“I want to show what I love, what I really love.” So declared Maria Grazia Chiuri before she sent out a heart-felt, nearly all-white celebration of Rome, her birthplace. The women in the audience had been asked to dress in white, and gathered to watch in the spectacular formal gardens of the Villa Albani Torlonia. We were anticipating a crescendo, a grand finale of a show from the homecoming queen of feminist standard-bearing.
In fact, what we got from Chiuri was a resort show with a couture collection mixed in with it, for the most part wispily romantic and fragile-seeming. Emphasis on the ‘seeming,’ that is. To the designer, it was an enactment shot through with autobiographical meaning, cultural nuance—a bit of nonsense frivolity—and historical symbolism. And—she was laughing about this in the tented backstage area beforehand—it was deliberately intended to confuse. La Bella Confusione, a novel set in 1960s Rome was one starting point out of the many she infused into this show and its production. “A beautiful confusion,” she chuckled.
Well, you don’t need to spend half a day in Rome to realise how densely, layered and criss-crossed it is with archaeology and history. Chuiri said, in part, that she was drawing attention to the role her city has played in fashion—wrapped up as it is in the Dolce Vita of the fifties, the glamorous heyday of the Cinecittá movie industry, and the glory of Valentino and Fendi, both of whom she worked for. On top of that, she was celebrating the life of the heiress, hostess and patron of the avant-garde arts, Mimi Pecci-Blunt. (Chiuri and her daughter Rachele have just restored her theatre, Teatro di Cometa.)
You can see why Chiuri might identify with Mimi. In many ways, over nine years at Dior, she has also been a relentless supporter and ally of women artists, artisans, and performers. On this night, she had local dancers—dressed in white by the Roman movie costumers Toricelli—performing a Commedia dell’Arte-cum-contemporary ballet around the gardens. This, as a reference to Mimi’s “Bal Blanc,” which took place in 1930 in Paris. All guests wore white and were photographed by Man Ray while they posed surreally as historical figures.
Which was why we began by looking at four long, slim, beautifully tailored double-faced cashmere ensembles—one of them a trouser suit and tailcoat. “These are haute couture,” she said. “You can only make these by hand. Some of the simplest things are the most difficult to make.” This ideal, minimalist yet sumptuous simplicity was followed by many variations on the theme of the long, slim, semi-sheer dress. The lace effects were almost countless—3D florals, rivulets of ruffles, leafy cut-outs, wavy art deco frills, gilded latticework covered with silken fringe—and more, and more. Underwear visible, shoes flat.
This, surely, was Chiuri staking claim to the look she has coined at Dior; her contribution over nearly a decade to the history of the house. But within this, there was yet more to be drawn out. One dress in particular, number 63, used an almost transparent curly ruffled technique that looked like a salute to her old employer Valentino Garavani—and his breakthrough White Collection from 1968.
And then, there was her Vatican Conclave moment. It came very obviously in a short, black, red-buttoned cardinal’s coat; and maybe not so obviously, but definitely when you look twice—in the vestment-like white shirts with deep lace hems. As it happens, Chiuri added, her heroine Mimi had a Pope as an uncle. More strange, blurry connections.
But she had a more serious observation to make about the significance of Mimi’s life. “She was working during World War II. It was a terrible moment, and she was obsessed—in any case—[with] organising concerts, performances within theatre, exhibitions for art. Monsieur Dior had a gallery in Paris during that time, too,” she added. “They had hope in their hearts for the future. I think that is what art is: it gives hope in the future.”
You wondered, at the end, at the beauty of her liquid gold velvet goddess dresses and the trompe l’oeil caviar beading which superimposed statue-like drapery on two dresses. The simplicity of the peplos has been another of Maria Grazia’s obsessions over the years—a point on which she has veered very much on her own path and away from the corseted Christian Dior template. There was only one moment when there was any suggestion of an encased torso, and that she saved for last. Not a corset, but armour. She was a Roman woman centurion, striding forward.
1 / 12
Look 1
2 / 12
Look 5
3 / 12
Look 6
4 / 12
Look 7
5 / 12
Look 16
6 / 12
Look 24
7 / 12
Look 26
8 / 12
Look 47
9 / 12
Look 48
10 / 12
Look 54
11 / 12
