GUCCI IN MILAN SEEN FROM LOS ANGELES

So yeah, I wasn’t in Milan. I was in LA, laptop open, iced coffee sweating all over my desk, sun right in my eyes. That’s how I watched Gucci’s big debut. I was ready for something new, you know? New director, new era, that kind of show that makes you think: ok, this is the future. Instead… what I saw looked like my mom’s wardrobe. Maybe even my grandma’s, I swear.

Coats, scarves, little prim shapes. Pretty, sure. Pricey, no doubt. But 2025? Really? Who’s out here dreaming of dressing like it’s the ’60s? Not me. Not anyone I know. I kept waiting for that spark, that twist, the moment you go “yes, that’s it.” It never showed up.

And then the “film.” They hyped it like cinema. What I saw was more like a moody trailer. A Gucci family dinner, a matriarch named Barbara, actors giving each other serious looks across the table. Supposed to be powerful. Felt icy instead. I didn’t connect, didn’t feel anything. Just sat there, like: cool production… but why?

Maybe that’s the point. Maybe Demna wanted to shake people up, prove Gucci isn’t just instant glam anymore. But to be real, there’s a line between provocative and just not landing. And this felt more like the second.

Fashion should grab you—first your skin, then your head. This one didn’t get past the screen.

Here in LA we say the morning light shows you how the day’s gonna go. Gucci’s morning, on my laptop at least, looked cloudy. Maybe it clears later. But right now? Feels more like gray skies than sunrise.

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