Alessandro Michele made his grand entrance as Valentino’s creative director on January 29th, unveiling The Vertigineux Collection. And let’s just say—the name was fitting because some of us were left dizzy, and not in a good way.

The critics, however, were in a full-blown fashion swoon:
✨ W Magazine: “Valentino Couture Spring 2025 Proves Alessandro Michele Is Fashion’s Intellectual Hitmaker.”
✨ WWD: “Alessandro Michele Soars With Debut Valentino Couture Show.”✨ ELLE: “Valentino Was a World of Dizzying Possibilities.”
✨ Harper’s Bazaar: “Valentino Couture Is Sublimely Transportive: Thanks for the lift, Alessandro Michele. We needed it.”
✨ The Guardian: “Valentino’s Alessandro Michele shines from the heights of haute couture.”

Jordan Roth posted his reaction on Instagram, practically speechless with wonder—and honestly, who could blame him? I adore Jordan Roth; he’s absolutely divine, like a couture-clad celestial being. But while he was overwhelmed in the best way possible, I was overwhelmed in the “Help, my eyes need a palate cleanser” kind of way.

So, who am I to argue with the experts? Well, I’m just a Valentino lover with an opinion and two working eyes. And what I saw? A maximalist explosion that felt less “Valentino” and more “Michele on a very expensive vision quest.”

Was the craftsmanship divine? Absolutely. The embroidery? Gorgeous. But—and this is a couture-sized but—it didn’t whisper Valentino. It didn’t even say it in a normal tone. It screamed something entirely different. Maybe that’s the point. Or maybe we all just need a minute to recalibrate our fashion GPS.

The collection could be divided into two very distinct fashion history lessons:

Elizabeth I Realness

Full-skirted gowns, puffy sleeves, and ruffs so large they could double as satellite dishes. If you’ve ever wanted to cosplay as a Tudor monarch while sipping a macchiato, this was your moment.

Cavalier Chic

A tribute to King Charles I (or II, because why pick just one?), featuring cloak-bag breeches, flowy silk shirts, and high-crowned hats that scream, “I duel at dawn but also appreciate a well-aged Bordeaux.” Oh, and feathers—because no Cavalier look is complete without a dramatic plume or two.

Basically, it was Shakespeare in Love meets Pirates of the Caribbean, with a sprinkle of “Is this Valentino, or did we stumble into a Renaissance Faire?”

And then, of course, there was a third, undeniable category: Ruffles. So. Many. Ruffles.

If fabric had a frequent flyer program, Michele maxed it out.

One dress in particular managed to combine both of the above styles and pay homage to the sacred art of excessive frill. It was as if Elizabeth I, a Cavalier nobleman, and a sentient pile of chiffon got together and said, “Let’s make history and drama.” And you know what? I’ll argue this was the only dress in the collection that even whispered past Valentino. Everything else? Pure Michele in his full, unfiltered more is never enough glory.

If I had to sum up the collection in one word, it would be EXCESS. And how did Michele attempt to justify this maximalist fever dream? Lists.

Yes, lists.

The press release kicks off with this highbrow gem:

“The list is at the origin of culture. It is part of the history of art and literature. And what does culture want? To make the infinite comprehensible. It wants to create order—not always, but often. And how, as human beings, do we cope with infinity? How can we grasp the ungraspable? Through lists, catalogs, collections in museums, encyclopedias, and dictionaries. The list does not destroy culture, it creates it.”
—Umberto Eco, The Infinity of Lists

Deep, right? Well, after this existential musing, Michele launches into what reads like a thesis defence on how lists and fashion are cosmically linked. Did I get it? Nope. Not even a little.

At this point, I’m both curious and mildly terrified to see what he pulls next. 

A PowerPoint presentation on the semiotics of ruffles? 

A TED Talk on why cloaks are the future? 

Stay tuned.