My wife and I were in Paris last weekend. Part anniversary celebration and part overdue indulgence, Paris remains a city we both adore. The quality of food choices matches London’s. The Left Bank offers a civilised crawl through galleries and rare bookshops, with a stop at the Hotel where Oscar Wild spent much of his later life. They do a fabulous hot chocolate if you need to escape from the rain, or for any other reason you can muster. And the city holds the sort of cultural promise that makes any weekend feel serendipitous. 

On the trip last weekend there were two exhibitions featuring the works of Dolce and Gabbana. We opted for the deep dive: a full-scale retrospective at the Grand Palais. And what a good idea that was. This wasn’t just a fashion show. It was theatre. A procession through excess, intimacy, and grandeur. And such a body of work on display. 

It was on a par with the Alexander McQueen retrospective at the V&A some years back, and frankly, this surpassed it in sheer immersive spectacle. Each room was carefully staged, with dramatic lighting, immersive set design, and an intensity that left almost no room to breathe. Their vision draws heavily from Catholic liturgy, Sicilian mourning dress, and operatic drama. 

One large room had walls entirely covered in oil paintings – self-portraits by an artist wearing D&G pieces in settings befitting the garment’s own historic influence. Another was entirely created by Sicilian artisans, including a decoratively hand glazed fully tiled floor. 

You could also get remarkably close to many of the garments, allowing an appreciation of the craftsmanship of the artisans employed in their manufacture. The work was truly outstanding. And that is, arguably, the central tenet of Dolce & Gabbana’s legacy. 

In an age where values are under the microscope and brands are increasingly expected to stand for something beyond profit, exhibitions like this take on an extra layer of meaning. A few weeks ago, I wrote about Patagonia and the idea of a “trust premium” - how customers gravitate towards brands whose purpose is not only stated but lived. Entering the world of Dolce & Gabbana is, by contrast, like stepping into a chapel of craft without conscience. Beauty, brilliance, but little in the way of burden. 

That craftsmanship is astonishing. There’s a depth of labour and attention to artisanal technique that few modern fashion houses match. Lacework, embroidery, beadwork. Each piece seemed to carry the collective effort of entire Sicilian villages. 

And of course that is the core delight in D&Gs work. The celebration of incredible craftsmanship is something they have succeeded to impress upon the world for their entire careers. They laud it almost to the cost of the actual clothing. Many garments are unwearable by design: too heavy with embellishment, too structurally rigid, or simply too performative to be anything but museum pieces. The clothing becomes almost incidental, a canvas for bravura excess. 

It felt like the designers kept asking each other “Can we push it further?” and “How can we make it even more extreme?” and “Can it be even more baroque?” The answer was always a flamboyant sì! 

And therein lies, in my opinion the failing of the pair and the beginnings of the less savoury side of the whole Dolce and Gabbana experience. And it is something that reflects the state of much of celebrated wealthy society across the globe. 

A centrepiece of one room was a regal cape, metres long, in deep purple velvet with the designers' names emblazoned in gold across the back. A kind of ecclesiastical ego trip. Well OK if you must. But the ego needed more and the cape was trimmed with dozens of stoats, we are talking a hundred, their tails intact, like a heraldic parade of martyrs to ego. Elsewhere were sweatshirts constructed from what must have been thirty mink pelts each and coats had shaved mink adornments. These weren’t garments but declarations of impunity. “Because we can.” And the cape was made to be worn for just 5 minutes at a show? 

Ethics, it seems, were optional. Dolce & Gabbana continued to use real fur until 2022, well after much of the rest of the fashion world had moved on. And while retrospective exhibitions should be judged in historical context, it’s hard to avoid a visceral response when staring at so many lives stitched into a single coat. One that, by design, would barely see the light of day. 

This hedonistic bravado, coupled with their often tone-deaf cultural statements over the years (racist ads in China, homophobic comments, and other missteps besides), suggests a brand more concerned with self-mythology than meaningful evolution. If there is a hell - and their work is steeped in Catholic iconography indicating that they at least thought as much - they would likely find themselves entering it draped in their own ostentation. 

And yet... there were moments of pure beauty. A gown that captured a fleeting grace. A delicate veil embroidered with saints and sorrow. The grotesque can carry elegance when placed in the hands of masterful craftspeople, and the craftsmanship was really quite special. 

It left me thinking about what brands owe the world beyond their shareholders or superfans. Craft alone, however dazzling, feels hollow without a thread of responsibility running through it. When we celebrate business at TableNetwork, we don’t just applaud growth. We look for impact. 

Who benefits? 

Who’s lifted, not just wowed? 

The most powerful brands today aren’t just selling, they’re standing for something. Dolce & Gabbana, for all their talent, still seem unsure what, or whom, they truly serve. 

A fabulous exhibition, but we left it with whiplash. We were equally delighted and disgusted by the great and grotesque nature of their work. In awe of the detail, and faintly nauseous at the indulgence. Dolce e Gabbana - sweet and grotesque indeed. 

April 2025