PIERPAOLO PICCIOLI | 2021

Interview Filep Motwary

For Pierpaolo Piccioli, fashion is not about authority—it is about the alchemy that occurs when a closely knit team nurtures a single idea. Perhaps it is this generosity of spirit, paired with undeniable talent, that propelled him to the helm of Valentino—a house so profoundly intertwined with its founder that stepping into those shoes was anything but effortless.

Founded in Rome in 1960 by designer Valentino Garavani and businessman Giancarlo Giammetti, Valentino has long been synonymous with jet-set glamour, aristocratic elegance, extravagant fantasy, and uncompromising luxury. The women who embraced Valentino from its inception lived privileged lives, seduced by the dreamlike creations Garavani brought into being.

In September 2007, Valentino himself stepped aside as creative director, passing the torch to Pierpaolo Piccioli and his longtime collaborator Maria Grazia Chiuri—until then responsible for the house’s accessories.

Over the next eight years, the duo worked relentlessly to redefine one of fashion’s most storied maisons, reshaping it for the modern consumer. They infused fresh, contemporary energy into the otherwise restrained codes of Valentino Garavani, winning over a younger audience that has always dictated what is relevant—and in doing so, dramatically increasing the brand’s annual revenue in record time.

A graduate of Rome’s Istituto Europeo di Design, Piccioli met Maria Grazia Chiuri through a mutual friend in the early 1980s. Before Valentino, they worked side by side at Fendi starting in 1989, forming a creative partnership that spanned nearly two decades. In July 2016, their paths diverged: Chiuri was appointed creative director at Dior, while Piccioli remained at Valentino as sole creative director—an unexpected decision that proved astute for both houses.

Our interview with Pierpaolo was initially scheduled for last September. Dates were negotiated around summer holidays, buoyed by the hope that the health crisis had subsided and that life was edging back toward normalcy.

We planned to meet in Paris at the opening of Fashion Week. But as the date approached, a second pandemic wave swept through Europe, extinguishing that possibility. Panic set in over another potentially lost season, pushing designers to seek alternative ways to present their collections. The quickest found refuge on social media. Disappointed and heavy-hearted, I postponed my long-anticipated trip. Shortly after, Valentino informed me by email that the show would be relocated to Milan rather than Paris. I had imagined meeting Pierpaolo and wandering through Valentino’s enchanted universe. Instead, we connected two months later via Zoom—him in Rome, me in Athens. Calm and upbeat, surrounded by art, books, and fashion magazines, he explained what led to the Summer 2021 prêt-à-porter show.

“It was impossible to predict this,” he said. “We had to react quickly to avoid damage.

“There weren’t many options, and staging a show in Paris as we had planned would have felt wrong. Honestly, Milan had never crossed our minds as an alternative—perhaps because we had never faced such a deadlock before. For me, this wasn’t a ‘Plan B,’ but an opportunity to present the collection from a different perspective. I had been focusing more on identity than aesthetics, wanting to give deeper meaning to the changes I introduced at Valentino when I became creative director. I needed to break free from the house’s codes—without abandoning what defines it, like layered materials, roses, and color—but without anchoring everything to a single aesthetic. I wanted to emphasize diversity as a value and share my desire to live in a borderless world. Freedom of expression is essential. The very codes I initially wanted to shed became useful tools—they allowed me to articulate something different about the moment we’re living in. The Milan show helped me see things more calmly, more maturely, and in a way, to challenge fashion’s obsession with constant evolution and progress.”

Relocating the show to Milan cost the team ten invaluable days out of the thirty remaining before the presentation—Paris, after all, traditionally closes the fashion week calendar. “My team and I decided to face the challenge head-on,” Piccioli explains. “Despite the meticulous planning that defines our atelier, reshuffling the schedule was a nightmare. Everything had to remain perfectly balanced in a much shorter timeframe. I questioned whether I could still convey my messages about diversity, individuality, and celebrating our differences under these conditions. Beyond designing the collection, I was overseeing every detail—from makeup to hair. It was a moment that brought me even closer to my team, and for that I’m deeply grateful. I also saw it as an opportunity to support Italian fashion—why not?”

Thus, the grand salons of Paris’s Salomon de Rothschild—long a backdrop for Valentino’s dreamlike shows—gave way to the raw, industrial atmosphere of Milan’s Fonderie Macchi, a foundry in operation for nearly a century. This instinctive yet evolutionary choice of venue, unlike anything Valentino had previously embraced, underscored Piccioli’s audacious approach to redefining the house’s aesthetic language.

Even through a screen, the show carried a powerful emotional charge. The hypnotic voice of singer and producer Labrinth, whom Piccioli entrusted with the soundtrack, deepened the spell. “It was essential to present these clothes live, even to a smaller audience,” he recalls. “We followed every safety protocol—distancing, testing—just to avoid going fully digital and losing the authenticity of the experience. Everything moved slowly, deliberately. In the end, backstage chaos doesn’t matter if you reach your goal. Our message came through. For us, this was a constructive response to the challenges we’re facing. We didn’t deny the problem—we chose to answer it.”

Valentino’s Summer ’21 collection is neither punk nor streetwear—it exists somewhere in between. That ambiguity sparked a spectrum of reactions, which Piccioli welcomed. “A delicate piece of lace treated as an artistic gesture—rather than an entire red-carpet dress—reveals a mindset rooted in respect for craftsmanship and knowledge. The knitted roses, an idea originally conceived by Valentino Garavani, were revived to express our devotion to handiwork, even within ready-to-wear. Fashion, especially in recent decades, has felt dictatorial. Today, it must be assertive. With this show, we wanted to celebrate the beauty of individuality. Our cast was composed of girls with personality—not models chosen for uniformity. Diversity was fundamental. If someone arrived with bold makeup, we amplified it, making it part of the narrative. No one was forced into a mold. Romanticism can stem from strength as much as sensitivity. For me, expressing vulnerability freely is far more meaningful than concealing it. That takes courage.”

I asked him to reflect on revolution in fashion—whether it still exists—and whether fashion can once again become a vehicle for liberation, as it was in the 1950s with Christian Dior, or later through figures like Jean-Charles de Castelbajac, Katharine Hamnett, and Franco Moschino, each of whom shifted the paradigm in their own way.

“A new order is emerging, largely driven by the younger generation,” he says thoughtfully. “The revolution is already here—it simply awaits documentation. I don’t believe it originated in fashion; in fact, fashion may sometimes dilute the revolution we are living through. This raises the question of how we preserve haute couture’s core values today. For me, creation must be rooted in the present. I love couture for its extravagance, its uniqueness, its fearlessness—because it has no limits. Through these tools, I can express the idea of difference.”

He continues: “Haute couture is often defined by terms like savoir-faire and les petites mains—the skilled hands working behind the scenes—but I don’t believe it should be confined to those definitions. Through its singularity, couture mirrors a world in flux. The younger generation understands this instinctively because these values are timeless. When I watch videos about les petites mains, I sometimes feel the terminology is outdated. It no longer fully captures the essence of craftsmanship. For me, couture equals humanity. Design celebrates the magnitude of individuality forged through labor. These are secrets shared within small communities of women in ateliers, passed down through generations. Couture grants the freedom to be as extravagant as one wishes.

“Two years ago, I created a collection entirely dedicated to flowers, presented exclusively by Black models—a first for Valentino. While Black women were visible in ready-to-wear and streetwear, they had never been centered in haute couture. In the 1950s and ’60s, it was unthinkable for fashion houses to dress Black women for editorials in magazines like Ebony or Jet. That history remains close, and I wanted to acknowledge it.”

“Two days after the show, I received an email from a Black woman thanking me—because the collection allowed her grandmother to dream of haute couture. That was success for me. Our work should strive toward a united world—the most beautiful version of it.”

I asked whether he hopes audiences leave his shows not only admiring the clothes but also absorbing the messages behind them. “Fashion does possess a political dimension that emerges through imagery,” he says. “That’s encouraging. A designer’s role is to propose ideas—ways of thinking. I’m not creating art; I’m designing clothes for a community. The need for change has intensified in recent years, and witnessing that shift is profoundly inspiring. For me, fashion has always been a language—a means of communication. It helps me choose the people in my life: my friends, the supporters of the house. We share the same values.”

Comparing past and present, both Valentino Garavani and Pierpaolo Piccioli share a democratic yet deeply romantic view of the female body. “Perhaps because I search for grace rather than beauty,” he says, smiling. “Grace is a forgotten word—more Renaissance than modern. It’s something a painter would capture, not a fashion designer. To look for grace in a woman is to seek harmony between her inner and outer worlds. The people I choose for the runway possess a romantic quality that is at once rebellious, sensual, honest, and authentic. Each of us contains many shades that ultimately coexist in balance.

“Grace exists within every personality. Everyone has their own. It transcends physical traits—and today, finally, diversity is embraced as a value in itself.”

After every show or photoshoot, on both his personal Instagram and Valentino’s, Piccioli appears surrounded by his team—seamstresses, embroiderers, pattern makers, and models—demonstrating a sense of solidarity many designers avoid. “Secrecy feels obsolete,” he says. “I love being part of a team united by the same passion. Only this way can we truly connect with the people we design for. You’ll never see me holding pins or sewing at a dress form—not because I can’t, but because my team does it infinitely better.

“My strength lies in the idea and in articulating a vision. I always bring my collaborators into that process—I like to start collections from the end and work backward. I don’t see my team as executors. I ask for their care and devotion, and I return it. This is not a battlefield; it’s a shared journey. It matters that our audience perceives us as a family—or at least as a harmonious collective. Any true revolution in fashion cannot be authoritarian. It must be generous—a great, encompassing embrace.”

**“Les petites mains” refers to the skilled seamstresses who dedicate their lives to bringing haute couture creations to life in fashion houses.

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