For the timeless and the effortless
In the Cab With
Angelo Flaccavento
A Conversation on Maintaining an Outsider Perspective, No Bullshit, Staying True to Yourself, and Looking Ahead in a Changing Industry
August 30 2025, by Bart Kooi
Part-time in Milan, part-time in his native Ragusa, Sicily, Flaccavento brings an outsider’s perspective to an industry he has witnessed evolve for more than 25 years. With a foundation in art history, he combines sociology with aesthetics, looking at fashion in the bigger picture, and producing criticism that is as intellectually rigorous as it is bluntly honest. Straight to the point with very sharp writing, or in a softer, more poetic style, his writing cuts through the noise without ever losing its nuance.
In this week’s In the Cab With: Angelo Flaccavento, he reflects: “For me, the goal is always to show that the emperor has no clothes. My number one rule is: no bullshit.”
Growing up in Ragusa, you were first introduced to fashion through the magazines at your aunt’s store. What was it like to encounter that world for the very first time?
I have very vivid memories of those magazines. My aunt received so many — Vogue Italia and other Italian titles — that she couldn’t keep up with them, so sometimes I was allowed to take a few home.
Having those magazines at home felt like diving into another world for a whole month. I would read them cover to cover, over and over again, until a new issue arrived. It was truly magical. They were almost like portals to another dimension—something the internet can be today, but with a much deeper meaning. Online, you can find anything, as long as you know what to type and search for. Back then, magazines were like shrines to things you didn’t even know existed.
In previous interviews, I read that you were particularly drawn to Comme des Garçons and i-D Magazine—both offering a completely different appeal from life in Ragusa, I can imagine.
I think taste is something acquired as much as it is innate. There was always something in me drawn to what felt pure, stark, and raw—things less decorated than the average.
I remember going to the Comme des Garçons store on Via Sant’Andrea in Milan. It was in the ’80s concept: raw concrete, almost empty shelves, just a few pieces on display. I was 13 at the time, and so into it that I begged my mom to buy me a jacket. The store owner was so moved she even offered a discount, despite it being peak season, but my mom still said no. I still remember that jacket.
You also mentioned that you were a shy boy, observing your peers from outside the group. So you were always more an outsider, and suddenly there was a world that you could connect to. Was it an epiphany to discover something beyond Ragusa that you could connect with?
In a way, yes. But it didn’t matter whether I was part of it physically, as long as I could immerse myself in that world in my mind. To me, sometimes the fantasy is more important than reality—I can live completely in my head. I never felt the need to belong to that group of crows all dressed in black. I’ve always felt disconnected from the wider group because, at heart, I’m a loner. I mean, I can be very, very well on my own.
It’s difficult to put into words, but I like to steal from different ideas. I like a little bit of this, a little bit of that. But I don't belong here, I don’t belong there. That sense of not belonging is something I really strive for.
Are you still that little boy observing others from outside?
I think having an outsider’s perspective is what defines me, even as a fashion professional. My choice to live both in Milan and in Ragusa is intentional—to be at the center of the system and at the same time completely outside of it. It’s my way of preserving that outsider’s view.
After 25 years of working in the system, of course I belong to it. But I don’t want to play the games. I’m fascinated by people-watching—I like observing how people behave, how they dress, how they move through a space. I enjoy the social side for that reason, but all the small talk and parties? Not for me. [laughs]
Although you were fascinated by fashion from an early age, you decided to study art history instead. What made you study art history?
You know, there are moments when you can’t escape the pressure of the social circle you’re part of. At grammar school, my teachers kept saying, ‘He should go to university. He could be a great university professor,’ and so on. So I decided to study literature and art history.
In hindsight, I’m very happy with the path I took, because everything I studied in art history has been instrumental in the way I analyze fashion today. It helped me place my love of aesthetics in a broader context. To me, it’s never just about the clothing—it’s always about something more, about everything surrounding it.
Just as important as observing is the way you put it into words. The quality and style of writing matter a great deal. I love the idea of style as something that extends from the way I dress to the way I write. Maybe not everyone notices the connection between who I am in how I dress, how I write, or how I draw—but I do. When someone does notice, it’s the greatest compliment.
My studies were very formative. Everything happened for a reason, even if I didn’t see that reason at the time.
It made you the fashion critic you are today.
Absolutely. What I see in fashion today is that it fashion feeds on fashion—and that’s it. Great fashion feeds on many different things. We need to read fashion as an aesthetic manifesto—through color, texture, shape, and every detail—but also for what it communicates about society at a particular moment. Fashion is a barometer of what is happening in society.
Judging a fashion show isn’t just about evaluating the clothes; it’s a mix of art criticism, theater criticism, fashion criticism—many different elements coming together.
“I love the idea of style as something that extends from the way I dress to the way I write.”
After studying art history, how did you actually land your first job in fashion?
After my studies, I returned to Ragusa to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. I loved university, but I couldn’t see myself as a teacher or anything like that.
I took a trip to Paris and visited the offices of Dutch Magazine, where I met Rebecca Voight, who was the fashion director at the time. I had found her email address and dropped her a few lines. She liked my tone and agreed to meet. We just clicked, and she asked me, ‘Have you ever written anything in English?’ I told her yes—which was a lie. But that’s how I started working for them. From there, one job led to another. I worked for L’Uomo Vogue when Anna Dello Russo was editor-in-chief, and later Paola Bottelli brought me to the newspaper where I still write today in Italy, Il Sole 24 Ore—Italy’s [equivalent of] The Financial Times.
I met Imran [Amed] when Business of Fashion was still just a blog he was literally running from his sofa in his living room. I’m not really good at networking, but it has always been the quality of my work that has opened doors to new connections and collaborations.
Is there ever a moment when you pause and reflect on how far you’ve come?
I’m always looking ahead, but I realize I’m exactly where I wanted to be when I’m writing an article. My goal is to bring the reader with me, to have them see things through my eyes. The moment I truly feel fulfilled is during the process of writing. It’s not the final stage—it’s the process of turning images or experiences into words. That’s what really energizes me.
It can be grueling, it can be exhausting. Sometimes turning an image into words is a nightmare—but it’s a suffering that’s worth it.
You know, sometimes I think it’s really an Italian thing. We fashion writers are often looked down upon by other writers, as if we’re writing about something frivolous or silly. But you can be entertaining and also be deeply insightful. When I developed my style—it’s the same as with how I dress or draw—I realized you don’t need any compensation or decoration; you can go straight to the point.
Now that directness is what people recognize you for.
Sometimes I go straight to the point with very sharp writing; sometimes it’s in a softer, more poetic style. In that sense, I’m really moody—but in a good way. Not in the sense that my moods change, but I let the subject dictate how I approach it.
A few years ago, I met Phoebe Philo for an interview. She was wearing a black T-shirt and black pants, and I asked her, ‘Why are you wearing black?’ She replied, ‘Because I was meeting you, I wanted a shield.’ I told her, ‘I’m wearing black too, because I wanted a shield for meeting you.’ So that psychological drive in choosing black was what I wrote about.
Doesn’t that also take a certain confidence—to allow yourself the freedom to let your subject dictate your approach?
Absolutely, it’s confidence, but it’s also a natural flow. I can describe the process in hindsight, but it just happens as I write, without me thinking about it too much.
For example, in a story I did on Miguel Adrover, I thought, ‘Miguel Adrover is a very complex personality, so I want the reader to see him not as a crazy person, but as someone layered and nuanced. Maybe if I describe where and how he lives, they’ll get closer to him and not judge him.’ So more than confidence, for me, it’s a way to be truthful to the subject I’m writing about. In my writing, I try to marry the essential with the soulful.
This is something I ask myself all the time. One of my first reactions to all these changes was to become very grumpy—there was a moment in my writing when I was just very grumpy about it all. But being grumpy won’t change the system. The system is so much bigger than any of us. We can try to make a point, but it’s like throwing a small stone into the water.
Also, I don’t want to keep my head stuck looking backward. I know the system has changed. I have to acknowledge that the logic driving the system today is completely different, so the parameters I use to judge or evaluate what I see must be different as well.
For a long time, creativity and ideas were the main barometer for judging something. But the system doesn’t feed on ideas as much anymore. Storytelling has become an important element, which can be so fake or deceitful.
As a writer, I’m sometimes hired by fashion houses to write press releases. It can be very enjoyable, because you get to connect with the designer, listen to them, and turn their ideas into something that communicates clearly. But with some brands, you step into a room, they show you the clothes, and they ask you to find a concept. I’m always thinking, ‘Shouldn’t you tell me what the concept is first, so I can find the right words?’ Because if there’s no concept, I won’t be able to invent one in five minutes.
For me, the goal is always to show when the emperor has no clothes. My number one rule is: no bullshit. There’s too much bullshit.
These days, millions of people can post on social media, everyone can share their opinion. That is not fashion criticism. What I try to do is stay down to earth, to look at things as they are, without the whipped cream PR-teams likes to pile on. My job is to deflate the whipped cream around fashion.
That's the role that you're taking on.
Yes. [laughs] It is very important to me that I’m direct and honest in my opinions, but the way I write them is not to show the world how merciless I can be. For me, criticism is always meant to help create something better; it’s intended to be constructive.
The best thing for me is when designers say, ‘What you wrote has helped me focus on this or that.’ If they just get offended because I didn’t like something, that feels like a defeat, because that’s not my point. It’s not about, ‘Look at me, I’m ruthless and merciless.’ It’s not that. I love fashion so much that I want the system to be better.
“For me, the goal is always to show when the emperor has no clothes. My number one rule is: no bullshit. There’s too much bullshit.”
What keeps you enthusiastic about the industry? What makes you still feel excited to be part of it?
What keeps me enthusiastic is that there can always be a surprise. Sometimes you go to a show expecting big things and leave disappointed. Other times, you walk into a show with no expectations and end up thinking, ‘Oh wow, this is something.’
I remember two years ago going to Simone Bellotti’s debut at Bally. Honestly, I didn’t feel like going, but by the second look I thought, ‘Thank God I came.’ From the very start I felt something happening in that show, and it turned out to be the best of the season—completely unexpected. That’s what I really love about fashion, that element of surprise.
I like it when there’s a big surprise, and I’ve always been a champion of the underdogs. I really enjoy small brands, because that’s where people can still do things differently. Of course, the system today is about being as big and as loud as possible, which makes it difficult for small designers. But if you’re smart, if you have a good idea, if you know how to slip through the cracks, you can still gain visibility. Being small also means being flexible. No one can compete with the budgets of LVMH or Kering, so rather than trying to play in that league, you can build a league of your own.
With fashion month coming up, is there a specific debut that you're really looking forward to?
I’m really curious about Simone [Bellotti]’s debut at Jil Sander. And of course, I’m morbidly curious to see if Demna [Gvasalia] can turn Gucci around. After seeing the last season at Chanel with just the design team, I really wonder what Matthieu Blazy could bring there. And I’m also eager to see what Glenn Martens might do at Maison Margiela.
I think Glenn Martens is one of the most talented designers working today. Margiela was always about real clothing — with a very radical idea of clothing for life — and I’d love to see how Glenn Martens interprets that. I’m really looking forward to it.
So there’s enough to stay enthusiastic about.
Yes! And I’m also very happy that Marni hired Meryll Rogge, though that will be next season. To have a woman back at Marni — a brand that was originally woman-led — feels important. She brings a sensibility that echoes the original Marni, but with today’s more psychedelic edge. I find that really interesting, and I like that it champions another underdog •
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
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