
Lace, tulle, graphic transparency appear enwrapped in the crepuscular black mantle, a cape that seems hailing from other centuries, the one designed by Antonio Berardi, revisited through the texture of nights to come. Never-seen-before volumes, fatally ergonomic, in the dresses by Belle Sauvage, artfully destroyed those by Julien MacDonald, a 19th Century snipped and burnt, fairytale-like and neo-Gothic, illuminated by a stormy moon.


In the past. Without having to resort to the usual, and in any case matchless, Marquise Casati, it would be enough to evoke the jewelry excess and the impudent cleavage flaunted by the Countess of Castiglione, or the long tunics worn by Sarah Bernhardt, whose golden sequins moved with her, in her signature wave: her carefree clothing style had immediately spread, like a fascinating train, alongside with the sumptuous belts and Byzantine jewelry. Finally Cristina di Belgioioso’s pale complexion, a ghost featuring raven black hair hanging around the salons of the beginning of the 19th century, wearing only white or black, subdividing men into three categories: “He loves me, he has loved me, he will love me”.



Annamaria Sbisà
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