I can still feel the electric energy of those days in Milan. Years ago, when I was living there and working as a model, I had the rare privilege of being in his presence, Valentino Garavani and walking in the masterpieces he created.

I remember the hush that would fall over the room when he entered. Working with Valentino Garavani wasn’t just a “booking”—it was an induction into a secret society of beauty. He didn’t just look at the fabric; he looked at the woman inside it. I recall the way he would study a silhouette with that intense, focused gaze, his hands moving with a grace that felt almost musical. He taught me, a young woman in a chaotic industry, that fashion wasn’t about vanity—it was about armor. It was about respect. To the world, he was a legend. To me, he was the man who showed me what true passion looks like up close.

And now, writing this from my desk under a grey winter sky, the world feels a little less vibrant. A little less… Red.

The news broke this morning from Rome: Valentino Garavani has died at the age of 93.

For the headlines, he was a “legendary Italian designer.” For the history books, he was the man who dressed Jackie O and Liz Taylor. But for those of us who live and breathe fashion—who understand that a dress is not just fabric—Valentino Garavani was something else entirely. He was the Last Emperor.

And frankly, I am terrified of what fashion looks like without him.

Valentino Garavani, The Man Who Loved Women (Not Trends)

In a world of “ugly chic” and oversized streetwear that makes women look like shapeless blobs, Valentino was a stubborn holdout. He famously said, “I know what women want. They simply want to be beautiful.”

It sounds simple, doesn’t it? But look at the runways today. They are full of anger, deconstruction, and irony. Valentino Garavani didn’t do irony. He did beauty. He understood the architecture of a woman’s body better than any architect understood a building.

I remember my first vintage Valentino gown I bought years after those modeling days. It wasn’t just a dress; it was a transformation. You put on a Valentino, and you didn’t just walk—you glided. He respected women enough to make them shine, not just to use them as coat hangers for a political statement.

The “Red” That Defined a Century

We have to talk about the Red. Rosso Valentino.

It wasn’t just a color. It was a formula of 100% magenta, 100% yellow, and 10% black—a secret sauce that he discovered at the opera in Barcelona when he was just a student. He saw a woman in a red velvet gown and realized that in a sea of black and grey, she was the only one who mattered.

That is what he gave us. The permission to be the only one who matters in the room.

Whether it was the white collection of 1968 that broke every rule, or the endless parade of red gowns that closed his final show, he never wavered. He never sold out to the “grunge” movement. He never pivoted to sneakers just to sell units (though his Rockstuds certainly paid the bills later). He stayed true to Couture.

A Life of Unapologetic Luxury

Let’s be honest: I loved him for his lifestyle as much as his clothes.

Valentino Garavani lived like a king. The Château de Wideville near Paris. The yacht T.M. Blue One. The five (or was it six?) pugs that followed him everywhere, shedding on priceless fabrics.

In an era where billionaires try to look like tech bros in hoodies, Valentino wore immaculate suits and tanned himself to a deep mahogany. He and his partner, Giancarlo Giammetti, built an empire not just on sales, but on a shared language of beauty. They showed us that life is supposed to be lived, not just optimized.

The End of an Era

His funeral will be this Friday at the Basilica Santa Maria degli Angeli e dei Martiri in Rome. It will likely be the last great gathering of the “Old World” of fashion.

I fear we will never see his kind again. We are in the era of fast fashion, AI-generated designs, and creative directors who last three seasons before getting fired. Valentino lasted 50 years.

So today, do me a favor. Don’t wear sweatpants. Put on something that makes you feel expensive. Put on some red lipstick.

The Emperor has left the building, but we can still honor the court.rt.