Maria Grazia Chiuri reinterprets the house’s past through a muted lens. While technically refined, the collection feels like a museum exhibit: beautifully preserved, deeply researched, and lacking the pulse of something truly alive
Dior is stuck in a dream. Not the kind that sweeps you into a world of endless possibilities, but the kind where you’re aware you’re dreaming and still can’t quite shake yourself awake. Maria Grazia Chiuri’s latest haute couture collection for Dior is a study in suspended animation—neither past nor future, neither thrilling nor tedious, just… there. It has all the right references, all the right historical nods, all the right techniques. But is that enough? Fashion, especially in couture , is physical, not just philosophical.
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The collection drifts through time, cherry-picking from Dior’s archives, with callbacks to the Cigale silhouette from 1952 and the Trapèze line introduced by Yves Saint Laurent in 1958. The crinoline makes a reappearance, this time as an open framework trailing embroidered vines, while tulle culottes peek out from beneath baby doll dresses. A parade of petal-like capes, ruched skirts, and corseted bodices create a vision of rococo excess softened into contemporary palatability. It’s all lovely, technically proficient, and well-researched. But is it exciting? Is it couture that demands attention?
Chiuri, ever the historian in her spotlight of female figures, approached the collection like a curator assembling an exhibition—precise, reverent, and steeped in meaning. The show’s setting, draped in the ethereal botanical illustrations of Indian artist Rithika Merchant, reinforced this sense of scholarly devotion. The garments themselves, however, felt like museum pieces rather than living, breathing fashion. A lampshade dress, shimmering with jet beads, nodded at Dior’s past but lacked the audacity of its origins. A swing coat in beige faille, inspired by Saint Laurent’s work for the house, moved with grace but not with purpose.
Perhaps the most striking element was the contradiction in materials—couture shapes rendered in so-called humble textiles like raffia, straw, and horsehair ribbons. It was an attempt at subversion, a play on contrast, but instead of feeling radical, it felt restrained. Sheer corsets and cage skirts hinted at the underlying structure of couture but never pushed beyond safe convention. At least, it has a female gaze-esque in protecting the vulnerabilities of body’s skin through the placement of the transparent fabric. Even the punk-inspired mohawks—crafted from flowers and raffia—felt more like an aesthetic accessory than an act of rebellion or love.
Dior is in limbo, essentially in deep sleep, hovering in that delicate space between relevance and redundancy. There is beauty in the work, certainly. There is history, artistry, and intention. But where is the suspense? The urgency? The kind of fashion that makes hearts race and pulses quicken? Right now, Dior is a sleeping beauty, caught in a couture reverie. In a time where fashion thrives on momentum and the industry is ripe with creative director changes, it might be time for a wake-up call.
Photos: DIOR
