Alexander McQueen at Givenchy: The impact that redefined haute couture

In 1996, when Alexander McQueen took over as creative director of Givenchy, the fashion industry paused to watch what could either be a foretold disaster or a historic revolution. At 27, being a "fashion rebel," as many called him, and with an anarchic aesthetic shaped by his working-class roots in London, McQueen was thrown into the heart of Parisian tradition to lead one of the most respected maisons in the world. The result was clear and disruptive — one of the most intense and controversial chapters in the history of haute couture.

Transition in Global Fashion

From 1990 to the early 2000s, it was a time marked by change and innovation. In this way, it was a significant scene for fashion, almost as if it were undergoing a silent war between tradition and upheaval.

Just after a vast period of excess and extravagance in the 1980s, the 1990s brought a new proposal — deconstructed, minimalist, and bold. In various forms and visions, the concept of “boldness” was applied, and we see this in the trajectory and impact of various designers such as: John Galliano taking on the creative direction of Dior in 1996 and elevating the drama of the maison with historic and eccentric cuts. Nicolas Ghesquière at Balenciaga, resurrecting codes and archives of the brand by implementing high-tech, sports, and futurism. Or Marc Jacobs at Louis Vuitton introducing ready-to-wear to the brand and bringing iconic collaborations like Murakami. Additionally, designer Rei Kawakubo deconstructed shapes with her Body Meets Dress, Dress Meets Body, while Martin Margiela explored conceptual fashion with Stockman mannequins and clothing that questioned the idea of function and form.

During this scene, it becomes clear why each event occurred. We see that fashion began to enter a larger process regarding its globalization, becoming more visible and opening space for young designers to see that they could mix various references such as Japan, Europe, streetwear, pop culture — without rigid boundaries.

Giants like LVMH and Gucci Group were also forming luxury conglomerates, and they needed to transform brands into profit-making machines, but without losing the “artistic aura.” For this reason, they sought creators like McQueen: someone capable of generating buzz while, at the same time, respecting (at least in part) the brand's archives. This was the period when fashion shows stopped being just runways to become theatrical experiences. McQueen with his machines spitting ink, Galliano with his tragic heroines, Kawakubo with her body sculptures. The runway became part of the manifesto.

In this context, Bernard Arnault, CEO of LVMH, saw in McQueen the perfect spark to bring youth and audacity to Givenchy — but, at the same time, he carried the expectation of maintaining prestige and profit. McQueen accepted the challenge but made it clear from the beginning: he would not sacrifice his identity.

The Debut: The Quest for the Golden Fleece (SS97)

His first show at Givenchy, presented in 1997, was an ode to the clash of cultures: a stage filled with references to the myth of the Argonauts, with Naomi Campbell as the warrior goddess, dressed in gold and wearing a horned helmet. Winged corsets imitated the folds of Hellenistic sculptures, ear cuffs transformed models into almost alien figures, and Renaissance madonnas appeared adorned with capes and ram's horns — some borrowed from Isabella Blow, McQueen’s friend and great supporter.

The Parisian critics, accustomed to the discreet glamour and romanticism of the maison, classified the show as “chaos.” But for the atelier team, as Catherine Delondre recalled, it was “real haute couture.” McQueen, instead of his grunge shirts, walked at the end wearing a pinstripe suit, as if to say: “I am here, I respect tradition, but in my own way.”

When McQueen conceived his first show, he dove into the myth of the Argonauts — Greek heroes led by Jason in search of the Golden Fleece — as a central point of the narrative he sought to construct. This story symbolically depicted adventure, quest, transformation, and courage, aspects that Alexander aimed to convey with his entrance into a traditional maison. Though seemingly random, this choice was very deliberate. The Golden Fleece referenced something unattainable or even an unreachable perfection. By introducing the theme on the runway, he demonstrated that he did not come merely to continue the story, but to create his own saga.

One of the personalities that stands out during this time of McQueen at Givenchy is the supermodel: Naomi Campbell, who, beyond being a model, became a figure of female power. Naomi made her appearance on the runway in outfits that referenced a mythological figure, with inspirations from Greek goddesses and medieval warriors. Her clothing marked a break from the idea of the female figure as someone fragile and ethereal — which was even then a common view in the eyes of many.

In sum, McQueen played with various possibilities. In clothing, he developed corsets that imitated the folds of Hellenistic sculptures that directly referenced classical Greek art. In doing so, he mixed utopian worlds, retrieving references from both sacred Renaissance art and paganism, and implemented accessories as visual symbols such as ram's horns, associated with sacrifices. The ram's horns borrowed from Isabella Blow’s flock reinforce the personal and affective connection. Blow was the one who discovered McQueen, bought his entire graduation collection, and funded his entry into the system. Using something literal from her in the show was almost an amulet, a thank you.

For many Parisian critics who were, in essence, accustomed to contained glamour, it was a frontal attack. They called it "chaos," "bad taste," "theatrical horror." But for the internal ateliers, mainly led by Catherine Delondre, it was exactly the opposite: the entire collection was applauded in its purest form, highlighting the complex techniques, hours of embroidery, and showcasing the distinct cuts.

Even at this first moment, McQueen reaffirmed what he was doing and, moreover, that he knew how to play the industry’s game. For his duality and respect for tradition, he showed himself flexible and rebellious regarding outside perspectives — but not ironically affected by the criticism, rather ready to bring disruptive innovation to tradition.

Creative Clash

In the following years, McQueen used Givenchy as a platform to strain the boundaries between the classic and the subversive. He brought to the runway figures like mountaineers covered in furs, Asian princesses turned into futuristic amazons, and brides that looked like they stepped out of a baroque horror film. His creations spoke to themes like power, sexuality, death, rebirth, and even social critique.

With the FW97 Eclect Dissect collection, McQueen envisioned women resurrected after sadistic surgeries, wrapped in Spanish lace, Burmese necklaces, and feathers. In FW98, he closed the show with a look that synthesized the juxtaposition of rococo and grunge: a lace wedding dress worn with pants worthy of Marie Antoinette, creating a visual temporal collapse.

In ready-to-wear, McQueen brought couture closer to reality — wanting it to engage not just with rich mothers, but with daughters, common and extraordinary women alike. McQueen challenged the greatest dogma of haute couture: that of the idealized woman as a decorative object. For him, the woman was a battlefield, a living manifesto of power and vulnerability. He understood fashion as a tool to question, provoke, and transform, not merely to "beautify."

Cyborg Couture

In FW99, with the collection nicknamed “Cyborg Couture,” McQueen anticipated the Y2K spirit: electrified spikes from Swarovski, circuits, microchips, and LEDs integrated into the dresses, in partnership with Studio Van der Graaf. It was the harbinger of the fusion between fashion and technology, at a time when the internet was beginning to transform the world.

In SS99, McQueen transformed the runway into a performance: Shalom Harlow, in a white strapless broderie anglaise dress, was spun by industrial robots that splattered black and yellow paint on her body. It was no longer fashion: it was live art, it was emotion, it was the discomfort of the viewer in the face of the unexpected. As Vogue wrote: “It was not a runway show, it was performance art.”

The Legacy at Givenchy

Throughout his five years at Givenchy, McQueen faced the weight of tradition, commercial pressures, and limits imposed by a maison with a DNA very different from his own. Nevertheless, he left an indelible mark: he taught haute couture that it was possible to mix the sublime and the grotesque, the ancient and the futuristic, the beautiful and the brutal. As he himself said, “Paris did not teach me docility.”

In 2001, the partnership with Givenchy came to an end. McQueen, now with 51% of his brand acquired by Gucci Group, was able to regain full control of his creativity — free from the constraints and demands of a maison alien to his spirit.

Almost three decades later, McQueen’s impact on Givenchy still reverberates. What he did opened doors for new generations of designers to challenge traditions. Sarah Burton, his successor at Alexander McQueen, and even contemporary creative directors of Givenchy like Matthew Williams and Clare Waight Keller drew from this creative freedom that he fought so hard to achieve. His pieces for Givenchy continue to inspire. Zendaya, in 2024, wore a cyborg suit by McQueen to promote Dune: Part Two, proving that the dialogue between the past and the future is still alive.

McQueen was a storyteller who created narratives about the world with needles, fabrics, and machines. From singular themes of pain, power, and beauty, his passage through Givenchy serves as a reminder that fashion, when bold, can be much more than clothing — it can be positioning, aesthetics, and legacy.