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How do you choose the most important collections of a decade? The ones that made a lasting impact? First, we established the parameters: As far as the runways are concerned, the 2010s began in September 2009 with New York’s Spring 2010 shows; they ended earlier this month when the Fall 2019 haute couture shows wrapped in Paris. Dates set, Vogue editors submitted their favorites. After much debate, the enthusiastic, idiosyncratic lists were whittled down to an essential, agreed-upon 10. Collectively, we’ve seen thousands of shows in the last decade—maybe tens of thousands. This was a daunting task, but also illuminating, and even fun.
As for the results? Phoebe Philo’s minimalist manifesto of a first collection for Céline and the sharp suiting with a sustainability backstory that Sarah Burton just did at Alexander McQueen bookend our list chronologically. That paints a picture of a decade moving from chic utilitarianism shaped by the Great Recession to resourceful elegance informed by the terrors of climate change. But that’s only part of the story; it was the years in the middle of the decade that produced the most news.
No surprise, there are a lot of new beginnings on the list—the industry loves nothing more than a fresh start. But an era-defining, affecting swan song made the cut, too. Career highs and collections that changed the course of fashion—the silhouette of the clothes and the look of the models who wore them—are also in the mix. If the 2010s were a decade of change, the era’s dominant forces nonetheless shaped and molded this list. Heritage labels edged out fierce independents and male designers outnumbered females. But who knows for how long: The story of the recent haute couture shows was the trio of women now leading the major houses: Maria Grazia Chiuri at Dior, Clare Waight Keller at Givenchy, Virginie Viard at Chanel.
Of course, no examination of fashion in the 2010s would be complete without the late, great Karl Lagerfeld, though he himself had no time for nostalgia. “Things are done for the joy of doing it,” he told Vogue in 1995. “Tomorrow, I begin again.” The Spring 2020 women’s shows kick off in New York in 49 days!
Here, our top 12 collections of the 2010s, in chronological order.
Céline Spring 2010
Phoebe Philo changed it all with her Spring 2010 runway debut for Céline. “I just thought I’d clean it up. Make it strong and powerful,” she said. “A kind of contemporary minimalism.” I described it in my review as her mission to make “classy utilitarianism sexy,” and something of the sort was definitely recognized by those of us who’d gathered to see Philo’s leap to a new house. She’d taken four years out after her wildly successful run at Chloé, so a lot of anticipation was riding on the show. What none of us predicted was that Philo was about to convert fangirls into fan-women at a stroke with all the chic, pared-down, mostly neutral day clothes she showed that day. It was a breakaway manifesto for the “working woman,” the first blueprint for a female uniform that had come along in a generation.
It was a very big deal—emotionally, practically, and philosophically—and it continued to be until Philo closed her Céline chapter and walked away again in 2017. Rarely has a decade in fashion ever got off to such a definite, viscerally understandable start. Also, a clear-headed, sensible, female-directed one. After all, in 2008 male bankers had crashed the global economy. It was a really precarious time—for people who were losing their jobs, homes, and savings, or living in fear of it. In my mind’s eye, Phoebe Philo was standing up and representing all of the smart women whose sane opinions on testosterone-driven economic recklessness had not been heard in the 2000s. All I can say is that it came as a huge relief to women who now had to double-down on earning a living.
As understated as it might look now, the impact of Philo’s Céline was an awakening for a system that had slumped into a lazy cycle of girly, hyper-sexy, red carpet–serving fashion. The 2000s had been the years of carefree credit-boom-fueled nonstop partying. A lot of what Philo herself designed at Chloé—breezy frilled dresses, cute shorts, sky-high clogs, retro jeans, and It bags like the Paddington—had encapsulated that time. Whether she analyzes it or not (she’s always stubbornly refused to utter intellectual aperçus) Philo is quite brilliant at channeling the times in her work. On the brink of the 2010s, she was the designer who recognized how sharply everything had changed, and was the first to understand what to do about it.
Power like that has the effect of changing the atmosphere in fashion. Céline did: Against the economic odds, under Philo it became a cult brand that women were prepared to invest in. I use that word deliberately, because had you wisely bought any single thing from that collection, you’d probably still be wearing it now.—Sarah Mower
Comme des Garçons Fall 2012
“The future is two-dimensional,” was all that Rei Kawakubo, Comme des Garçons’s militantly taciturn designer, offered after her legendary Fall 2012 show. But of course you understood at once what she meant—the extraordinary fashions on the runway, quickly dubbed “doll clothes,” were as close to two-dimensional as human clothes could be, lacking only the paper tabs.
It was an exuberant celebration that Kawakubo, perhaps the least exuberant designer on the planet, hosted—a party with a plywood catwalk and no music. If you were in the audience that day, you knew that you were witnessing something incredible. Where once Comme des Garçons relied on symphonies in black—when it wasn’t white—here came pancake-flat tomato red and peacock blue felt coats, followed by a panoply of giant geometrical polka dots and floral-printed camo, leopard spots, and checkerboards. To further the cartoon-like aesthetic, the models wore matching plastic cloche helmets—though sometimes their entire faces were shrouded in floral prints, as if they were meant to not just fade into the wallpaper—but to be the wallpaper. (After all, it’s flat!) It was stunning, it was cheerful, it was unforgettable, and it was a joy for members of the worldwide Comme cult—devastatingly new, insanely fresh—a garden of unearthly delight.—Lynn Yaeger
Saint Laurent Fall 2013
Why drop the Y? Plus preposterously decree that the press should only use certain Hedi-curated doe-eyed portraits of Hedi? And how about that catty spat with Cathy Horyn? Hedi Slimane is not only the most consistent visionary designer of his generation, but he also has an unmatched talent for infuriating certain sections of the fashion world. What probably irks them most is that his wild success proves their opinions irrelevant. After his first season homage to golden-age Yves and same-period Los Angeles—a neatly written opening sentence—this collection was full-tilt Hedi-ism. A motley crew of Californian-musician Hedi muses, studiedly angular and smoking with abandon, sprawled down the front row of a show that recreated their image with acute and total authority. It mixed the grimy sparkle of thrift-store grunge with cut slim, slim, slim leather tailoring and a closing rush of black leather nano-dresses: a total wardrobe proposition for a generation whose notion of sophistication is fundamentally at odds with that of most fashion gatekeepers. Just as he continues to do today—with a slightly different accent—Slimane makes what he loves. The haters only burnish his allure. This was peak Slimane in the decade when he added mastery of womenswear to that of menswear.—Luke Leitch
Louis Vuitton Spring 2014
Marc Jacobs’s emotional Louis Vuitton swan song was a testament not just to the American designer’s showmanship (it reprised his most fabulous sets) and his dark humor (those fabulous sets were rendered in funereal black), but to the agenda-setting he did in his 17 years as the French luxury goods house’s first-ever creative director. As Edie Campbell’s graffitied naked body reminded us at the show’s opening, Stephen Sprouse’s iconic LV logo treatment—made at his friend Marc’s request—was the ne plus ultra of fashion collaborations; indeed, it would kickstart a phenomenon that has come to define the industry (and keep its motor running) in the first two decades of this century.
The collection itself showcased Jacobs’s most endearing quality as a designer: his ardent fandom. Does anyone love fashion, or know as much about it, as he does? A tribute to his three muses—Coco Chanel, Miuccia Prada, and Rei Kawakubo—the high-low mix of jet-strewn black tulle and faded blue jeans synthesized Parisian know-how and American cool. That synergy is the very essence of what made Jacobs’s Louis Vuitton such a rollicking success. His departure signaled yet another cycle of designer musical chairs, a merry-go-round that fashion can’t seem to hop off of. We’ve witnessed plenty of designer farewells in the last six years, but nobody has had as much fun saying goodbye as Jacobs did.—Nicole Phelps
Rick Owens Spring 2014
Rick Owens called his Spring 2014 show “Vicious.” It began not with the click of a wedge boot on concrete, as Owens’s shows so often did, but with the slam of a sneaker against a metal staircase erected in the basement of the Palais de Tokyo. From that first stomp came 40 more, courtesy of actual step troupes who performed a routine of stepping, percussive dance, and zulu dance choreographed by Lauretta Malloy Noble and her daughter LeeAnet. The four teams—the Washington Divas, the Soul Steppers, The Momentums, and The Zetas—were flown in from America and were largely women of color with body types that had been ignored by runway fashion for decades. “This was an exercise in working with a lot of body types, to really think in broader terms,” Owens said backstage. “How do I make it as accessible to everybody instead of creating an exclusive fashion world?” The answer wasn’t just in the bodies, but in the clothes themselves, cut short and sporty, allowing for a wider range of movement. Freedom of expression was always a Rick Owens thing, but here he opened the door on a new chapter, liberating himself for good from the antiquated rules of fashion, and jumpstarting a new era of runway diversity in the process.—Steff Yotka
Chanel Fall 2014
It was a riot of consumerism, a surreal celebration of capitalism that managed to be both uplifting and charming—no easy trick. For Chanel’s Fall 2014 collection, Karl Lagerfeld created a huge super-marché in the Grand Palais, a riot of lowly consumer products relabeled to celebrate the Maison—everything from handkerchiefs tagged “Les Chagrins de Gabrielle” to house paint in a color called Gris Jersey to a chainsaw with a real Chanel chain to doormats printed with “Mademoiselle Privé.”
The models were dressed for grocery shopping—well, at least Chanel-style marketing, with some of them even carrying Chanel-branded wire baskets tied with silk scarves. On their feet were glittery tweed trainers, because, as Lagerfeld explained, “If you want to look really ridiculous, you go in stilettos in a supermarket.” He might have added: But if you want to look chic—you throw on a slouchy coat, shimmy into leggings, and even flaunt a metallic bolero, shiny as a role of Chanel tinfoil! And if you are Cara Delevingne, you emerge at the end of the show, clad in artfully distressed workout clothes, resplendent on the arm of the one person who could have envisioned and created all of this, and who is sorely missed.—L.Y.
Louis Vuitton Spring 2015
When Nicolas Ghesquière arrived at Louis Vuitton the project, as he saw it, was “all about basics.” The savoir faire of the French luxury goods house ensured that the leather jackets and suede dresses of his debut were as not basic as basics get, but they were nonetheless a brake from the high-concept sci-fi experiments of his super-influential Balenciaga years. (Had we done this list for the 2000s Ghesquière would’ve owned it.)
At his second LV show, he gave us schoolboy blazers and jeans—the coolest, kick-yourself-if-you-didn’t-get-them (I know, because I didn’t get them) jeans of the decade, with a high snap-closure waist and skinny-but-not-tight cropped legs in the stiffest, darkest-rinse denim around. Turns out, Ghesquière had a knack for this “basics” thing, too, though things weren’t quite as straightforward as I’m making them seem. The ankle boots were enlivened by colorful plastic heels cleverly cut in the shape of the LV monogram flower. And then there was the set, a subterranean space in the sensational new Fondation Louis Vuitton decked out with video screens featuring youthful faces quoting lines from the movie Dune, a touchstone for Ghesquière, which is currently getting the remake treatment by Denis Villeneuve. Way ahead of the curve, as usual.—N.P.
Gucci Fall 2015
When 42-year-old Alessandro Michele was appointed the new creative director of Gucci in 2015, I noted that “the fashion firmament expressed a certain surprise at the positioning of a relative unknown at the helm of the storied billion-dollar Italian luxury brand,” but that no one “was more surprised than Michele himself.” Such bold-faced names as Riccardo Tisci, Christopher Kane, Joseph Altuzarra, and even a comeback Tom Ford were rumored to be in the running for the job left vacated by Frida Giannini, but the company’s visionary new CEO Marco Bizzarri took a bet on the unknown Michele instead, intuiting that “the values of Gucci are in his veins.”
Michele hit the ground running with the men’s Fall 2015 collection. He had no choice with an astounding five days “to push another language,” and barely a month more to design and stage the Fall 2015 women’s collection. That men’s show proved buzzingly disruptive with its cast of fey, androgynous boys in lace tees or silk blouses with pussycat bows at the neck, their hands clustered with rings like Michele’s himself, so there was anticipation in the air for the women’s show.
The collection pushed individuality (although not yet diversity) and a blurring of the gender divide in a way that suddenly seemed—like all electrifying fashion moments—to capture and distill the zeitgeist. Michele pulled treasured vintage pieces from his wardrobe and sourced prints from his own collection of antique textiles, “to put together [a] kind of garden,” so that the clothes of this global luxury brand looked as though a resourceful but impoverished fashionista had spent a lot of time sleuthing rummage sales and thrift stores to create eclectic looks mismatched with a lot of personality and flair. There were boys in suits made from Arts and Crafts upholstery florals (I soon acquired one myself), girls in 19th-century uniform jackets, faux Milanese bourgeois pleated kilts, ’30s chiffons, and ’60s shift dresses, as well as instant must-have fur-lined, horse-bit loafers that proved Michele’s ability to create retail desire as well as fashion magic. But could there be a big enough market for his nonconformist, romantic vision?
After the show Bergdorf Goodman’s senior vice president Linda Fargo commented, “If nothing else remains a constant in fashion, it’s change,” adding prophetically, “We anticipate a new audience and client will follow him.” Amen, sister: By 2019, Michele’s Gucci was reporting annual revenue of nearly €8.3 billion, proving that a messianic message will deliver its own cult followers.—Hamish Bowles
Vetements Fall 2015
I nearly didn’t make it to this Vetements show. I’d been invited to a Fashion Week dinner at the super-fancy restaurant Lapérouse at 9 p.m. that I had to go to, and it clashed with the show, which was being held at the seedy (to some) and legendary (to others) Marais gay bar Le Dépôt. I’d thought about skipping it, but something told me I should go. I didn’t know a whole lot about the Vetements collective other than when anyone mentioned its name, that palpable sense of something coming in quickly from the edge of the frame would kick in.
That’s why I found myself jam-packed onto a tiny groaning bench in the blackened-out bar. I loved that the Vetements PR told me she had sat American Vogue on the first floor, and not the dingy cellar below, fearing it would be too much for our delicate sensibilities. If only she knew. I sat there literally jumping up and down with excitement at the show’s raw and relentless urgency. The likes of stylist Lotta Volkova and photographer Harley Weir—the whole current street-casting phenomenon was born here—stormed by in all the things that were to have the industry convulsing, then copying: the disaffected youth hoodies, the faded, fucked-up jeans, the awkward but brilliant hulking army coats, the T-shirt-spliced floral dresses that looked as though they’d crossed over to the dark side.
Maybe they had. There was something so unapologetically defiant about the whole enterprise, as if you were watching someone spitting out their words. And if we weren’t exactly sitting comfortably, well, maybe that was the point. The show threw into sharp relief a fashion world that had become slick, glamorous, corporate, sanitized. Even in that dark, gritty pit of a bar, Demna Gvasalia managed to shine a light onto something that we all needed to see and feel. That Vetements show brought us to life, and in more ways than one.—Mark Holgate
Balenciaga Fall 2016
Demna Gvasalia’s debut collection for Balenciaga reset the bar for designers who choose to take on a legacy brand and make it their own—and especially one as specific and storied as that of Cristobal B. First, and most critically, Gvasalia created strict, tailored silhouettes (skirt suits and coats) in which the shoulders leaned forward, the hips jutted outward, and the back curved slightly creating a beguiling “hunch” so that the wearer could not help but have the bewitching yet scoliotic posture of a European socialite of yore. (All designers noodle about with proportions, but to change someone’s actual stance to reflect the codes of the house? Genius.)
Next, he added comforting scale and a can’t-be-bothered shrug to such streetwear basics as puffers and denim jackets, elevating the whole business of “items” in the process. Then, the Vetements mastermind threw in some fashion-freak must-haves: candy-stripe tights, market shoppers, lean and mean stirrup pants. And finally he let his girls dream...of jewel-encrusted pumps, fluttery multi-print scarf dresses, head-to-toe florals, and statement earrings. So many trends in the making, buckets of ambition...one brilliant beginning.—Sally Singer
Valentino Spring 2019 Haute Couture
Couture is the one area of fashion not dominated by market pressures; as everything is made to order, nothing is vetted by buyers or ends up on the shop floor. It’s the one place that a designer can let fantasy loose and make use of the most incredible fabrics and handcrafts available to them. Since taking over at Valentino, Pierpaolo Piccioli has generally elevated the conversation around quality, craft, and inclusivity, but he surpassed himself in this show. Here we saw poetry with purpose: a collection not only modeled by women of color but conceived for them. Piccioli said he had reimagined Cecil Beaton’s famous 1948 photograph for Vogue of Charles James dresses featuring black and brown models rather than white ones. In bursts of color, volume, and florals—and with deep emotion—Piccioli’s magnificent garments showcased a spectrum of women’s beauty like none that had been seen before.—Laird Borrelli-Persson
Alexander McQueen Fall 2019
At the Fall 2019 show for Alexander McQueen, the audience perched on bolts of wool from the mills of Macclesfield. That’s the town in northern England, near Manchester, where the designer Sarah Burton hails from and where the woolens used in British men’s tailoring have been woven for more than a century. Her collection was a celebration of this local industry and of northern culture generally—of native roses (both flowers and pageant queens), of punks and suffragettes. The tailored looks were signature McQueen—strong of shoulder, nipped at waist, with a slight kick to the hem—and the draped pieces (intended to resemble flowers) were built around a rigorously tucked bodice and sculpted from an explosion of taffeta. Everything was exquisite and a remarkable testament to artisan values and unbridled creativity. In her exploration of the local, the handcrafted, and the upcycled (selvage scraps as ruffles, for example), Burton closed the decade with the collection that speaks to the values that fashion must advance moving forward...for the survival of everything. This was back to the future at its finest.—S.S.