Advancing like fearless serpentine creatures of the Orient, Giorgio Armani’s exotic artillery, which was out on full force on Tuesday night in Paris, has marked another success for the Italian designer, who unbelievably turns 80 this year. À la Giorgio there was a divine, wistful mystical sense of a lost age of elegance on the horizon, apparent most significantly when considering the devotion to the complete ensemble, as every minute resplendent detail was accounted for, secured by metallic threads and collectively resulting in the the pinnacle of elegance.
This aura evoked Anjelica Huston as a young 20-something on the pages of Vogue, and luxuriant early 70s boho opulence, as Vreeland reigned supreme, with the sole objective of bringing the various wonders of the world to the eyes of each and every person.
Armani unquestionably triumphs in channelling this presence, infusing it with a heady Eastern promise, proliferated by the silken turbans binding the heads of each and every Armani seductress, topping off, with streamline precision, the provocative elongated décolletages.
A sheathing of the body like no other, aside a consideration for lavish layering, was set off by a beguiling palette of desirable Armani hues, from subdued and refined shades of sparkling deep plum to a predominant midnight indigo exuding a dark, sombre sexuality, all scintillating bejewelled.
One could speculate that a handful of the slinky couture forms, realised in delicate chiffons with lashings of heavy beading and in other instances, exquisite pleating, touch on the bewitching sinuous cut of Mario Fortuny’s Delphos gown shape, enhanced by the lustrous metallic aesthetic and ritzy, ornate Byzantine detailing.
Timelessly luxe plissé pants, silk jacquard blazers and intricate double-breasted adaptations, as well as Swarovski studded bodices, were revealed to be the order of the day, in an admirable ode to escapism, venturing from the romanticised gypsy, to the ominous vamp of a far-away land gesticulated fabulously on the silent screen by Gloria Swanson or Pola Negri, and nostalgic Arabian nights, succumbing to the lucid lilac of dusk.
by Liam Feltham
Images courtesy of Style.com