Valentino Garavani is dead

Bonjour Fashion Lovers,

It still doesn’t feel real. After King Giorgio, today the last Emperor has left us: Valentino Garavani. It is almost unthinkable to imagine a world without them, without Valentino Garavani. His name is far more than a signature on a label; it is the absolute synonym of pure elegance, of an idea of beauty that travels through decades without ever fading — and that, truthfully, we already miss.

When I think of him, my mind runs back to my youth, when I was approaching the world of fashion both as the daughter of a small-town seamstress who dreamed of working in a great atelier in the capital, and as the fashion lover I have always been. I still can’t believe that that magnificent “V” has lost its father forever. I’m sorry to say it this way, but he is gone forever.

His journey began in Paris, observing the great French maisons up close, and blossomed in Rome, the city that welcomed him and witnessed the birth of his fashion house in 1960. From there, his rise was swift and assured: his gowns captivated actresses, princesses, and First Ladies, from Jackie Kennedy and Elizabeth Taylor to Sophia Loren and Julia Roberts, whose Oscar moment in Valentino remains etched in our collective memory.

He even gave fashion a color: Valentino Red. Never just a shade, it was an aesthetic declaration — passion and femininity. Few have elevated glamour to an art form the way he did, merging Italian sartorial mastery with a sense of spectacle worthy of Hollywood.

In years when many were stepping away from haute couture in favor of ready-to-wear, Valentino remained faithful to couture. It was his mother tongue, the language through which he expressed an absolute form of allure. Every show was an event crafted down to the smallest detail; every dress was a piece of history.

When he understood that such an absolute idea of elegance and refinement no longer aligned with a rapidly changing world, he chose to pass the torch first to Maria Grazia Chiuri and Pierpaolo Piccioli, and then to Piccioli alone, who preserved the poetic tension Valentino had instilled. After him now stands Alessandro Michele, amid all the debate such a decision inevitably ignites — because touching Valentino’s legacy means entering into dialogue with an untouchable myth.

Last July, I had the privilege of standing just inches away from his gowns on display in Rome. I was overwhelmed by his world, by his red, by a vision so powerful and true. Each piece spoke of his ability to turn fabric into emotion, and I lost myself in his universe.

Writing about Valentino means writing about an Italy that exported not only fashion, but an ideal of beauty. His work is an ode to eternity, a reminder that style does not age.

For me, saying goodbye means saluting one of the absolute pillars of my education as a fashion lover. His creations fed my imagination and taught me to see fashion as both poetry and discipline.

There is a void that only time will make fully real. And there is the certainty that Valentino Garavani, the king of Italian couture, will remain forever in history, in museums, in memories, and in the eyes of anyone who has ever dreamed in front of one of his gowns.

As I once wrote in a post: the King and the Emperor are together now.

Always Fashion, Always Black, Always Paris, Emanuela