Pierpaolo Piccioli is back in the thick of it again, after what turned out to be his gap year from Valentino. The reveal of his first collection for Balenciaga is tomorrow—the culmination of a whiplash string of events which (deep breath) had: Alessandro Michele leaving Gucci for Valentino, Sabato de Sarno coming and going at Gucci, Demna leaving Balenciaga for Gucci, and Pierpaolo settled right where he is now, looking at me from his office at Balenciaga HQ, on a Zoom call.
PPP, as we know him for short, is tanned and wearing a pale grey T-shirt with his coral necklace, and some other strings of things around his neck. First, I want to check on how he is. What’s it’s like to actually have the luxury of a proper work break for the first time in 34 years? “I took time for myself, for my family. I did a trip around India,” he beams. This must’ve been a dream for someone whose personal style—if not his work—betrays the longing of a hippie born too late (in 1967), and in the wrong place to have been part of the vanguard of the first peace and love trippers. Instead, PPP worked, married, and had three children with his wife Simona and then—astonishingly—became one of the few great haute couturiers of his generation.
Some of the colours and the extravagant volumes of the Valentino couture shows he did, as well as the memory of that time he and Frances McDormand caused absolute mayhem dancing together at the Met in 2018, are indelibly stamped on many of our fashion memories for joyous reasons. All of this was accomplished while he was living in Nettuno, the small town of his birth—another point of admiration which eventually cracked the snobbery of some of the coldest hearts in the industry.
But now, Piccioli has committed to move to Paris to take on Balenciaga, taking his place in the most giant upheaval fashion has seen since the millennium. Perfect timing: he and Simona have just waved their youngest, 19-year-old Stella, off to university. “We are all adults now,” he says, laughing. “Everyone can come and go.” His appointment happened, he says, “in a very organic way. I feel as if choices and life brought me to where I am now. Cristóbal Balenciaga and his story, his process of working, and his integrity about creativity made me feel at home when I arrived here.”
“But yes, talking about this ‘tsunami of chairs,’ I think that respecting who was here before me—embracing the work of Cristóbal, Demna, Nicolas [Ghesquière]—is cooler, and more revolutionary than to deny what’s been before you arrive.”
We’ll explore exactly what PPP means by that in a second, but I’m afraid the big questions about the Demna Balenciaga legacy—the years of drama and sensational immersive shows and the oversized streetwear and logos and memes—have to be confronted first. How will he make the brand different? Does it need to be? And what does he feel about staying centred and certain in these wildly difficult times?
“I think what makes something relevant to me is to be very authentic and honest in the way you are. I feel that I am different from Demna, my culture and my path was different,” Piccioli replies. “But yes, talking about this ‘tsunami of chairs,’ I think that respecting who was here before me—embracing the work of Cristóbal, Demna, Nicolas [Ghesquière]—is cooler, and more revolutionary than to deny what’s been before you arrive. It would be stupid of me to say it’s carte blanche—change the stores, change the packaging, change everything, and it’s done. I think,” he continues, “we need to manage this moment with more intelligence, be less stupid and about ego. I think fashion never talks about intelligence. We also have to have a new idea about respect and care, because we as creative directors have responsibility for a lot of people.”
