Who would not want to live like Veronica Etro? Not only, as ever, did she prance smiling down the catwalk in a golden glow of models, she also invited the audience, metaphorically speaking, into her family home — a luxurious area rich in tapestries and upholstery, where the furnishings seemed bathed in the russet haze of a setting sun.
It could, of course, have been indigestibly rich. Fashion and furniture do not often make comfortable bedfellows. But Veronica has learned a lot since her early days of hippie serendipity.
However much the Etro patterns swirled and whirled, the designer contained them inside streamlined and tailored clothes.
Her customer seems to have been raised a notch or two, with fur, for the first time in my memory, playing a defining role, including coats with intarsia patterns.
Even when cover-ups were left behind, there was a gilded lushness to a long-sleeved silken dress, belted at the waist. A sheen, as on a polished wooden table, was rubbed over all the evening designs.
There is always a suggestion of Art Nouveau in Etro’s patterns. But Veronica has mastered — not without a struggle — how to take the family heritage and walk forward with grace.