Why Haute Couture Still Makes Me Dream?

Bonjour fashion lovers,

there are three events that, every year, still make my heart race like the very first time: the Academy Awards, the Cannes Film Festival, and the days of Haute Couture in my beloved Paris. Yes, that very Paris I continue to dream about and which, during Couture Week, I imagine becoming even more magical. I haven't yet had the privilege of experiencing it from there, sitting just a few feet away from the runway. But I've learned one thing: never say never. After all, if someone had told me a few years ago that The Fashion Lover would be invited to Milan Fashion Week, I probably would have smiled. And yet, it happened.

Every season, the ritual is always the same: cappuccino — betraying the Italian tradition, I drink it at any time of the day — my Mac, MacBook or iPhone always by my side, and the live streams of the shows. There is always that wonderful feeling of anticipation, knowing that, at any moment, I might witness something truly unforgettable.

Because that's exactly what I look for in Haute Couture: the unforgettable.

This season, however, that thrill came far less often than I had hoped.

Let me be clear: quality and savoir-faire were not missing. Extraordinary ateliers and countless hours of meticulous craftsmanship were not missing either. What was missing, at least for me, was that spark capable of turning a collection into a memory that stays with you.

When I think of Haute Couture, I immediately think of names like Georges Hobeika, Elie Saab, Zuhair Murad and Giorgio Armani. These are the maisons that, in my eyes, continue to embody the very essence of Couture. Hand embroidery. Precious fabrics. Endless hours of invisible craftsmanship. Silhouettes built with absolute precision. Luxury, yes. But the kind of luxury that doesn't come from ostentation, rather from craftsmanship, from the richness of the workmanship and from a savoir-faire capable of transforming every garment into something truly unique. Looking at their collections, I found exactly what I look for whenever Couture Week arrives: the feeling that every creation was conceived not simply to be worn, but to leave an image imprinted in our memory.

Then there's Schiaparelli. A maison that, once again, proved it speaks a completely different language. From Daniel Roseberry, I don't simply expect a dress. I expect a provocation. An ongoing dialogue between art, Surrealism and fashion. Sculpted surfaces, rigid structures, metallic details, trompe-l'œil constructions and materials transformed until they become something entirely different. Elements that could belong in an art gallery before ever appearing on a runway. The Fall/Winter 2026-2027 collection continued this exploration of the abyss, illusion and material experimentation. Schiaparelli continues to remind us that Couture can still surprise us.

And today, perhaps, that is its rarest quality.

There were, however, a few reflections that stayed with me throughout this week. The first concerns two maisons I deeply love: Dior and Chanel. I found myself perceiving an unexpectedly similar aesthetic language between two fashion houses that, historically, have always portrayed femininity in very different ways. In some looks, because of certain details, I even struggled to recognize immediately whether I was looking at Jonathan Anderson's vision for Dior or Matthieu Blazy's vision for Chanel. Not because the collections were identical, of course. But because, at least to my eyes, their aesthetic boundaries appeared less distinct than I had expected. I found myself searching for those instantly recognizable codes that, in the past, were enough to identify a maison at first glance.

And, at times, I had the feeling I was looking at extraordinarily luxurious ready-to-wear, rather than that almost dreamlike dimension which, for me, represents the true essence of Haute Couture. This isn't a criticism of the quality, which remains exceptionally high, but rather a reflection on the ability to surprise.

A similar thought accompanied me while watching two debuts I had been eagerly waiting for. The first was Pierpaolo Piccioli's first Haute Couture collection for Balenciaga. I have to confess something. I absolutely loved it. It truly moved me. Then I asked myself why, and the answer came almost immediately. In those silhouettes, in the use of color, in the long gloves, in the volumes, in the capes and in that poetic elegance suspended between monumentality and lightness, I rediscovered the Pierpaolo Piccioli I had deeply loved during his years at Valentino. And it was beautiful. But it also felt familiar. Perhaps it was inevitable. A designer doesn't abandon his creative identity simply because he changes fashion houses. Now, however, my curiosity is already looking ahead. I can't wait to discover when Balenciaga will begin speaking a language that fully belongs to Pierpaolo, without feeling like a translation of the codes we have already admired elsewhere. Because I truly believe this journey has only just begun.

Then, moving from Paris to Rome, came Maria Grazia Chiuri's Couture debut for Fendi, presented at the Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Moderna e Contemporanea. I was expecting a more decisive break from the past. Instead, I found magnificent fabrics, refined construction, caftans, fluid silks and the cultured elegance that has always belonged to her. At the same time, however, I had the feeling of recognizing many of the aesthetic codes that had already defined her final seasons at Dior. The collection was undoubtedly exquisite. Yet, once again, it felt closer to ready-to-wear elevated to its highest expression than to the kind of Couture capable of making me forget, even for a few moments, everything I had already seen.

Perhaps it was inevitable. Perhaps it simply takes time. But the surprise I had been waiting for never came.

And then there are the front rows. You all know how much I love cinema. I love seeing actresses, actors and extraordinary personalities come together during Couture Week. It is part of fashion's charm. Yet, at times, I feel that the noise surrounding them becomes too loud and repetitive, and I find myself wondering: is it really good for fashion and luxury, especially at a time when both seem to be facing such a difficult moment? What real value does it bring? Too often, the media narrative seems to focus more on arrivals, appearances and front-row seating than on the collections themselves. I continue to follow Couture for the clothes. For the precious hands that created them — I adore Pierpaolo Piccioli when he ends his shows by walking the runway alongside them — for the embroiderers, the pattern makers and everyone working behind the scenes. Not to find out who was sitting next to whom.

Of course, you might say: we're still talking about Haute Couture. And that's true. Beauty was not missing. Technique was not missing. Luxury was not missing. But my heart beat a little less intensely.

And yet… six months from now, I'll be there again, in front of my Mac, MacBook or iPhone, with a cappuccino in my hands, ready to be moved once more. Because that is the wonderful paradox of Haute Couture. Even when it doesn't surprise me as much as I wish it would, it continues to remind me why I fell in love with fashion.

And perhaps that is the greatest privilege of still being, today, a true Fashion Lover.

Always fashion. Always black. Always Paris.

Emanuela