There’s one point where Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana are right without needing to raise their voices. Fashion, after globalization, didn’t become ‘bigger.’ It became more fragile. More financial. More interchangeable. For those who love codes and identities, this is a real problem. Not a nostalgic whim.
The rise of major conglomerates and finance as a silent director did something specific. They shifted the axis from slow language-building to rapid image management. This is where the extinction of the designer as a complete figure happened over time. Not the creative who ‘signs’ a season. But the one who founds a brand, designs it, governs it, takes on its aesthetic and cultural weight, and puts their face on it for years.
In their place, the model of the itinerant creative director took hold. A consultant, often freelance, theoretically independent, practically replaceable. A professional who moves from one brand to another carrying a recognizable imprint. Sometimes very strong. But precisely because of this, capable of covering everything they touch. The result is clear. Identities fade. Archives become set designs. The past becomes stage material. Change, reset, restart. Each time something is lost.
Dolce and Gabbana refused to play this game. Not with a manifesto. With the rarest thing today: consistency. They call them repetitive? Fine. They keep going. Because they understood that in a world where everything migrates, everything looks alike, and everything gets ‘redone,’ the only true luxury is recognizing yourself. And especially being recognized.
The collection is a bold ride through their codes. Declared, proud, unapologetic. Total black. Lace. The guêpière. Men’s suits built with emphasized forms and sharp cuts, almost sculpted. Self-garters. Then those references to the early Nineties. For those who were there or studied, they’re not nostalgia. They’re active memory. Ultra-high-waisted pants with suspenders. Tops worn with shirt collars. A small gesture for insiders. Made with the awareness of someone who knows where they come from.
The echo of that iconic season came back to me too. Fall-Winter 1992. Linda, Christy, Naomi, Stephanie, Cindy, Claudia. Not as a sterile quote. But as proof that a true language crosses time.
The result is simple to say and hard to deny. It’s Dolce & Gabbana in a clear, unmistakable way. That was the point. Not to shock at all costs. Not to chase the anxiety of newness. But to reaffirm an identity to the point of stubbornness. Because today fashion often confuses rupture with destruction. And destruction with intelligence.
Closing the circle, applauding from the audience, was Madonna. A detail that’s not just social. It tells of continuity. An aesthetic alliance. An imagery that wasn’t born yesterday.
They’re right, yes. In a system that rewards instability as if it were modernity, they’re saying something simple. Without a recognizable signature, without a grammar defended over time, fashion stops being a language. It becomes noise. And noise fades. Style stays.
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Sure-com America 