval, until Chinese competition and the increased use of [a certain material] over two and a half centuries led, a decade ago, to the need for state intervention; through Gepi, the company had found a new shareholder in the Sabelli family of Rome. Shortly before that, the ‘protection mark’ promoted by the Caserta Chamber of Commerce had been introduced – full of fine words and pledges to ‘counter Chinese production’ – but in reality unenforceable and, indeed, never enforced. Menniti, who is also president of the local Fondazione Orizzonti and who, as his name suggests, set out to give the area a new future, with particular regard to female employment, arrived when all seemed truly lost, bringing with him decades of experience at the helm of Harmont&Blaine’s global commercial strategies: He does not belong to the ranks of those somewhat pathetic politicians for whom ‘the world always envies us’ something it generally doesn’t even know about, nor is he obsessed with fashion.

He has reached a point in his career where he can afford to invest time and money in a venture of social, political and cultural significance. The result is the restored and revitalised Opificio in Piazza della Seta, alongside the ‘HERitage San Leucio’ project under the creative direction of Stefano Chiassai, and a series of visual codes and artefacts – from fichus to tapestries – which are intended to cement this journey of rebirth by becoming part of the

For this reason, the world’s leading second-hand marketplace – a favourite among teenagers, even though they cannot sell items directly on it – requires the consent and identity card of an adult – and this alone should raise some questions about the management of the transactions taking place – immediately became suspicious and, following initial checks, made itself available to the investigating authorities in the countries where the devastation occurred, starting with France, which is also its largest market. It is a fine line between being a leading resale platform and a fence for stolen goods, and Vinted, valued at 8 billion euros, founded twenty years ago by two Lithuanians who wanted to get rid of their second-hand clothes and make a little money from them (the average transaction is just a few tens of euros, and the appearance of bags priced at 2,000 euros and above has obviously raised eyebrows), certainly has no desire to get itself into trouble. The company has therefore stated in a post and via email that it has “immediately identified and removed suspicious listings, thanks in part to reports from retailers” and that it has made itself “available to combat the resale of stolen goods”. Tracing who put it there is all too easy.

We wrote about this ten days ago, and we would rather not repeat ourselves. However, the name being put forward most insistently as his replacement – that of Chemena Kamali, aged forty-five, currently creative director at Chloé, where she is doing an excellent job, and who until less than three years ago was Vaccarello’s deputy for womens’ ready-to-wear – warrants further reflection. Namely, whether the constant turnover of creative directors that now plagues the industry is not so much a way of revitalising a brand – the public is decidedly bewildered by it, and buyers demanding ‘consistency and continuity’ are very frustrated – but rather a skilful manoeuvre orchestrated by the industry itself to prolong its own tenure within its gilded walls, at the expense of shareholders and the public (between the new creative director’s arrival, settling in, and the reshuffling or adaptation of the team, the first proper collection doesn’t arrive until a year later – and then you’d want to give them at least another year to refine it; not everyone has the eye of Matthieu Blazy, who made Chanel desirable again at his very first show).

"I would like to express my sincerest thanks to Anthony for his ten years of dedication to the fashion house. During his tenure, he has steered Saint Laurent along a path of extraordinary growth, helping to establish it at the very highest levels in terms of desirability and image, and achieving work of the utmost significance both creatively and in terms of its cultural impact,” said Cédric Charbit, CEO of Saint Laurent, at the end of the announcement.

That the problem at Saint Laurent is not Vaccarello – despite his ten years as creative director, which in the current climate would be fatal for anyone – but rather a series of highly questionable commercial decisions, from which it is difficult to backtrack and which have led to a direct clash between the creative director and the fashion house’s top management for over a year, to the extent that his departure was already considered a certainty back in March (and, let us say, Vaccarello, going to ask for help from the former CEO Francesca Bellettini – who wanted Charbit in that role – was not a brilliant move), is demonstrated by the fact that the fashion show and the collection just presented in Paris are unanimously regarded by all international observers – including the public, who will not be able to afford his snake-heeled shoes and golden jackets – as the best of the season, and that Vaccarello has been named Designer of the Year by the CFDA – the US equivalent of the Italian Chamber of Fashion.

The new season of ‘Terror’ has, moreover, only just begun. Pierpaolo Piccioli is preparing to leave, after just over a year at the helm of Balenciaga, where he had been brought in to undertake a certain repositioning of the couture house following the Demna era, only to find himself designing streetwear; and rumours are once again swirling around Demna himself, whose latest show for Gucci, despite the immense and highly commercial collection – which Kering CEO Luca De Meo praised highly – does not seem to have made much of an impression on fashion enthusiasts, who instead rushed to clear the shelves at Zara as soon as the John Galliano capsule collection appeared, to the extent that almost everyone was sporting a piece from it at the Paris fashion shows.

The problem with today’s fashion industry, as buyers and end customers say, is not even – or at least not solely – the price, which has certainly excluded the middle class from accessing it and is also unnerving those who can afford to spend three thousand euros on a pair of shoes but no longer intend to be taken for a ride: it is, in fact, consistency and reliability. In the past, anyone seeking the Armani style knew where to go to buy it, and the same was true for Valentino, Prada, Saint Laurent and Dior; it is no coincidence that, apart from Raf Simons’s very brief stint, the creative directorships at the LVMH fashion houses have been very long-lasting. Constant changes create disorientation, confusion, recriminations and irony (for how many months did we read ‘Valentucci’ on social media in relation to the collections by Alessandro Michele, formerly of Gucci, for Valentino?) and, deep down, a profound unease at a gradual loss of identity that leaves a brand feeling increasingly hollow, tired and less appealing.

Some have sold up, others have stepped down from leadership roles, whilst others have set up foundations, written books, opened restaurants and forged collaborations. Their second act has become a laboratory. Take Frida Giannini, for example. When we met her in Palmarola, Alda Fendi’s island (who was the first to hire her, along with her sisters), there were just a few weeks to go before the outbreak of her controversy with the Sabaudia local council over the state of the area and her decision to return the title of ambassador for the town in Lazio, which she had received in 2019. After nine years as creative director at Gucci, her work has gradually shifted towards consultancy (for Liberty London, amongst others), collaborations and personal projects. Fashion remains an integral part of her outlook on life, whilst her time is now divided amongst interests that predated her major responsibilities at the fashion house, such as music. Her collection of 8,000 vinyl records, for instance, has been turned into a book, which she discussed with Il Foglio della Moda a few years ago: A Journey Into the Style and Music of My Icons Since 1969 – The Year of the Big Bang, published by Rizzoli New York. Her life also includes Bixio, the café-bistrot she opened in Monteverde, the Roman neighbourhood where she was born. The venue occupies the premises of the historic Bar Faustini and stems from a desire to restore a place of memory to everyday life. She oversaw its identity and interior design alongside chef Dario Pompei: the space retains the feel of an old neighbourhood bar whilst updating it through lighting, furnishings, materials and details, which Giannini selects with a designer’s precision, whilst the menu spans the entire day, from breakfast to Roman and Mediterranean dishes, to the so-called ‘tegamini’ and ‘scarpette’ served with homemade bread, including the ‘ciambellone’. “Ours,” she points out, “is strictly homemade”. She, who for years worked on handbags, jewellery, dresses and accessories, now works on a room, a light, a plate, a cup, and the way a person enters and sits down. The scale is different, but the attention to detail is the same. Then there is Donatella Versace, who at the latest Milan fashion shows has become something of a cross-cutting presence in the fashion system. Seated in the front rows, invited by various fashion houses, she was photographed, greeted, embraced and drawn into conversations and private parties. At Gucci she was laughing with the model Mariacarla Boscono; during Vogue World she stood alongside Demna and Pierpaolo Piccioli; then came other evenings, other tables, other brands. Her presence seemed to signal the next phase following the golden era when her surname had been synonymous with a single house – a transition that was both historic and personal. Versace now belongs to the Prada Group, which completed its acquisition in 2025, announcing a few months later the appointment of Pieter Mulier as the new Chief Creative Officer. A few days ago, having brought her twenty-seven-year creative tenure to a close, Donatella Versace made her return to creative work with the Revolve Group: a new fashion and beauty project aimed primarily at a young audience. She will be Chief Creative Officer of the new brand, whose name and product details are still under wraps. The launch will begin in the United States and other international markets, with a clear focus on the younger generations. She is a different Donatella from the one we remember from the campaigns of the 1990s and 2000s, yet immediately recognisable: more active on social media, freer to speak directly to the public, with a large following on Instagram and TikTok, and someone who continues to use words such as ‘fearless’ and ‘inclusive’ or expressions such as ‘alive in the world’. Her relationship with the LGBTQI+ community remains a key part of her public identity, and her ability to transform an attitude into an image, an image into a symbol, and a symbol into a connection with the public continues to be one of her most striking characteristics. Her new project with Revolve has emerged precisely within this new ecosystem, and the traditional fashion house – with its calendar, its collections and its heritage – now seems to belong to a different structure altogether. Donatella can now focus on Donatella the person; she has her place secured not only at dinner (the quote is from The Devil Wears Prada, I know), but in her own language and with an audience she knows primarily through the screen. The interesting question concerns how that personality will be translated into a new brand: how much of her past will be carried over and how much will be left out. A bit like Marc Jacobs did with the company that changed hands – the name has remained, the designer continues to create, and he – Jacobs – can afford to be simultaneously the creator, the personality, the collector, the observer and the star of his own social media, with or without false nails. **Fashion, at this stage in their lives, seems to have broadened its horizons.** The clothes remain, of course, as do the shop, the fashion show, the logo and the collection, but around them have emerged film, books, cuisine, awards, foundations, collaborations and social media. The fashion designer is no longer merely the person who presents a collection (many) times a year but has become a figure capable of generating attention in many different forms. Perhaps this is the true continuity between different generations of creatives: the ability to change one’s craft before the craft changes them. Jacobs achieves this through a new corporate phase and an increasingly free-spirited personal creativity. Von Fürstenberg through a platform dedicated to women, with books and a still very active intellectual life; Giannini through music, writing, consultancy and a Roman bistro; and Donatella through a brand that has yet to be named (most likely her own), but which is born under the banner of her presence. While fashion has made them famous, the challenge—and indeed the privilege—will be to determine how to leverage that fame when the calendar is no longer enough. Fashion can wait for the next show; what matters to them is not remaining faithful to their own legend, but continuing to surprise it.

Even the red carpet, now regarded as an autonomous system of communication, owes much to this concept. The famous black ensemble worn by Cher at the 1986 Oscars, with her midriff exposed and an enormous feathered headdress, did not seek to conform discreetly to the ceremony’s conventions. It transformed her entrance into a theatrical performance and the awards ceremony into a visual statement. The dress no longer merely accompanied the event: it became an event in its own right. Much of contemporary formal wear, designed to generate photographs, commentary and immediate media coverage, stems from this insight. In cinema, Mackie’s influence appears less literal, but no less significant. His work has demonstrated how costume can reconcile historical reconstruction with the performer’s contemporary presence. In the films for which he received three Oscar nominations — "Lady Sings the Blues", "Funny Lady" and "Pennies from Heaven" — the era is not treated as a repertoire to be passively copied. It is filtered through the memory of cinema, the personalities of the actors and the narrative function of each costume. Documentation becomes living material, not an illustrative constraint. In "Lady Sings the Blues", co-designed with Ray Aghayan, Diana Ross’s wardrobe evokes Billie Holiday whilst simultaneously reinforcing the performer’s iconic presence. In "Funny Lady", the costume operates on the boundary between life and the stage; in "Pennies from Heaven", the 1930s are rendered through the artificial filter of the musical. Historical accuracy does not lie in replication, but in the ability to render a world credible through selection and interpretation. Mackie introduced the silhouette into cinema as a narrative device: colour, proportion and movement can convey psychological development with the precision of dialogue. This lesson is evident in subsequent musical and biographical films, where costume must also explain how a celebrity has constructed their public image.

In theatre, Mackie’s influence is even more direct. The stage demands that costumes be visible from a distance, respond to light and complement the performers’ movements. Mackie has demonstrated that exuberance can be rigorous: an oversized silhouette, a mass of feathers or sparkling embroidery only work when proportions, weight and balance are perfectly controlled. The Tony Award she received in 2019 for The Cher Show cemented the theatrical scope of her artistic language. By recreating now-iconic costumes for new performers and rapid costume changes, Mackie did not produce museum-piece replicas: she recreated their effect within a new dramatic context. Her archive became a narrative, and the costume designer both the creator and performer of her own work. Her influence on theatre also extends to irony. In the famous tent-dress created for "Went with the Wind!", the parody of "Gone with the Wind" starring Carol Burnett, the costume delivers the punchline even before the actress speaks. The green curtain, with the pole still resting on her shoulders, simultaneously conveys the character’s pretentious elegance, her poverty and the dismantling of Hollywood melodrama. That costume, now housed at the Smithsonian Institute, exemplifies how a dress can function as dramatic writing. The humour does not arise from a slapdash object, but from the absolute seriousness with which the absurd is constructed.

In the world of events and live entertainment, Mackie’s influence is perhaps even more pervasive. The contemporary pop concert is organised as a sequence of appearances: rapid changes, instantly recognisable silhouettes, images destined to live on not only before the live audience, but in photographs, videos and their global circulation. Mackie was already working according to this logic at a time when concert costumes were not yet perceived as a complex narrative system. For Cher, Diana Ross, Tina Turner, Elton John and other major figures, he did not simply create eye-catching outfits, but instruments built around their distinct performative energies. Mackie understood that the costume for a major event must operate simultaneously on different scales. It must work for the spectator in the distance, for the camera, for close-ups and for the photographs that will continue to circulate once the performance has ended. A fringe extends the gesture; a crystal catches the light; a feather alters the volume; a colour separates the body from the space. Nothing is purely decorative. Every element contributes to the image’s legibility and its ability to leave a lasting impression. This concept has influenced concerts, ceremonies, Las Vegas, variety shows and major international spectacles, making the wardrobe part of the staging, on a par with the sets, lighting and choreography. Its legacy also extends into queer culture and drag art, which have recognised in it a celebration of artifice, metamorphosis and the right to be seen.

The coherence of his work lies in having transformed the garment into a form of total communication. In fashion, he made spectacle the driving force behind trends; in cinema, he reconciled narrative with star power; in theatre, he turned costume into a form of dramaturgy; in events, he established the appearance as an integral part of the direction. His legacy is not a repertoire of rhinestones and feathers, but a method founded on an understanding of the body, light and distance. Bob Mackie taught us that the spectacular is not the same as the flashy, but arises when technique, character and imagination become inseparable. A successful costume lives on in the gesture, transcends the screen and outlives the event. It is in transforming the garment into an image, and the image into memory, that his most enduring influence lies.

* The author is a costume designer and costume historian, an Oscar nominee for Pinocchio and Cyrano, and the winner of six David di Donatello awards, four Nastri d’Argento and four Ciak d’Oro awards. He owns the most important collection of period costumes in Europe (almost seven thousand garments dating from the 17th century to the 1980s, including pieces by Worth, Doucet, Chanel and Babani, as well as Ventura, Montorsi, Valentino and Albini), and curator of the exhibition “Regine di scena” (Queens of the Stage), currently on display at the Reggia di Venaria, he is currently finalising filming for the series on the Gucci family, directed by Gabriele Muccino and produced by Sky Studios and Lucky Red, based on Allegra Gucci’s book “Fine dei giochi: luci e ombre sulla mia famiglia” (Edizioni Piemme) 

The list would obviously include Moschino (the original one, of course, that is, Franco, although his successor Rossella Jardini has also produced some memorable invitations over the years), then Karl Lagerfeld (oh, those designs), Alessandro Michele during his time at Gucci (we still have the mask from the 2019–2020 show, when he rather futilely attempted to instil in the American audience – the Asians understood it perfectly well – the Latin concept of equating the mask with the person), and also Antonio Marras with his painted cut-out dioramas, Prada with its surprise boxes, Valentino during the Piccioli era with its origami and little chests brimming with books you simply must read, Daniel Roseberry at Schiaparelli with his sculptural jewellery tied to little notes – and, in short, all those expressions of creativity that now fill entire cellars and which we all struggle to part with, beautiful as they are and who knows what the future may hold.

Amongst these eclectic collections awaiting a fitting archive, the designer from the famous Antwerp group – the ‘Antwerp Six’, who graduated in 1981 and include Dries van Noten, Dirk Van Saene, Walter Van Beirendonck, Dirk Bikkembergs and Marina Yee – has always been a part of this movement with her statement T-shirts and slogans.

Before her, no one had expressed such interesting thoughts about that small piece of cotton jersey.

With this book, “Print”, recently published by Hannibal Editions – sumptuously bound in fabric and featuring a design based on contrasting shades of black and white, her favourite colours – the designer, who sold her brand six years ago to fashion entrepreneur Claudio Antonioli, celebrates the somewhat lost art of the physical invitation, now largely replaced by QR codes and WhatsApp, with a selection of stark and powerful images (we decline to label them ‘iconic’ – which would be the perfect adjective, but as we have been writing for years, the term has been overused) chosen by her son, Victor Robyn, who, as a very young child, was the subject of one of these marvellous objects, alongside a quotation from the famous ‘lettre du voyant’ sent by Arthur Rimbaud to Paul Demeny in 1871: “Je est un autre”. There is also a tank top printed with “holy”, a reference to Allen Ginsberg’s poem “Footnote to Howl”, which we would later rediscover, reinterpreted, at a fashion show featuring emerging talents in Tel Aviv.

And there she is too, so young, so intense, amongst the photos and the many fragments of a life lived with artistic intelligence.

A new space bearing his name has recently opened at the Palais Royal. The concept was developed by the brand’s creative director, Stefano Gallici.

Given that the last four management teams to run the brand since the founding family’s initial sale in 2008 have all been foreign – including, if one wishes to count it, that of Silvio Scaglia’s ex-wife, Julia Haart of ‘The Unorthodox Life’ – a name the approximately two hundred employees who have survived fifteen years of upheaval do not even wish to hear mentioned – it is interesting that the Ministry of Economic Development (MIMIT) has decided to entrust this latest jewel of Italy’s prestigious lingerie industry to the Kern family. Despite its industrial focus, the brand is comparable to the Florentine one represented by Caponi, rather than to Sandro Veronesi, founder of the Intimissimi group, whose expertise in lingerie is certainly beyond question.

And indeed, ‘passion’ is the noun that comes up most often in the brief chat we have with the two Kerns, she wearing a La Perla top under her jacket, on a late September evening in the garden of the Gallerie d’Italia, following the launch of the first collection that blends historical motifs, designs and techniques (who still uses soutache—the hallmark of military uniforms—in lingerie, or Connelly embroidery?) with new approaches. Both Kerns speak of “love for such an important history”, she specifically of “a much-loved collection of garments”, and both of the affection they feel for Alberto Masotti, son of the founder Ada – a would-be doctor and an excellent entrepreneur until, unfortunately, in the late 1990s he succumbed to the family’s delusions of grandeur; ill-advised, he agreed to launch a fashion line, and that was the beginning of the end.

Not once, whilst we are speaking, do the Kerns mention a development plan or a figure: this is a very good sign. The market learnt about a year ago that La Perla’s manufacturing arm, which has been in administration since 2024, was sold for 30 million euros – a fraction of the turnover it generated at the start of this century. But from the words of the new CEO, Alessio Vannetti – who has a long professional history in marketing and brand management at companies such as Zegna, Gucci and Valentino – it is clear that the aim is not to inflate the figures, despite the fact that market demand, following three years of stagnation, is so high that there are plans to open, in 2027 – that is, in a few months’ time – an academy to train new cutters and embroiderers.

Many have been hired in recent years by names such as Scervino and Dolce&Gabbana; certain skills are still worth their weight in gold. “Over the past three years,” says Vannetti, “the brand’s recognition has remained intact and its standing in the luxury sector remains unrivalled in the category. The only real risk, for me, wasn’t whether we would return: it was how. We are an indelible memory for our long-standing customers and an object of desire for those who are just discovering us.” This momentum was further fueled by the release of the trailer for season 2 of The Gentleman and Rosalía’s Berghain video, whose stylist had snapped up La Perla garments before the last boutiques in the US were closed.

“The relaunch I’m leading,” Vannetti explains, “is based on craftsmanship and skilled workers, and our factory-atelier in Bologna is the perfect intersection between haute couture and ready-to-wear. And it is precisely here, as I look back on this history, that I wanted to be honest about what hadn’t worked in the past. For years, we tried to adapt the Bologna factory-atelier to a business model that was unsustainable. Our model has therefore returned to what it was at the very beginning: first we make the product, then we sell it. Not the other way round. Drawing up an ambitious business plan is easy, because the product is in demand and there is a market for it; but doing so at the expense of the company’s profitability and quality is exactly the opposite of Ada Masotti’s founding motto: ‘never compromise on quality and innovation’. All licences have been reacquired, along with secondary brands such as Malizia and the men’s line ‘Grigio Perla’, which ended up as cheap, mass-market underwear, lacking in both style and craftsmanship. ‘The priority is us: La Perla’.

Fabiana Giacomotti, who has also been editor of Foglio Moda since 2021, constructs a narrative based on the heritage of the Luce Archive, whilst resisting the temptation to adopt a didactic chronological approach. Fashion is in constant dialogue with cinema, industry, journalism, urban planning, art, and the social metamorphosis of a country discovering its economic boom and inventing the ‘Made in Italy’ brand. Rome is not merely the backdrop; it is the principal supporting character. This curatorial clarity is matched by an imaginative exhibition design. The design of the exhibition spaces is entrusted to Dario Dalla Lana, who eschews spectacular effects in favour of transforming these industrial heritage spaces into a sequence of environments to be walked through, rather than merely observed. Corridors lined with photographs, rooms evoking fashion studios, large backlit images, lightweight display cases and graphic walls. Every design choice serves the narrative without overshadowing it. Moving images, rear-projections and the editing of film footage create a cinematic rhythm that guides the visitor. A compelling example of how exhibition architecture can interpret a curatorial project rather than merely housing it. The garments coexist in relation to the photographs that made them iconic, reminding us that the success of Italian fashion also stems from its ability to be photographed, filmed and disseminated. There is no separation here between the history of costume and the history of the media; one has always fuelled the other. It is no coincidence that Palma Bucarelli features in the exhibition.

The long-standing director of the National Gallery of Modern Art is portrayed as an intellectual capable of viewing elegance as part of visual culture rather than merely its adornment, demonstrating that in Rome during those years, fashion did not originate solely in tailors’ workshops or at Cinecittà, but also in museums. Fashion does not appear as a world separate from art, but shares the same cultural system, audience and language (this remains true today, though for different reasons). Visitors leave the exhibition with an unusual sensation. Rather than having visited a fashion exhibition, they have the impression of having journeyed through a cultural era that remains so very much alive in our collective imagination. The garments reflect the taste that was taking hold as it spread, but above all they convey an idea of modernity, of industry and of collective aspiration. This is perhaps the greatest achievement of ‘Moda in Luce’: to demonstrate that a fashion exhibition can speak, even before it speaks of elegance and style, of society.

A satirical anecdote invented by Brecht is particularly telling in this regard. A gardener was asked to trim a plant into a spherical shape. The gardener worked meticulously on it for a whole day, pruning the branches first on one side and then on the other. In the end, the spherical shape was achieved, and it was very small. But instead of being praised for that perfection, the gardener was told off: ‘Well, that’s the sphere. But where’s the plant?’

Destructiveness arising from formal, that is, aesthetic, excess has dominated the arts for over a century, featuring hundreds of artists: from Mondrian to Giacometti, from Klee to Warhol, from Fontana to Dubuffet and Rothko.

Art aside, the world of fashion has followed both the path of rigour and the path of embellishment. Recently, I happened to watch a fashion show on television for a few minutes, and the thing that surprised me most – quite apart from the clothes – was the models’ bodies and their unvarying way of walking, or rather striding, nobly and solemnly, like mechanical statues.

In recent years, if not decades, the conversation has revolved almost entirely around women and their bodies, female identity and the rights that go with it. Yet it seems that in the worlds of fashion designers, the fashion industry and catwalk shows, nothing has changed. Fashion designers manipulate models in the same way that film directors tyrannically impose identities and styles on actresses. Screen stars, however, manage over time to carve out some freedom. The models, on the other hand—all strictly stick-thin and stiff as sticks—still appear imprisoned within their imposed form, characterised above all by the way they take their steps. Who doesn’t recognise them? One foot unfailingly in front of the other, as if their steps were following an invisible yet relentless straight line. Observers have had enough of that particular way of walking imposed on models. What human being moves like that? Should women appear like this to other women? Bodies all the same? Movements all the same? Of course, if the models’ bodies were all more or less different, as they are in nature, then even their gait might display its own natural, physical ease. No, physical nature and natural movement are forbidden on the catwalk. But it’s not clear why. Must they appear as obedient as soldiers? Do they create a form so that human reality disappears? Fashion designers want this, and they’re not ashamed of it.

Today, however, it is fragmentation that dominates fashion, in both forms and materials. Let us therefore forget the visual clarity of the 1960s, the ‘democratic’ prevalence of synthetic fabrics, affordable to all budgets, the optical and psychedelic prints, through which every designer nonetheless had their own recognisable style, to the extent of defining a genre – as with Emilio Pucci, for example – and also the velvets, smooth or ribbed, and the Paisley patterns of the 1970s, the postmodernist micro-geometrics and the lamé of the 1980s, and finally the first technical fabrics derived from activewear, that is, sports-meets-urban styles.

These, and many other images, tell the story of eras that can be identified through the clothing worn, whilst for far too long now we have been immersed in limited, short-lived micro-trends which, by distancing themselves from one another, never become a defining feature of the contemporary era. Fabric manufacturers are well aware of this fragmentation – and to some extent suffer from it – to the extent that, at the presentation of new collections to clients or at trade fairs, it is evident that technical resources and in-house know-how are often not sufficiently utilised, in an attempt to satisfy a clientele that is as vast as it is indecisive. Meanwhile, designers who need to differentiate themselves as much as possible paradoxically find their inspiration primarily in the weaving mills’ corporate archives – a valuable technical heritage that it is a shame to reduce to yet another reinterpretation, to minimal variations in the mix of fibres dictated more by economic considerations than by the fabric’s performance, and to the endless colour variations trivialised by AI, starting from an original that is unattainable in terms of colour combinations.

And yet, from a technical point of view, the conditions for inventing a material that embodies a vision are all there – far more so than when Cristóbal Balenciaga decided to treat himself to a fabric all of his own, gazar – and not merely in the context of recycling and sustainability, which should be preconditions for production rather than merely visual cues. Craft techniques reproduced or supported by industrial processes; colourings that can only be stabilised with the aid of technology (I reluctantly had to forego the extreme craftsmanship of a historic silk from Maison Bucol, dyed and aged underground in a tuber plantation, which inevitably ran); Looms that allow digital printing on both sides of the fabric simultaneously, eliminating the unsightly white reverse side and making it possible to create combinations without worrying about minimum production runs. In general, while experimentation and innovation are present, they remain sporadic; they represent a micro-theme – once again fragmentary – on the fringes of collections that are heavily narrative, conceptual or dense with references, quotations and superstructures (accessories, finishes), in which the textile material is lost from view and becomes a blank canvas to be covered.

 Every now and then there is a flash in the pan (the ‘return’ of denim, velvet…), of fleeting commercial longevity and little visual impact amidst the jumble of the heterogeneous. Perhaps it is a sign of the times; we are faced with literally hundreds of styles and, as designers, millions of sources of inspiration: distilling these into a cohesive whole by taking a decisive direction, starting with the choice of materials, is a task that requires courage (a drop in sales is always lurking for a thousand other reasons), but the alternative is not total creative freedom so much as confusion.

Whilst, up until the 1990s, advertising campaigns by fashion houses and designers often featured the names of the collection’s partner textile manufacturers at the bottom of the page, and legendary designers such as Ossie Clark linked their identity to the prints created by his wife, Celia Birtwell, without losing an ounce of their creative relevance, we could now give space to the technical skill and all too often unrecognised creativity of those who first bring the fabric to life. 

Italian manufacturers and producers are a strategic asset to the fashion industry that we are not making full use of – beyond the salvific archives – with the risk that we may soon come to regret the loss of expertise and quality that have vanished amid standardisation and the pursuit of an illusory commercial competitiveness. 

For Agostino Apolito, general manager of Assomac – the national association representing Italian manufacturers of technology for footwear, leather goods and tanning – this is the real lesson to be learnt from the affair. ‘There is no general technological gap between us and China.’ Italy, he explains, possesses ‘world-class’ expertise in injection moulding and stamping, in the processing of polyurethane and thermoplastics, in mould design, in automation and robotics, as well as in materials chemistry. Why, then, did Gucci look to China? ‘Evidently, it identified a technological partner particularly well-suited to that product.’ The difference, according to Apolito, does not necessarily lie in the individual technology, but in the way in which the various areas of expertise are applied and integrated. “The model for applying know-how is completely different.” The issue, therefore, is not merely a matter of possessing individual areas of expertise, but of being able to bring them together and make them work in unison on the same product. “This is probably the crux of the matter,” emphasises Apolito. ‘China has developed a very strong capacity to integrate materials, technology, research, design and production within the same industrial system.’ This is an advantage that primarily concerns the speed with which an idea can become a product. The trainer is the most obvious example of this transformation. It is not merely a sports shoe, but a technological product in which materials, design, sole structure, moulding, automation and digital control must all be developed together. “These are processes that we, too, are familiar with and know how to manage.” The difference, however, lies in the ability to ensure these areas of expertise interact effectively within the same development process. In China, Apolito emphasises, research, materials, machinery and production are much more closely integrated, and this integration has been consolidated thanks to the presence of major manufacturers, sports brands and a huge domestic market. There are companies capable of producing 15, 18 or 20 million pairs a year. “We do not have that kind of production capacity, and that is not necessarily the model we should be pursuing,” Apolito points out. But that scale has made it possible to experiment with materials and processes on a large scale and to build highly integrated supply chains. “We have all the pieces of the jigsaw. The challenge is to put them back together, creating a complete picture.” This means building the ecosystem: connecting those who manufacture machinery, those who develop materials, those who build moulds, those working on automation and robotics, and those who understand the production process. And ensuring they engage with the brand right from the design stage. Today, Apolito admits, if Gucci were to ask us to bring production of the same trainer back to Italy whilst maintaining the technical specifications, volumes and lead times, “I’d say no – at least not with the speed at which it would probably need to be done. We’d have to work on it.” But it is precisely on speed that action can be taken: “The facilities exist, the companies exist and, above all, the technologies exist.” The aim is not to turn our production system into a ‘mini-China’. ‘We mustn’t produce like China. We must produce better.’ The competitive arena lies elsewhere: flexibility, small batches, customisation, new materials, traceability and energy efficiency. This is what Apolito calls ‘technological tailor-made’: machines and processes adapted to the needs of the designer and the brand. A platform is also needed. This is where Assomac comes in with its Simac Tanning Tech trade fair, where the next step will be to showcase not just individual machines, but integrated solutions. “We must present more and more integrated solutions, in which technology, materials and the production process are designed together.” The project, which is already underway, also includes trainers, but it is applicable to the wider footwear sector. ‘As a national association of technology manufacturers, we must first and foremost ensure that this know-how comes together.’ The Gucci case could serve as a catalyst. ‘We must, once and for all, succeed in bringing all this expertise round the same table and be able to tell the brands: you don’t necessarily have to look far afield, because what you’re looking for is already right here.’ The question raised by the Gucci sneaker is not merely why the Kering brand produced that model in China. It is, above all: «When a designer – whether Italian or international – envisions the next technologically advanced sneaker, where will they go to develop it?»

This interview, which has been ongoing for some time—to the extent that I have even had the opportunity to verify, at the latest Milan fashion shows, just how accurate Campara’s theories are on many topics, for example on the commercial and social value of nostalgia and the reconciliation between generations through music and cinema – which has, in fact, become the theme of discussion in this issue – and so thank you so much, because without his prompting I would have viewed certain fashion shows in a different light. It came about during the ‘Land of Plenty’-style celebration organised by the Cerea family in mid-July to mark the sixtieth anniversary of the family business, ‘Da Vittorio’ at the Cantalupa estate, just outside Bergamo: among the thousands of guests—so many, in fact, that I spotted someone I would have been delighted to meet just three days later, in the photos from the evening—at one point Campara appeared from down a path, wearing a tracksuit and, of course, trainers with the little star.

Three days later, we were sitting at our respective computers: the CEO of the sneaker brand with the star – now a ‘love brand’ recognised on a par with Nutella – with the Golden Goose people panel behind him, a photographic symbol of that ‘sharing of projects’ which has also led to joint or, indeed, community-based decisions (‘no named architect; the interiors are the work of the creative department”) for the Milanese spaces opened last year on Via Ercole Marelli, between Prada and Moncler. ‘The universe of Golden Goose values’ called for the inclusion of a golden wall evoking Kyoto’s Golden Temple, a pool table, a floor studded with 6,300 tiny Carrara marble stars paying homage to the technique of Venetian terrazzo and the mosaics of the Olivetti shops in Venice, counters fashioned from the shelving of the first shop, as well as a faithful reproduction of the Madonnina from Milan Cathedral, mounted on a column in a prominent corner of the courtyard. Campara, a former AGESCI scout who considers it ‘a great blessing to have experienced the spiritual side of scouting, as well as its practical aspects and communion with nature’, is well on his way to becoming a guru in the sector. He believes that, in his case, the acronym ‘CEO’ stands for ‘Chief Emotional Officer’, suggesting, in short, that in the company’s business, thethe bottom line comes after many other values – which is a wonderful philosophy and a winning strategy, provided we do not forget that over the last fifteen years, Golden Goose has also made giant strides through a meticulously planned strategy of transfers from one fund to another (the latest transfer is scheduled for December 2025), which Campara has steered with the same skill he probably displayed as a young boy when jumping over logs.

No one remembers Golden Goose before him; he joined the company in 2013 as chief commercial officer following its acquisition by Style Capital, alongside Roberta Benaglia (who, a few days ago, appointed Autry’s second-in-command). And yet, the company that is now held up as a model of ‘Made in Italy’ integration had been founded over a decade before his appointment in Marghera, in the classic ‘garage-office’ set-up, by Alessandro Gallo and Francesca Rinaldo, The pair, small business owners from the Veneto region with a brilliant idea and a clear flair for naming—because one must admit that ‘L’Oca d’Oro’ is not just a beautiful Russian fairy tale, but also a splendid name for a boho-chic luxury clothing line—originally did not produce trainers at all, but upcycled garments, that is, items created by reworking vintage clothing. In 2004, cowboy-style boots arrived on the scene, followed three years later by distressed-look trainers – a brilliant idea borrowed from the US. But the business was growing too slowly; 30 million in this sector is a drop in the ocean in a market that was becoming increasingly competitive. And so, along came Style Capital, which acquired a majority stake in 2013, bringing structure, financial leverage and a highly ambitious manager to a company that was still family-run. Two years later, having multiplied the company’s value with the opening of its first flagship stores, the majority stake passed to a group of investors linked to Ergon Capital. In February 2017, Marco De Benedetti arrived with Carlyle, which acquired all the shares, before handing control to Permira in February 2020. The latest change of ownership took place in December 2025 and was finalised last June, by which time there were almost two hundred shops worldwide, spread across twenty-three countries in Asia, Europe, the Middle East and the Americas, and the company had two production centres: one in Casarano, in the province of Lecce – a hub for trainers – and the other in Sirio, near Caserta: the majority stake was sold for approximately 2.5 billion euros to HongShan Capital Group (HSG), a Chinese venture capital and private equity firm, whilst Temasek and its subsidiary, True Light Capital, each acquired a minority stake. Turnover reached 734 million euros in the 2025 financial year, and the current year is once again seeing double-digit growth. Campara, a former model and Bocconi graduate who began his career at McQueen and Giorgio Armani, has reinvested at every change of ownership; he is not just the manager of the moment – he has also become a wealthy man. Last summer, the boutique on Via Camerelle was virtually the only one constantly crowded with customers who were ‘personalising’ their trainers around a workbench. The general in the particular, the community in individualism, the customer who pays to work alongside one of the brand’s creatives, feeling part of a project. As they would say in France, y a du génie en cela.

Campara smiles. “The idea of community is as old as humanity itself, but although it has faded over the millennia – losing, at least in the West, its political and religious inspiration – its basic premise, which is the sharing of values, has remained intact. Communities evolve, but their dynamics do not change; therefore, the question to ask today is what values unite people. There is an exogenous one, represented by the failures of other unifying forces, such as politics and religion – and here,” he points out, “we could open another chapter, because uprooting two thousand years of Christianity in the name of a vague secularism was a choice made by a few, the effects of which we see today in this society built on rights rather than duties. Then there is an endogenous value, inherent to humanity itself, which is the need to draw closer to a higher dimension.” Campara believes that the line between a value and spirituality is very fine, and that addressing these needs is the true and ultimate reason for the brand’s success. “Golden stems from a very simple idea: we are imperfect beings, who spend our lives trying to improve ourselves in a society that judges us by our performance and the number of ‘likes’ we receive, thereby generating anxiety.” The brand’s star – incomplete, broken – is therefore “a symbol of each of our lives: a simple shape whose empathetic significance lies in its imperfection. In a society where you feel nothing but the pressure of judgement, being able to offer a tool that conveys positivity and love strikes me as a beautiful message”.

When we began this conversation months ago at a conference in Milan, Campara had just told a bewildered and uncertain audience of CEOs that ‘communities are not all the same’ and that simply forming a group or creating one is not enough to gain recognition, whether intangible or financial. He reiterates this now: “Whereas once the need was to secure the approval of a social enclave – and this approval was gained through the display of certain uniforms, such as the ‘paninaro’, the punk or the hippie, whom fashion had to supply with new products – with the advent of social media, this dynamic has fragmented and the relationship between producers and consumers has become direct. But the even more interesting aspect,” he says, “is the evolution of the decision-making process: until now, right up to our time, the consumer could only choose but never decide.” Golden Goose, he points out, “has changed things”.

To tell the truth, it hasn’t always been this way: up until the Second World War, tailors, weavers, customers and often milliners collaborated on the creation of every single garment. Ready-to-wear clothing was a second choice. Over the past century, the process has accelerated and become distorted. Moreover, a range of induced demands and needs has constantly altered our relationship with our bodies—and, consequently, with clothing.

“The greatest thing missing in today’s world is happiness. We are inundated with negative news; we are judged everywhere – especially on social media – on our physical appearance, our abilities and our performance: we are never good enough. Granted, we sell trainers and clothing, but we try to create fashion with people, not just for them, encouraging those who enter our shops to become ‘consumer-creators’ of their own consumption. Because that’s how it’s been on social media for years.”

The logic behind the large workstations where people design their own trainers, in short, arose from observing the more or less professional content created by millions of people. “I said to myself: if they’re creating their own content today, one day they’ll want to make their own products.”