Valentino, too, has left us. The new year also begins badly, amid international tensions, new wars on the horizon, and old conflicts that cannot be appeased. News of Valentino’s death feels like a symbol that our era of beauty, peace, progress, growth, and genius has truly come to an end, leading us toward an unknown abyss from which only intelligence—human, and perhaps artificial—might show us the path to rebirth. Or perhaps not.

Valentino was an elegant, kind man of immense talent, a true devotee of beauty, faithful to himself, to his friends, to his extended family, and to his own universe.

As journalists and editors of Italy’s most important fashion magazines, Flavio and I knew him well. He was the first great protagonist and ambassador of Italian style to the world, from the days when he was the favorite couturier of Jackie Kennedy and so many other ethereal beauties and celebrities. Flavio celebrated him extensively in Vogue during the 1970s. I featured him on the cover many times in the 1980s on my magazine Donna. For the twenty-fifth anniversary of his career, we dedicated a truly special “special” to him. Lucchini drew inspiration from Valentino for many of his fashion-art works in the 1990s. Valentino was also among the first great designers to choose Superstudio Più for one of his unpredictable runway shows in Milan in 2003.
We shared a subtle and profound bond, made of admiration, esteem, respect, and affection, following from afar in recent years the evolution of his “tribe,” always the same since his youth: Giancarlo (Giammetti), Daniela (Giardina), Carlos (Souza) with Charlene, and the young people Valentino considered his grandchildren. Today, the chapter of great Italian creators—those with a unique and inimitable style—closes forever. Valentino has died; Fashion has died. All that remains are the clothes. And nostalgia.