Valentino—he had a beautiful life; he had the life he chose to live. And so it’s the end of a chapter, but the memories, the beauty, the love will stay forever.
He taught me first to be very faithful to what I believe. I think that Valentino was the most secure person I ever met. He was never doubting his choices, he was always following his instincts and his sense of beauty. He was always looking for a kind of perfect beauty, the beauty he had in his mind. And he had the power of imagination; from a sketch done with one line, he was identifying fabrics, embroideries. He remained enchanted about fashion, and I like that: to stay enchanted, even after many years.
Of course, we had a lot of moments together, from the “lessons of the boss” to discussions of the color of the jewels to go with the clothes. It was very personal between us, because he used to do fittings, as you probably know, with models’ hair and makeup perfectly done. While waiting for the girls to get prepared, we had lots of time, and I would sit with him and ask him to tell me stories. All the moments that you read about history, about society—he lived all those moments. For me, it was a privilege to ask: What was the moment like when Farah Diba (Empress Farah Pahlavi) left Iran in your dress? Tell me about uptown New York in the early ’80s with Nan Kempner and those kinds of ladies. Or Halston’s house, what was it like in the ’70s, after Studio 54? I always had from him very personal stories, never the clichés that you kind of know. Learning about those moments seen through his eyes was a real privilege.
I think his impact in fashion was about that idea of beauty, and the idea of working as a designer in conversation with women. Trying to make them feel more confident in themselves, not trying to create for himself. I think this is the idea of a couturier: that you work with another body—with the mannequin, with the body of a woman. As a couturier, you don’t create by projecting yourself or your ideas only, you project your ideas and yourself in conversation with someone else. In a way, it’s less about your ego, it’s about serving someone else in a way. It’s more subtle, but to me this is very relevant.
In the ’60s, he shaped a new way of being a woman. In the ’50s, there was the diva with big, big skirts and a small corset—like the perfect wife. With Jackie Onassis, he shaped a new woman, women who were starting to be themselves, standing alone as their own person, not behind the man. Then, of course, everything changed. But in that moment he was even disruptive with these clean shapes. The Jackie Onassis time, to me, was the most disruptive in fashion history.
I remember very well when Maria Grazia [Chiuri] and I were named creative directors, Valentino called us to give us some tips. He said, “Don’t do your big volumes,” because he knew that I always love volumes. “Or do those volumes, but do them for women and not for yourself, not just thinking of yourself, but thinking of a woman.” He always was very, very supportive and secure in himself to embrace the changes.
In 2018, I did this couture show with feather hats, black sheer stockings, big volumes, colors. Everything was about the cliché of couture, and I wanted to get myself and my imagination about fashion out there. At the end of the show, seeing him happy about what he was seeing, it was a big compliment, the best compliment. It was very unique, having the founder present at a show, very rare. For me, that was a moment, you know, going out after six months of work and seeing Mr. Valentino standing, the founder of the house. It was very meaningful for me.
