The theme of the "non finito" (unfinished) has always been an inspiring one for creative minds. This is perfectly understandable considering that the "non finito" leaves open many possibilities compared to what is finished and therefore has become unchangeable and finally frozen in a perennial state.
The "non finito" instead is a strong inspiration as it pushes a creative person to continue looking for solutions to a project or to keep on working on something to refine it and make it look even better.
The term "unfinished" was also employed by some theatre critics to define the theatre of certain actors and directors, such as Italian Leo De Berardinis: while the latter produced perfectly finished shows, they often represented an infinite movement, something impossible to define once and for all, a continuous and dynamic research.
In the history of theatre De Berardinis became more known for his work in collaboration with actress Perla Peragallo: together the duo entered the history of experimental theatre with their controversial "Hamlet" (1967) and "Sir and Lady Macbeth" (1968) and with their collaborations with another Italian avant-garde writer, actor and director, Carmelo Bene.
It was only apt then that a short and rather psychedelic extract from one of De Berardinis and Peragallo's works opened the Gucci show that on Monday kicked off Paris Fashion Week. In a way Alessandro Michele's collections for Gucci are endless examples of "non finito".
Showcased at the iconic Théâtre Le Palace, famous in ’70s and early ’80s for being the house of hedonism, the catwalk featured models walking through the dark theatre and quietly assembling on the stage as if they were actors on a stage or maybe people on a night out.
There was only one element that broke the monotonous rhythm of their incessant walk - Jane Birkin who stood up from her front row seat to sing "Baby Alone in Babylone" during a short interlude, then the runway resumed.
The clothes and accessories? Nothing surprisingly new to what Alessandro Michele has concocted up to now for Gucci. The S/S 19 collection was indeed another extended remix of Michele's favourite tropes: there were nerds and geeks, some of them wearing bejewelled codpieces on their rather boring '70s trousers; dresses came with distorted silhouettes of the kind that look awkward even on models with the most sculpted and toned bodies (and of the kind influencers seem to favour as they probably get given them for free...).
There were pleated kimono jackets that called to mind nightmarish visions of glammed up Krizia jumpsuits (rather than pointing at Issey Miyake, as some critics stated); chaps-like denims were anchored with chains as if they were suspenders (don't try this at home); there were appalling normcore shirts that may have come out of the recycle bin, but that power brands want you to believe are currently super cool and scarf dresses of the sort your aunt used to come up with in the early '80s collaging together old scarves.
Then there were zombie girls in ruffled dresses and Venetian calcagnini – pardon, platform shoes; there were echoes of David Bowie in his iconic 1973 Ziggy Stardust striped blazer that has been the prostitute of striped jackets in the last 10 years being recreated in Givenchy's S/S 2010 collection and then ending up on the clothes racks of many High Street retailers (mind you, in this case it was turned into a zigzagging blazer for that minor change that will avoid Michele being accused of copying things) and jackets, trousers and dresses covered in sparkling glitter and lurex fringes (the dress looked like an updated version of Poiret's outlandish Fountain Dress).
Dolly Parton's face appeared instead on a pink Barbie doll tracksuit (but maybe next season rather than Dolly Parton merch Gucci could go for "Debbie Does Dallas" merch, bet that even in this case everybody would nod in approval...).
Accessories went from patches representing sequinned flying pigs, a reference to the way of saying, to bejewelled lace gloves (of the kind you would buy in 1983 in an Italian department store when you wanted to play at being Madonna...), from lace hosiery (of the kind that had you scratching your legs like crazy at parties between 1984 and 1985) to Janis Joplin-inspired hats and Mickey Mouse lunch box-shaped bags (unclear if they bought them at Disneyland or on the Internet, or if this is the latest super collab that we all needed in our sad lives).
Something was missing this time - fake animals and severed human heads: this time there was indeed a real Cockatoo, quietly sitting on a model's shoulder (again, don't try this at home it usually doesn't work...).
It is undeniable that Gucci's collections have become demented lands of appalling contrasts: your senses are overloaded by perfectly studied assemblages of different elements that look like living dichotomies when they are arranged on the models' bodies.
Once you break the looks into smaller parts, though, you realise that what you are being sold is a wardrobe from 1973-1974 with some heavy references to the '80s, glammed up, repurposed and combined with references from other eras and times, from history and art, creating cheap anachronisms with luxury scarves.
Michele's looks appeal because they are visually overloaded and therefore they are easily Instagrammable, shareable on social media and likeable.
One critic will spot La Casati, another Salome; an influencer will say that a look was inspired by a character out of a Wes Anderson film, and who could be that guy, some kind of prince from a faraway exotic land or a fetish nerd?
Yet this endless remix (there's always almost 100 looks in the shows) that confounds and spellbinds critics can be easy to decode for those ones willing to do so: there's always a lot of history and classical culture in Michele's collections for Gucci, a high degree of Roman decadence and bad taste and some help from one or two slightly more mature consultants who are silently playing guardian angels and providing forgotten archival material (spot the Fiorucci reference in the strawberry shirt with a crazy clashing pattern and the moniker "Gucci" vaguely looking like "Fiorucci", do your fashion math and you may even guess the names).
Somehow you feel like laughing: many young people nowadays live in technologically advanced times but their feet are solidly planted in the past as proved by these collections.
Mind you, the past is endlessly remixed (we must thank Miuccia for teaching the skills and the basics, but we have reached perfection now, thank you), proving that to resurrect a house you don't even need to create anything, but you must carefully assemble things and make them desirable on social media.
Yet at the end of it all there's something to rejoice about for us: while Gucci has turned from fashion house into cool hashtag and Jared Leto may have found his wardrobe for the next season, we ordinary people can now rush online and search on eBay or Amazon for that elusive Aladdin Industries vintage Mickey Mouse lunchbox that will make us look impossibly hip come next Spring.
After all deep down we do miss our childhood, while deep down I miss accidental fashion: in Gucci's shows everything is studied and nothing is genuinely underground, even the most bizarre character on the runway reeks of affected eccentricity and not of the spontaneous craziness of pure, undiluted fashion madness. You naturally wonder if Gucci's Theatre of the "Non Finito" will go on forever or if it will eventually find one day its logical conclusion. Guess only time till tell.
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