She did it classily, seeming for the first time to have overcome any tentativeness about reveling in the territory her brother famously carved out. In their tiny pelmet skirts, jazzily printed dresses, and super-fitted suitings, the girls were all legs and glossy hair—quintessential Versace women (though, it has to be said, still quite a lot thinner than they used to be in Gianni's day).
That's a powerful sight to see on any runway, but somehow none of it came across as too slavishly reverential or in any way vulgar. Part of that is down to the Versace way of making things, in an atelier that is as superb as it's always been. When she sets about adding silver metallic embroideries, using perforated and studded leather, or draping a pink chiffon evening gown, Donatella has the technical effects completely under control. The result: a sure-footed, happy collection guaranteed to pique the interest of her daughter's generation.
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