Are we seeing vestiges of Alessandro Michele-era Gucci?

Gucci’s redirection after Alessandro Michele’s sudden departure in 2022 took another turn, in London this time. Or, perhaps, a turn-back. Hit the brakes and execute a volte-face. Was Gucci, perhaps, in nostalgia mode, not necessarily for the past (London, as it claimed), but its design antecedence—the maximalism of Mr Michele? It sure looked like the house was, but it was, at best, half-baked. Difficult not to link the present and the past when pussy bows went berserk and geekiness was in full glory, again. Or the vaguely ’70s shapes, oversized blousons, the sheer dresses—all of them imbued with a sensibility of design that the brand had, two years ago, not wanted to be protracted, but now curiously revived to, presumably, lend some energy to a label that has, for a while lost what Austin Powers—possibly a Gucci customer—would call mojo.

Gucci Londra, as the show was named, took place in the Tanks within the Tate Modern’s basement, known for its concrete starkness. It is not clear why a grey, unadorned subterranean space was picked, but then partially filled with greenery as a mock Gucci Garden that was not even a feeble replica of the Kew Gardens. The models walked to the mixed tape of Tirzah’s Devotion (oddly without the Coby Sey vocals), (not English) Blondie’s Heart of Glass, and Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s The Power of Love that were juxtaposed to project some kind of inter-generational cool. For the most part, the show’s enervated styling trumped the geeky so much that it was DNA-exploring without defining a real identity. One SOTD reader, palpably disappointed with the show, texted us this morning: “What a pointless Gucci cruise show. Can’t see any clothes that show any form of personal input or mini-vision.” We understood.

It would likely be said that creative director Sabato de Sarno has finally taken a bolder stride in his first cruise collection for the house. Previously deemed “too safe”, Mr de Sarno was now offering something that could arouse whatever he thought could be awaken. Or reverse the unenthusiastic responses that accompanied his debut collection and those that followed. The thing is, even in London, there was no real directional thrust. Surely he has had enough time to go swinging, even if not strong. Yet, it was as if, out of desperation, he went back to the archives of the Alessandro Michele years, picked out the best-sellers, and said to himself, “Okay, what can I do with these that will delight the bosses?” Used to the meretricious output of their previous creative director, the higher-ups might have—again—liked the vintage-y looks, limp pussy bows (below pearl chokers!), lacy pantsuits, and everything that pointed to a wayward edginess that should have fallen off the edge.

How does one see the genius in daisy-flecked denim jeans or those with past-the-knee fringing, oversized Harrington jackets, one-sleeve dresses (that are frequently seen in K-dramas targeted at ajummas), pinafores that exposed lace bras, say-nothing-show-everything diaphanous shirts and matching skirts, micro-floral (daisies again) outers with matching dress or pants, or sheer plisse dresses that had brothel screech through their every fibre? In sum, the collection was part collegiate chic, part desultory bohemia, part undecided cool, with a snatch of Celine, Miss Sixty, and (the now-disgraced) Chiara Ferragni stitched in for good measure. An Italian brand owned by a French luxury fashion conglomerate Kering, now showing in London, is a reflection of the brand’s increasingly transnational aesthetical identity. Mr Sarno described the looks for London: “Englishness with Italian accents.” That does not say it’s exceptional.

Screen shot (top): gucci/YouTube. Photos: Gucci