At Valentino, Alessandro Michele Turned Couture Into Cinema
At Valentino, Alessandro Michele Turned Couture Into Cinema
At Valentino, Alessandro Michele Turned Couture Into Cinema
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January 30, 2026
Team MOLTN
A week after Valentino Garavani’s death, Alessandro Michele did what he does best, he dreamt out loud. The result was an unconventional presentation that felt more like slipping into someone else’s fevered, fabulous imagination.
At the Tennis Club de Paris, Michele staged one of the most unusual couture presentations in recent memory. Models didn’t walk a runway so much as appear - one by one - inside circular kaiserpanoramas, a 19th-century pre-cinema viewing device. Guests peered through small square windows, turning the audience into voyeurs, fashion editors reduced to wide-eyed spectators waiting for the next reveal.
The room dimmed, a figure emerged, found her light, performed. Michele leaned fully into theatrics, instructing models to vamp it up - and they did. Phones came out. Everyone wanted their own still from the film playing in front of them.
The clothes themselves felt like couture unburdened by explanation. Michele time-travelled freely, pulling references from wherever beauty struck. A trapunto-stitched skirt suit nodded to the 1940s in dusty mauve. A black silk velvet gown traced a clean line back to Poiret and the 1910s. Elsewhere, a creamy satin slip and embroidered ivory cape conjured Greta Garbo in full Mata Hari mystique.
Depending on where you were seated, your “opening act” changed. Some saw old-Hollywood tailoring, others saw drama dialled all the way up: a caftan edged in gold sequins licking at the neckline and sleeves, crowned with a towering feathered headdress.
There were playful nods too. Katharine Hepburn’s Bringing Up Baby stripes resurfaced, bold and graphic, while silhouettes jumped decades without apology. Michele wasn’t designing for stores, seasons, or merchandising logic - he was indulging his original love of costume, character, and spectacle.
When the models finally emerged from their individual frames for a collective runway walk, it felt like the credits rolling. The first look set the tone via an unapologetically 1980s draped dress, plunging to a knot at the navel, sleeves full and theatrical. Naturally, it was Valentino red.
In mourning, Michele honoured Valentino Garavani the only way that made sense - by dreaming loudly, dressing the fantasy, and reminding us that couture, at its best, is pure escapism.
At the Tennis Club de Paris, Michele staged one of the most unusual couture presentations in recent memory. Models didn’t walk a runway so much as appear - one by one - inside circular kaiserpanoramas, a 19th-century pre-cinema viewing device. Guests peered through small square windows, turning the audience into voyeurs, fashion editors reduced to wide-eyed spectators waiting for the next reveal.
The room dimmed, a figure emerged, found her light, performed. Michele leaned fully into theatrics, instructing models to vamp it up - and they did. Phones came out. Everyone wanted their own still from the film playing in front of them.
The clothes themselves felt like couture unburdened by explanation. Michele time-travelled freely, pulling references from wherever beauty struck. A trapunto-stitched skirt suit nodded to the 1940s in dusty mauve. A black silk velvet gown traced a clean line back to Poiret and the 1910s. Elsewhere, a creamy satin slip and embroidered ivory cape conjured Greta Garbo in full Mata Hari mystique.
Depending on where you were seated, your “opening act” changed. Some saw old-Hollywood tailoring, others saw drama dialled all the way up: a caftan edged in gold sequins licking at the neckline and sleeves, crowned with a towering feathered headdress.
There were playful nods too. Katharine Hepburn’s Bringing Up Baby stripes resurfaced, bold and graphic, while silhouettes jumped decades without apology. Michele wasn’t designing for stores, seasons, or merchandising logic - he was indulging his original love of costume, character, and spectacle.
When the models finally emerged from their individual frames for a collective runway walk, it felt like the credits rolling. The first look set the tone via an unapologetically 1980s draped dress, plunging to a knot at the navel, sleeves full and theatrical. Naturally, it was Valentino red.
In mourning, Michele honoured Valentino Garavani the only way that made sense - by dreaming loudly, dressing the fantasy, and reminding us that couture, at its best, is pure escapism.
At the Tennis Club de Paris, Michele staged one of the most unusual couture presentations in recent memory. Models didn’t walk a runway so much as appear - one by one - inside circular kaiserpanoramas, a 19th-century pre-cinema viewing device. Guests peered through small square windows, turning the audience into voyeurs, fashion editors reduced to wide-eyed spectators waiting for the next reveal.
The room dimmed, a figure emerged, found her light, performed. Michele leaned fully into theatrics, instructing models to vamp it up - and they did. Phones came out. Everyone wanted their own still from the film playing in front of them.
The clothes themselves felt like couture unburdened by explanation. Michele time-travelled freely, pulling references from wherever beauty struck. A trapunto-stitched skirt suit nodded to the 1940s in dusty mauve. A black silk velvet gown traced a clean line back to Poiret and the 1910s. Elsewhere, a creamy satin slip and embroidered ivory cape conjured Greta Garbo in full Mata Hari mystique.
Depending on where you were seated, your “opening act” changed. Some saw old-Hollywood tailoring, others saw drama dialled all the way up: a caftan edged in gold sequins licking at the neckline and sleeves, crowned with a towering feathered headdress.
There were playful nods too. Katharine Hepburn’s Bringing Up Baby stripes resurfaced, bold and graphic, while silhouettes jumped decades without apology. Michele wasn’t designing for stores, seasons, or merchandising logic - he was indulging his original love of costume, character, and spectacle.
When the models finally emerged from their individual frames for a collective runway walk, it felt like the credits rolling. The first look set the tone via an unapologetically 1980s draped dress, plunging to a knot at the navel, sleeves full and theatrical. Naturally, it was Valentino red.
In mourning, Michele honoured Valentino Garavani the only way that made sense - by dreaming loudly, dressing the fantasy, and reminding us that couture, at its best, is pure escapism.
At the Tennis Club de Paris, Michele staged one of the most unusual couture presentations in recent memory. Models didn’t walk a runway so much as appear - one by one - inside circular kaiserpanoramas, a 19th-century pre-cinema viewing device. Guests peered through small square windows, turning the audience into voyeurs, fashion editors reduced to wide-eyed spectators waiting for the next reveal.
The room dimmed, a figure emerged, found her light, performed. Michele leaned fully into theatrics, instructing models to vamp it up - and they did. Phones came out. Everyone wanted their own still from the film playing in front of them.
The clothes themselves felt like couture unburdened by explanation. Michele time-travelled freely, pulling references from wherever beauty struck. A trapunto-stitched skirt suit nodded to the 1940s in dusty mauve. A black silk velvet gown traced a clean line back to Poiret and the 1910s. Elsewhere, a creamy satin slip and embroidered ivory cape conjured Greta Garbo in full Mata Hari mystique.
Depending on where you were seated, your “opening act” changed. Some saw old-Hollywood tailoring, others saw drama dialled all the way up: a caftan edged in gold sequins licking at the neckline and sleeves, crowned with a towering feathered headdress.
There were playful nods too. Katharine Hepburn’s Bringing Up Baby stripes resurfaced, bold and graphic, while silhouettes jumped decades without apology. Michele wasn’t designing for stores, seasons, or merchandising logic - he was indulging his original love of costume, character, and spectacle.
When the models finally emerged from their individual frames for a collective runway walk, it felt like the credits rolling. The first look set the tone via an unapologetically 1980s draped dress, plunging to a knot at the navel, sleeves full and theatrical. Naturally, it was Valentino red.
In mourning, Michele honoured Valentino Garavani the only way that made sense - by dreaming loudly, dressing the fantasy, and reminding us that couture, at its best, is pure escapism.
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