Imagine a bag so singular it refuses to make room for your iPhone, but happily accommodates a miniature book. For Bulgari’s creative director Mary Katrantzou, that is a very intentional proposition. In an age when the phone has become our memory, map, diary, and most reliable distraction, Katrantzou has created a series of minaudières, part of the Bulgari Icons project, that offer a polite but pointed refusal. Their diminutive scale is not a flaw but a philosophy: utility is gently dethroned, while meaning takes its place. If your phone won’t fit, then what can you carry? “Culture,” replied Katrantzou.
A small book replaces the screen; thoughts replace the feed. For Katrantzou, the minaudière becomes less a handbag than a declaration that insists on presence, intention, and the rare luxury of being briefly unreachable. In today’s hyperconnected world, that may be its most radical feature. The design gesture invites curiosity, and, inevitably, debate. “The five Bulgari Icons minaudières operate almost like talismans,” said Katrantzou. “They hold an idea rather than an excess. They ask us to imagine luxury not as accumulation, but as intention, and to consider that what we choose to carry can reflect not only our style, but our values.”
The project includes an advertising campaign shot by Ethan James Green under the artistic direction of Ferdinando Verderi, and features five formidable women: Isabella Rossellini, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Linda Evangelista, Sumayya Vally, and Kim Ji-won. Each is paired with a minaudière containing a bespoke miniature book, hand-bound to mirror the bag’s shape and written by the woman who carries it.
Called ‘Notes On,’ the diminutive tomes feature personal reflections shaped by curiosity, heritage, and self-understanding. With Rossellini, the series begins in the animal kingdom, examining its wisdom and mystery and exploring how a lifelong fascination with animal behavior can deepen our understanding of the world we share. It then turns to Evangelista, whose contribution is a personal ode to strength and resilience, framed through her Italian heritage and the power of tradition.
With architect Vally, ‘Notes On’ becomes a meditation on home as a fluid, plural space, an architecture formed through memory, belonging, and meaning rather than fixed boundaries. Author Ngozi Adichie expands the reflection to culture itself, considering its resonance, our role in shaping it, and the power of women as its keepers and conveyors of stories across generations. Finally, actress Ji-won brings the series inward, offering a thoughtful exploration of inner peace and self-acceptance, and reflecting on the balance between perfection and presence.
Together, these voices form a narrative about observation and inheritance, resilience and belonging, and the ways we come to understand ourselves and the worlds we inhabit. Each of the five minaudière carries a symbolism steeped in history, a sort of conversation across time, where the present flirts with history. Monete reinvents an ancient Roman coin, now cloaked in precious enamel. Tubogas slithers into the spotlight, its metal coils wrapping around a jewel-like ‘egg’ of lizard skin, a nod to nature. Divas’ Dream channels the grandeur of the Baths of Caracalla, translating ancient mosaics into a dazzling jewel inlay. BVLGARI BVLGARI steps into modernity with a sleek cylindrical minaudière, hand-inlaid with Mother of Pearl. The Serpenti sheds its body to become a stand-alone piece that hisses sophistication, with the serpent being “a symbol of transformation evolving across time,” said Katrantzou.
The designer emphasized that cultural symbolism is central to the Bulgari minaudières project, with each bag rooted in Greek, Italian, and Roman cultural formation, “carrying the history of its origin,” she said. “I believe these references do not need to be explained for their heritage to be felt. Their power lies in their evolution. This balance between patrimony and innovation defines Bulgari’s strength, where today’s innovation becomes tomorrow’s heritage.”
The project was presented with a dinner in Rome, held while the campaign was still being shot, a rare moment when all five fabulous women were gathered in the same room. The atmosphere was cheerful and relaxed, the kind of evening where glamour feels lived-in rather than staged. Laughter flowed easily, and there was a genuine sense that everyone was happy to be exactly where they were, and with one another.
Katrantzou presided over the table with her warmth and quick wit, equal parts host, creative conductor, and spirited conversationalist. I found myself seated next to Ngozi Adichie, who looked beautiful in a boldly printed Nigerian dress. We spoke about what it felt like to step into the role of a Bulgari muse, and, inevitably, about fashion: why it matters, why it delights, and why it should never be taken quite as seriously as people sometimes insist.
Vogue: I wanted to ask you about the Bulgari project. Why did you decide to participate? It’s not obvious that a writer of your standing would choose to be part of a fashion campaign, however prestigious.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: Well, actually, the first time I said no. But I reconsidered once I had more details. And I’ll tell you why: it was the idea of the little books. I really loved that. We read so little in the world now that anything that refers to books, gestures toward books, or celebrates books, especially in spaces where books don’t usually exist, really appeals to me. When I heard about the tiny books hidden inside the minaudières, I thought, ‘OK, this could be interesting.’
What is your Bulgari book about?
I’m writing about culture, about how culture is created. I gave a TED Talk years ago where one of my main points was that culture doesn’t need to be defended as something fixed, because we make culture. Too often, ‘culture’ is used as an excuse, or a justification, for why women should be subjugated. My position is very simple: culture didn’t fall from the sky. We made it. And if we made it, we can remake it. That’s essentially what the little book is about.
I also wanted to ask you about fashion. It has become such a central form of communication today. You’re also known for having a strong personal style: where does that come from? I’ve read that it comes from your mother.
My mother was a really remarkable woman. It’s still hard for me to talk about her. But I often say that if you were raised by my mother, you didn’t really have a choice but to care about fashion. When I was little, she dressed me beautifully, and she always looked beautiful herself. She cared deeply about appearance and taught all of us children to do the same. But she also taught us something more meaningful: that taking care of how you look is a way of honoring other people. Thinking about how you present yourself is a form of courtesy, a way of showing respect to those you meet. She was a teacher, and she believed in certain standards. When I was young, I wore the proper dresses, ribbons in my hair, socks pulled up to my knees, the whole thing. When I became a teenager, I rebelled a bit. My taste became strange. I remember wearing my brother’s tie to a birthday party: everyone was shocked. I don’t even particularly like men’s clothes, but it was my way of pushing back. Now that I’m older, and hopefully wiser, my style feels much more instinctive. It’s about how I feel. It’s very much me.
How would you describe it today?
I love celebration and joyfulness, especially expressed through color. I’m drawn to unconventional things: unexpected shapes, interesting structures. I’m a huge admirer of Nigerian designers. What I’m wearing now, for example, is by a Nigerian designer based in Abuja, who makes a line called Aru by Fibi. I love the tailoring, the detailing, the color. I have a real affection for bold, bright colors. For me, fashion isn’t about what you’re supposed to wear or what’s currently ‘in.’ It’s deeply personal. It’s about what makes me feel happy. And I do think fashion connects to what’s inside us. When I feel good in what I’m wearing, I believe I do better in general.
Which raises a thornier question: does fashion still matter? Is it art, indulgence, or something we’re secretly embarrassed to enjoy, especially in a world that feels perpetually on fire?
For me, the question is: why not? I once wrote an essay titled “Why Shouldn’t a Smart Woman Like Fashion?” because there’s a strain of misogyny in the idea that we should be ashamed of caring about it. Fashion has traditionally been seen as a ‘woman’s thing,’ and that’s precisely why it’s often dismissed. But to be human is to have many sides. We have our serious side, and we also care about small, intimate things. When I was researching a novel about the Nigerian civil war, I was struck by accounts from women living through unimaginable hardship, yet they spoke about the dresses they missed, the hats they used to wear, the wigs, the face cream they no longer had. Those details stayed with me. Because sometimes it’s precisely those small things that remind us of our humanity. I also think it’s important to distinguish between the fashion industry and fashion itself. I don’t really care about the industry, and I don’t know very much about it. But fashion, how we dress, what we choose, what makes us feel good, that matters.
I understand the discomfort people feel when they say: the world is in turmoil, wars are happening, children are dying, why talk about fashion? But we are not one thing. To be human is to be many things at once. Fashion can say a great deal about who we are and what we care about. Think of students today wearing the Palestinian keffiyeh, it’s a small gesture, but it carries power. Fashion can be symbolic. It can inspire. I’ve never agreed with the idea that fashion is frivolous. In some cases, it’s a form of resistance. In others, it’s an expression of nationalism or identity. My own choice to wear mostly Nigerian designers is, in a way, a gentle form of nationalism for me.