Once the invitation to Pieter Mulier’s final Alaïa show landed on guests’ doorsteps, the excitement started building, stitched together with brown leather pieces that would later button up into what looked like an Alaïa bustier, something that could belong either to a fairy’s waist or, frankly, someone’s living room décor. Normally, a finale suggests something a little extra, yet there was a feeling Mulier might be resisting the urge. Versace probably needs the drama more.
“It’s just really clothes for real people, not for an image. That’s what I told my team. Not to ‘impress, to reduce, reduce. No bags, no jewelry. Only beauty and clothes and a naked shoe. Because that’s what Azzedine was,” Mulier told Vogue. He’s not wrong. The man would spend endless nights in his atelier perfecting the same garments over and over again. Mulier admitted he wasn’t entirely sure the fashion world would tolerate something this restrained. For a while, he hesitated before committing to a show reduced so firmly to its essentials. If it made his heart beat, he figured the fashion world could deal.
“I want to show what I learned also from the house. Basically, that’s it in a very humble way. I learned precision, I learned editing, and I learned that real luxury is not what we all think. Real luxury is the perfect cut jacket,” he painted the picture for Vogue. Every once in a while, a closing insists on going back to its roots. Picture loden, viscose, cotton velvet, latex, and raw-cut wool walking down the runway as A-lines, bodycon dresses, tailored coats, light drapes, a few puffy skirts, and glossy croc panels casually interrupting light dresses’ fronts here and there. The color palette stuck to Mulier’s restrained plan, and with accessories completely missing, your eyes had no choice but to land solely on the clothes. When the show ended, it was the clarity of cut and the thought in each seam that stayed with you, and the simple garments that could’ve been worn right then and there, catching the Parisian metro back to the hotel.
