Valentino Haute Couture Spring Summer 2025 “Vertigineux” – “Dizzy” collection by Alessandro Michele. Story by Eleonora de Gray, Editor-in-Chief of RUNWAY MAGAZINE. Photo / Video Courtesy: Valentino.

New artistic director Alessandro Michele called this collection “Vertigineux“, which means dizzy. There are also important to mention the synonyms for vertigineux – démesuré, effréné, exagéré, excessif, fou, immodéré, which means excessive, unbridled, exaggerated, excessive, crazy, immoderate. And this new beginning of Valentino is exactly it: dizzy, excessive, exaggerated and crazy, and not in good sense.

It is CRAZY indeed. And there’s more where is came from. And there’s no heavily sponsored articles to influence an opinion is going to change opinion about how far it is from “Very Valentino”.

Alessandro Michele’s much-anticipated debut as creative director of Valentino has arrived. And with it, a collection so elaborate, so decadent, so utterly detached from the DNA of the house that one wonders: is this fashion, or an elaborate homage to the Venice Carnival? But not in the exhilarating, breathtaking way Valentino has historically left audiences in awe. This is a vertigo-inducing plunge into a world of excess, where couture is swallowed whole by an insatiable appetite for theatrics.

Let’s be clear: the craftsmanship is impeccable. The embroidery, the embellishments, the labor-intensive details—all speak to the hands that have tirelessly shaped each piece. But no level of artisanship can mask the fundamental issue here: these are not Valentino dresses. These are costumes, grandiose disguises masquerading as couture, a masquerade indeed fitting for the extravagant halls of the Palazzo Ducale but miles away from the essence of Valentino Garavani’s sleek, sophisticated legacy.

Michele, known for his maximalist tendencies at Gucci, has taken the codes of the house and detonated them, scattering remnants across a collection that feels more like a historical reenactment than a revival of Valentino’s heritage. The silhouettes bear an uncanny resemblance to Balenciaga’s structured absurdity—particularly Demna’s early, experimental forays when he toyed with the destruction of Cristóbal Balenciaga’s original vision. The difference? Demna was testing the limits of reinvention. Michele is simply indulging in his love for excess, doubling down on drama for drama’s sake.

The press release, an overstuffed dissertation on the art of the list, attempts to intellectualize the collection’s chaotic sprawl. Umberto Eco is invoked, as if name-dropping a celebrated semiotician will somehow lend gravity to garments that are already drowning under their own weight. The concept of listing as a method of organizing the infinite is, in theory, poetic. But here, the list becomes a crutch, an excuse for excess rather than a meaningful narrative device. We are given “forty-eight dresses, forty-eight lists”—but of what? An endless, feverish catalog of references that, rather than providing a sense of clarity, only adds to the disorienting spectacle.

Valentino’s essence—once synonymous with effortless grandeur, fluid movement, and timeless femininity—has been cast aside in favor of démesuré, effréné, exagéré, excessif, fou, immodéré. In other words, a couture house that once defined refined elegance is now lost in a fever dream of its new creative director’s making. Michele’s Vertigineux is exactly that: dizzying, excessive, exaggerated, and yes—crazy. But not the kind of crazy that makes fashion exhilarating. The kind of crazy that makes one question where exactly Valentino is headed, and whether it can find its way back.

Of course, no amount of heavily sponsored Annie Leibovitz photography can alter the reality of what we have seen. This isn’t Very Valentino. This isn’t even a fresh interpretation of Valentino. This is Alessandro Michele, untethered, plunging headfirst into his own aesthetic obsessions with no regard for the house’s identity. Buckle up, because this ride has only just begun. And for those who once cherished Valentino, all that remains is the sorrow of watching a legend unravel, thread by thread.

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