Giambattista Valli is an old soul. His collections embrace the art and beauty of old school Parisian fashion complete with the all the bells, whistles and ruffles that have defined it over time. That he moves the conversation forward with somewhat eccentric ways of reordering the puzzle pieces to achieve a new and oft times compelling story is to be admired and commended. There have been collections and pieces of those dreams that have struck me as truly original, which is big reason I follow his work expectantly. There's a freedom in his Pret a Porter collections that can at times overshadow his Couture efforts. The process of experimentation is somehow backwards; the lab seems to be his ready to wear and the couture feels more like an overstatement of those previously explored ideas. It was that thought I couldn't escape while watching this show. 
His
abiding love is obviously fabric. The Fall couture was awash in Warp
Printed silks that looked like gardens from the 19th century. Like
heirloom blossoms that exist only in the rarest gardens, these prints
that opened the show in reds, pale washed out reds, coral, oxblood with black accents,some of them
against a barely there ground of oyster, were just glorious. When they
changed and became an expanse of greens that mixed with browns, bronze and black, that were
at once dusky then almost camouflage shades, it seemed like watching a
garden through the prism of the late afternoon into night. It was
his die-hard embrace of layers and layers of ruffles starting at the
neck and running down sleeves, outlining the length and the waists of the
skirts below, that I started to feel overwhelmed. Some of the treatments
of extreme ruffled volumes on skirts started at the very middle of the
rib cage. Peplums were stiffened and massing at the same point. In many instances as
the model passed the back was left bare. The effect was a front loaded
dress or gown that was all about coming and not so much about going. The fact
that the taffeta was stiffened with horsehair on all the edges and the
skirts, both long and short, created a stiff, bobbing effect that
looked awkward. Imagining the model sitting would create big, noisy
breaks in the body of the dress. This effect was repeated ad nauseum.
Then
a fabric change came with printed,floating, diaphanous chiffon and airy, crisp organza. He played with
razor thin tucks, again layers of ruffles, shirred and flowing skirts
with trains a kilometer long, all grand and otherworldly. A group of
metallic shot brocades joined the scrum as stiff as a vintage Balenciaga
dress but without the same finesse or weightlessness. They moved more
in opposition to the body than in harmony with it. There were so many
unintended references to vintage Balenciaga, Valentino and Oscar de la Renta that I
began to get restless and impatient. 
The
accessories were another story, altogether. Regrettable Point d'Esprit
tulle that looked like chicken wire covered each model's face.
Butterflies in silk were liberally placed on this second skin as well.
The ones alight on their heads were dreamy. It was the ones that landed
square on the model's mouths that brought to mind "The Silence of the
lambs". I doubt that was intended, either. Jewelry consisted of golden
crowns of branches sitting at the neck (doing battle with Elizabethan
ruff collars) and cuff bracelets of enormous beetles and scarabs.
Menacing.As beautiful as the setting was and the obvious technique that went into the making of the collection it felt old and lost. The dream of couture can and should be new and compelling, not a retelling of an old dream.
