Something magical happened at Dolce a couple of days ago, which in my opinion, neatly summed up the overriding message of the last couple of weeks pre-Paris.

The show opened with a video, showing Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana in their studio, tailoring and nitpicking at the garments that they would later send down the runway. Then, in a fitting display of the proud heritage that’s been lost amid the whirlwind of everything, the workers behind the label, who create samples and refine the designers vision for the world came into view. It pulled at your heartstrings, demanded respect, and accustomed the eye to the workmanship of the tailored jackets, crocheting, knitting, lacework, and embellishments that the Dolce & Gabbana customer so craves.

That being said, it was a glorious procession; real, substantial, not actually Italian women, complete with curves in all the right places, mile-long legs, and enough money to pay the maids in their vacation home in Lake Como. All the trends were there, from the impeccable tailoring, to the accentuated legs, to the raw sex appeal of black lace, to the animal prints that make the women we love fierce.

For me, there’s something special about that woman. The woman who smokes a cigar for breakfast and drinks before noon beside the pool, until she’s 85. That’s gangster, yo.

Hit the jump for a couple of extra-smoldering looks.

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