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Hollywood was already familiar with Armani from his success dressing Richard Gere in the 1980 film American Gigolo. When Armani saw Jodie Foster collecting her first Oscar for The Accused in 1989, wearing an unflattering periwinkle dress, he spied an opportunity beneath the taffeta.
The following year Armani dressed Jodie Foster, Jessica Lange, Michelle Pfeiffer, Julia Roberts and Jessica Tandy for the Oscars, which were dubbed The Armani Awards.
When Foster collected her second trophy for The Silence of the Lambs in 1992, the actress wore a white Armani tuxedo jacket and shimmering pantsuit. “I rescued [her] from the worst-dressed list at the Oscars,” Armani told Grazia. He also ushered in an era of designer dressing for the red carpet that transformed the Academy Awards into a major event on the fashion calendar.
In the decades that followed, Armani’s business and fortune continued to grow, but his influence was challenged by the emergence of influential fashion figures such as Tom Ford at Gucci, Hedi Slimane at Dior Homme and Phoebe Philo at Celine.
By the time I began attending Giorgio Armani runway shows at the cavernous Armani Teatro in his sprawling, brutalist headquarters at 59 Via Bergognone in Milan while working for Vogue Australia in the 00s, there was something almost old-fashioned about the presentations. Carefully positioned members of staff would lead “spontaneous” bursts of applause, as a seemingly endless parade of unidentifiable models in slim trousers, brocade bolero jackets and unusual hats sauntered with Italian nonchalance.
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The clothes were beautiful, but it was unclear where these women were going.
While other labels would race to install new creative directors, King Giorgio, like Queen Elizabeth II, didn’t believe in abdication. It was startling in June when Armani was unable to take his bow at the menswear shows with his longtime collaborator and head of menswear design, Leo Dell’Orco, receiving the honour. Dell’Orco is tipped to continue taking bows in the future.
There weren’t many opportunities to wear my Giorgio Armani shirt in Bundoora, or at the newspaper where I worked in the 90s. It finally received an airing in 2007 when I attended a dinner Cate Blanchett hosted for the designer to celebrate his role as patron of the Sydney Theatre Company.
That evening, his brilliant teeth, shining like Carrera marble in his perpetually tanned face, Armani placed his hands on the shoulders of my shirt, smiled and nodded. It felt like a blessing – to keep dreaming of an approach to dressing that’s worth skipping a bowl of hot chips.
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