Dutch Masters’ still lifes and Vermeer’s domestic interiors shaped Giambattista Valli’s mood this season. Confronted with the ongoing global turmoil, he turned inward, reflecting on the home as sanctuary while mindful of those who have lost theirs to war and displacement. In such a moment, he admitted, he often questions the meaning of his work, yet he recognizes the need to stay positive “for my family and for the future of those who depend on what I do.”
The Flemish painters’ penumbra, the obscurity pierced by light, resonated with Valli as a metaphor for today’s conflicting, discordant energies. On the runway, that dialogue unfolded through fabric and form: the rawness of canvas against the vaporous sheerness of chiffon, natural hues balanced with delicate nuances, stark silhouettes softened by billowing shapes. The humble and the sumptuous, the simple and the elaborate met in a smooth tension—Valli is an aesthete, and in his world even the sharpest collisions eventually side with what he called “the pursuit of beauty.” It’s not an approach that appeals to bellicose world leaders.
In recent seasons, Valli has softened his usual flourish, swapping exuberance for a sleeker look. Here, he sent out raw-canvas minidresses, some layered over crisp white shirts with a masculine edge, others printed with sparse floral sprigs or baskets of strawberries that might have stepped straight out of a Flemish still life. Flat shoes and bare necks kept the mood simple. One standout was also the most unadorned: a rust poplin shirt tucked into white cotton skirt-trousers, requiring no embellishment beyond a green satin handkerchief tied at the head à la paysanne.
The streamlined pieces were, as Valli put it, “in conversation as if they were in the same room” with the collection’s breezier side: billowy robes in shirred organza with matching midriff-baring tops in powdery pastels; evening gowns with tiered ruffles stacked high like macarons; and airy numbers with balloon sleeves and skirts that looked as if they’d caught a gust of wind. A flicker of Marie Antoinette coquettish wit appeared in poufy skirts dotted with tiny trèfles, while a long apron dress in pristine white embroidery was a nod to Vermeer’s table linens. It was, of course, all very pretty—Valli would never settle for less—but prettiness came with a dose of restraint, keeping the romance light and, by Valli’s standards, rather unfussy.
