Milan is upon us. It’s a sexy affair. Lots of hand gestures and gazelle like creatures strutting in buttery leather shoes and scooting around clad in biker gear. There will always be the power houses of Armani and Versace but there’s one Italian who has experienced a renaissance in recent years. I’m not normally a Cavalli fan, I find his collections a bit Euro trashy, or as my grandma aptly puts it “All fur coat and no knickers”. Previously this fascinating Florentine embodied Italian excess but something changed. The love of a good, younger woman, perhaps? A spring palette of florals, pastels and tweeds, ruffles and chiffon are not what we came to expect from Cavalli. In fact the Victorian, English country garden vibe could have been stuffy and safe, if it wasn’t for a certain twinkle in the eye which translated into raw sex appeal. The plunging necklines and prints were still there, screaming to be let out, but the exquisite detailing and broderie anglaise eliminated the brash and reigned in the obvious. Cavalli is a changed man I think.