How Schiaparelli Redefined the Concept of “Fashion as Art”
Fashion has always danced on the edge of art, teasing at the boundary between the practical and the fantastical. Most designers lean towards one side or the other: clothing as function, clothing as fantasy, but Elsa Schiaparelli? She obliterated the border entirely. Where others designed garments, she created ideas. Where others aimed to flatter the body, she sought to challenge the mind. If fashion were a language, Schiaparelli spoke in poetry — sometimes surreal, sometimes satirical, always ahead of its time.
In a world where fashion often feels like an endless loop of revival and repetition, her work remains singular. It doesn’t merely fit into the historical timeline of couture — it exists in a category of its own, suspended between dream and reality. Schiaparelli didn’t just dress women; she transformed them into moving canvases, into walking sculptures, into something entirely other. Her legacy isn’t just in the clothes, but in the way she made fashion think.
Schiaparelli Haute Couture SS22
The Art of Dressing: Where Fantasy Meets Fabric
To say Schiaparelli was influenced by surrealism would be an understatement. She didn’t just take inspiration from the movement; she lived inside it. Her designs were less garments and more riddles draped over the body, each piece a carefully constructed enigma, stitched together with wit, defiance, and a touch of the absurd. She didn’t merely adorn women; she transformed them into canvases, walking works of art that whispered secrets to those who dared to look closely.
Schiaparelli understood something fundamental about fashion that many designers miss — it is, at its core, an illusion. A trick of the eye, a conjuring act. And who better to embrace this than a designer who counted Salvador Dalí among her closest collaborators? Together, they treated fabric the way a painter treats a canvas, pushing the boundaries of what could be worn, of what could be understood as “fashion.” A hat that looked like an upside-down shoe? Why not. A dress with drawers sewn into it, as if the wearer might tuck away their dreams alongside their lipstick? Of course!
Nowhere was this philosophy more apparent than in her most iconic pieces. The Lobster Dress, with its unmistakable Dalí-drawn crustacean sprawled across a delicate white fabric, wasn’t just a dress — it was a visual puzzle. The lobster, a symbol of both eroticism and the absurd, was placed so carefully on the garment that it felt almost scandalous, a quiet rebellion disguised as elegance. And the Skeleton Dress, perhaps her most haunting creation, took the idea of structure quite literally, with its padded ridges mimicking bones, blurring the line between couture and anatomy, between external adornment and internal composition.
This was clothing as provocation, as performance, as poetry. To wear Schiaparelli was not simply to dress — it was to participate in a kind of surrealist theatre. You weren’t just putting on a gown; you were stepping into an artwork, embodying a concept, becoming a metaphor.
But what made Schiaparelli’s surrealist approach so enduring was that it never felt forced. Unlike some designers who dabble in “artistic” fashion only for it to descend into the realm of costume, her work remained effortless. The whimsy was balanced by precision, the absurdity by impeccable tailoring. She never allowed the concept to overshadow the artisanry. Each piece, no matter how eccentric, was engineered with the skill of a master couturier. This was not surrealism for the sake of shock — it was surrealism that invited conversation, that made you look twice, that made you reconsider what fashion could be.
Her designs were not just about making a woman look beautiful; they were about making her unforgettable.
The Colour of Rebellion: Shocking Pink and the Language of Impact
Few designers can claim ownership over a colour, but Schiaparelli could. Her signature Shocking Pink, a hue so electric it practically hums, wasn’t just a shade; it was a manifesto. It rejected subtlety, ignored restraint, and declared that fashion should never whisper when it could shout. In a sea of muted elegance, Schiaparelli’s pink was a siren call, a visual slap in the face to convention.
Elsa Schiaparelli (Source: John Phillips/Getty Images)
This wasn’t the gentle pink of ballet slippers or rose petals — this was pink on the verge of chaos. It was the pink of fever dreams, of neon lights reflected in rain-slicked Parisian streets, of lipstick smudged onto the collar of a lover’s shirt. It was the pink of rebellion wrapped in silk, a declaration that femininity didn’t have to be soft or demure, that it could be bold, loud, even aggressive. It was a colour that refused to wait for permission.
At the time, pink was still largely associated with the sentimental and the delicate, a colour tethered to innocence, to childhood, to femininity at its most traditional. But Schiaparelli, in her infinite irreverence, tore pink from its dainty origins and catapulted it into the realm of high drama. She made it impossible to ignore, impossible to relegate to the background. And in doing so, she turned a colour into a weapon, a symbol, an identity.
The name itself, Shocking Pink, wasn’t an accident. It was a calculated choice, inspired by the diamond-studded perfume bottle she designed for the fragrance Shocking, whose colour mirrored the dresses that soon followed. It was pink with intent. Pink designed to provoke. The shade was brash, theatrical, and unapologetic, embodying everything that Schiaparelli herself represented.
But Shocking Pink wasn’t just a personal branding move — it was a statement about how colour could be wielded as power. It was proof that fashion, like painting or sculpture, could create emotion at first glance. Schiaparelli understood that colour wasn’t just decoration; it was language. A dress in Shocking Pink was not just an outfit: it was a declaration, a refusal to blend in.
Today, designers borrow from this philosophy without even realising it. Valentino’s Pink PP collection, Pierpaolo Piccioli’s monochromatic explosion of magenta, was arguably a modern love letter to Schiaparelli’s fearless use of colour. The vibrant hues of Jacquemus, the acid brights of Moschino, the eye-searing neon gowns of Balenciaga — all trace back to Schiaparelli’s understanding that fashion isn’t just about shape or fabric; it’s about the visceral impact of hue. The use of colour in branding, in red carpet moments, in viral runway collections — all of it can be linked to the moment Schiaparelli decided that pink should be more than pretty; it should be shocking.
And while trends come and go, Shocking Pink has never truly faded. It remains, to this day, a symbol of defiance, of artistic audacity, of a designer who refused to do things quietly. Schiaparelli may have passed, but her colour still lingers vibrant, untamed, unforgettable.
Fashion as a Mindset: The Legacy of Schiaparelli’s Philosophy
What makes Schiaparelli’s work truly revolutionary is that her influence isn’t just aesthetic — it’s intellectual. She didn’t just make dresses; she made arguments. She proved that fashion could be both playful and profound, that it could be worn on the body while also living in the mind. To wear Schiaparelli was not just to adorn oneself in luxury but to engage in a form of visual dialogue, an ongoing conversation between wearer and observer, between art and reality. Her designs were more than garments; they were ideas stitched into fabric, symbols masquerading as couture.
Bella Hadid at the 2021 Cannes Film Festival wearing Schiaparelli Couture
Unlike many designers who are remembered for silhouettes, fabrics, or technical innovations, Schiaparelli’s most lasting legacy is conceptual. She introduced a way of thinking about fashion that extended beyond seams and stitches — it was about humour, about wit, about the sheer joy of the unexpected. A Schiaparelli dress did not simply decorate a woman’s body; it transformed her into a living artwork, an enigma wrapped in silk and surrealism.
Decades after her heyday, her ideas continue to ripple through fashion. The conceptual, avant-garde work of designers like Rei Kawakubo and Iris van Herpen owes a quiet debt to Schiaparelli’s fearless approach. Kawakubo’s deconstructed, often anti-fashion silhouettes may seem a world away from Schiaparelli’s theatrical elegance, but the core philosophy is the same: fashion as a challenge, fashion as a provocation. It is the refusal to conform to what clothing is supposed to be. Iris van Herpen with her ethereal, almost otherworldly designs, channels Schiaparelli’s belief that fashion can transcend the material world — that a dress can be more than a dress, that it can carry the weight of dreams and illusions.
Even in more commercial spaces, elements of Schiaparelli’s surrealist playfulness appear. Trompe-l’œil illusions, once her signature, now emerge on the runways of Viktor & Rolf, where sculptural gowns defy gravity and blur the line between clothing and sculpture. Moschino’s Jeremy Scott, with his tongue-in-cheek humour and delight in absurdity, follows in Schiaparelli’s footsteps in his irreverent approach to luxury. And then there’s Jonathan Anderson at Loewe, who seems to delight in a Schiaparelli-esque playfulness — coats shaped like giant bows, dresses adorned with hyper-realistic balloon motifs, accessories that look more like Duchampian ready-mades than handbags.
But beyond specific references, beyond the designers who consciously or unconsciously borrow from her, Schiaparelli’s greatest legacy is a mindset. She changed the way we think about fashion, the way we feel about clothing. She made it clear that fashion is not just about looking beautiful, it is about being interesting. It is about making people stop and stare, about forcing them to think, to react, to feel something.
In a world where fashion is often dismissed as frivolous, Schiaparelli’s legacy serves as a reminder that creativity is never shallow, that imagination is never insignificant. She exhibited that a dress could be more than fabric and thread — it could be a story, a statement, a rebellion. And that, in itself, is the very essence of what fashion should be: not just something you wear, but something you experience.
Daniel Roseberry: The Architect of Modern Surrealism
Whenever I’m in Paris, I make a point to visit the Schiaparelli store on Place Vendôme. It’s not so much a boutique as it is a shrine to the house’s singular vision, a space where every seam and embellishment carries the weight of history, of art, of a defiant refusal to be ordinary. Standing inside, you don’t just browse — you observe, you absorb, you let the pieces whisper their stories to you. And in recent years, no one has revived that dialogue quite like Daniel Roseberry.
If Elsa Schiaparelli was the architect of fashion’s love affair with surrealism, Daniel Roseberry is its most devoted revivalist. When he took over the house in 2019, there was an unspoken question hanging in the air: Could anyone truly bring back the spirit of Schiaparelli without it feeling like a costume, a museum exhibit of past eccentricities? The answer, it turns out, was a resounding yes.
The house of Schiaparelli, under Daniel Roseberry, carries on this tradition with theatrical, sculptural couture that embraces the absurd without losing its elegance. But even beyond the brand itself, Schiaparelli’s legacy is in the way we think about fashion, as something that doesn’t have to make sense, as something that can exist outside of trends and seasons, as something that can be — above all — art.
Roseberry’s Schiaparelli doesn’t just reference surrealism — it embodies it, breathes it, lets it shape every gold-drenched, sculptural piece he sends down the runway. His collections feel like they exist outside of time, pulling from the past while firmly planted in the now. He doesn’t merely recreate Schiaparelli’s archival motifs: the padlocks, the anatomical embellishments, the playful distortions of the human form, he reinvents them, amplifies them, makes them feel radical all over again.
His Spring 2023 couture collection, for instance, featured the infamous faux taxidermy dress — lions, wolves, and leopards sculpted so masterfully they sent the internet into a frenzy were not simply shock value. They were a direct conversation with Schiaparelli’s history, a nod to her love for nature’s untamed beauty and a reference to Dante’s Inferno. It was high fashion as theatre, as literature, as a philosophical debate unfolding in silk and faux fur. It’s this kind of audacity, this willingness to toe the line between elegance and absurdity, that makes Roseberry’s Schiaparelli more than just an homage — it makes it alive.
Couture as a Provocation
Couture is often mistaken for a world of quiet luxury: delicate lace, whisper-thin silks, and beadwork so fine it feels like it was sewn by moonlight. But Schiaparelli has always been about something more dangerous, more disruptive. It is fashion with a smirk, couture that dares you to ask, “Is this beautiful or is this unsettling?” The answer, inevitably, is both.
Schiaparelli Spring 2023 Haute Couture collection
Roseberry understands this better than most. His couture is not just intricate, it is confrontational. The oversized, exaggerated gold jewellery, such as earrings the size of your palm, belts that resemble molten gold poured onto the body — aren’t just accessories, they are statements. His structured bodices, sculpted like armour, turn the wearer into a living sculpture, both regal and untouchable. And his obsession with eyes, noses, lips — body parts abstracted, deconstructed, reassembled — is as much about surrealism as it is about identity. Who are we when our features become ornament? When the human form is distorted, are we more or less ourselves?
This is not fashion for the faint-hearted. This is not about wearability. This is about possibility.
The Cult of Schiaparelli
There is something about Schiaparelli, both then and now, that attracts a very particular kind of wearer. These are not clothes for the minimalist, for the one who seeks quiet refinement. These are clothes for those who delight in spectacle, who find joy in excess, who see no difference between art and adornment. No wonder the brand has become a red-carpet favourite for performers who understand the value of visual storytelling.
Beyoncé’s gilded corset at the Renaissance tour? Schiaparelli. Doja Cat, covered head to toe in 30,000 blood-red crystals? Schiaparelli. Kylie Jenner casually wearing a lion’s head as if it were a brooch? Schiaparelli. Each look is more than just an outfit—: t’s a statement, a provocation, a visual riddle waiting to be deciphered.
But it’s not just about celebrity spectacle. What makes Schiaparelli’s revival under Roseberry so compelling is that it remains deeply, intensely personal. These designs are meant to be worn with conviction, to transform the wearer into something larger than life. And yet, in all the grandeur, there is still intimacy. To wear Schiaparelli is to engage in a dialogue — not just with the garment, but with the self.
A Legacy Reborn
So, is fashion art? Schiaparelli has never had to ask. It has always known the answer.
Roseberry’s work at Schiaparelli is not just about making beautiful things — it’s about resurrecting the spirit of a house that was always ahead of its time. He understands that couture, at its best, is not about nostalgia but about evolution. Schiaparelli was never meant to be a relic, a historical footnote in the annals of surrealist fashion. It was meant to provoke, to delight, to challenge.
And now, standing inside that Place Vendôme store, surrounded by pieces that shimmer like relics of some alternate universe, I feel that same sense of wonder that Elsa Schiaparelli herself must have felt when she first dreamt of fashion as something boundless. Something limitless. Something closer to art than to clothing.
Why Schiaparelli Still Matters
In an industry obsessed with reinvention, Schiaparelli remains timeless because she never played by the rules in the first place. Her work reminds us that fashion should never be purely practical, that it should sometimes be ridiculous, sometimes unsettling, sometimes almost impossible. In a world where designers often feel the pressure to cater to the market, to follow what sells, Schiaparelli’s work feels like a breath of fresh air — a reminder that fashion, at its best, is about daring to be different.
Perhaps that’s why her name still lingers, long after so many of her contemporaries have faded. She didn’t just make clothes; she made ideas. And ideas, as we all know, are impossible to kill.
S xoxo
Written in London, England
16th January 2025