A look back at the life and work of fashion’s most disciplined maestro, Giorgio Armani

When Giorgio Armani passed away at 91 in September, it felt more like the fall of a monument than the closing of a career. For half a century, he has been fashion’s greatest architect of ease, believing that true elegance was best represented by clarity rather than spectacle. In the hands of Armani, modern sophistication came to be defined more by its structure than by its ornamentation—a suit jacket that sloped just so, a colour palette that was defined by its restraint, and a patently relaxed silhouette that felt ergonomically tailored for modern life.

Despite the singular clarity of his vision, Armani’s path to becoming a fashion behemoth was anything but straightforward. Born in Italy’s Piacenza in 1934, his early life unfolded in the shadow of World War II, which devastated Italy and its people, creating widespread poverty and hardship. Once the war was behind him, Armani enrolled to study medicine at Liceo Scientifico Leonardo da Vinci, before abandoning this pursuit in favour of joining the military. As if by fate, he was posted to a military infirmary in Verona— the textile and clothing hub of Italy—where the modern Italian design landscape was beginning to take shape in the post-War years.

In 1957, a young Armani began work at La Rinascente, an upscale department store that served as Milan’s temple of taste. The eye that he trained here— on proportion, drape, and silhouette—would go on to become his signature instrument. Despite his reputation as Italy’s foremost couturier, Armani had no formal training in design, relying instead on his familiarity with textiles, his experience with retail, and a dedication to understanding his customer as his foundational pillars. By the 1960s, Armani had moved on to working with Nino Cerruti at his label Hitman, designing menswear for the first time.

It wasn’t until 1975 that Armani launched his eponymous brand Giorgio Armani S.p.A. At the time, Savile Row’s influence on menswear was beginning to wane, as was the sway of traditional Neapolitan tailors, who relied on heavy, woven textiles, layered to form boxy suits that had been given what was known as the “full canvas” treatment. Armani’s revolutionary take on menswear arrived softly, but in hard retaliation to its predecessors. He removed the scaffolding—canvas, padding, and that declarative 20th century bulk—and replaced it with a loosened architecture that subverted gender norms and challenged the status quo; it was called the “power suit”.

Blazer shoulders eased and draped quietly, trousers introduced a masculine swing without any accompanying bluster, and a surgeon’s precision undergirded the soft elegance of his designs. The clothes he made altered the posture of the corporate uniform—seemingly encouraging the wearer to not so much conquer the room as to occupy it with a sense of authority—and in doing so, changed the way people around the world dressed for work. If Coco Chanel freed the body for modern life and Yves Saint Laurent codified female power with his tuxedo, Armani distilled sophistication and contemporary luxury into something almost weightless, defined by a voice that was both restrained and startlingly clear.

Hollywood amplified that voice into a new language of sartorial aspiration. When Richard Gere slipped into Armani’s pale suits in Paul Schrader’s American Gigolo (1980), a certain kind of male beauty—sleek, louche, unstressed—entered the global cultural lexicon. The film’s wardrobe amplified character and topography: Armani’s drape made visible the Los Angeles of mirrored apartments and slatted light, and created an incidental template for the modern screen idol. Armani went on to design costumes for era-defining films and television series such as Miami Vice (1984) and The Untouchables (1987), shaping the modern menswear landscape.

Women weren’t far behind when it came to Armani mania, with Princess Diana being an early adopter, and Diane Keaton famously donning an Armani skirt suit for her Academy Award Best Actress win for Annie Hall (1977). Keaton wasn’t the only actress to turn to the designer for her big moment in the spotlight—Jodie Foster wore a characteristically streamlined Armani suit while accepting her Academy Award in 1992 for Silence of the Lambs, and America’s freshly crowned sweetheart, Julia Roberts, wore a grey Armani number to the 1990 Golden Globes that makes frequent reappearances on contemporary red carpet mood boards.

After spending a decade dressing some of the most famous people in the world for film, television, and red carpets, the Armani empire began to realise loftier ambitions, launching the Emporio Armani and Armani Jeans labels in the 1980s, along with inking a fragrance deal with L’Oreal, and licensing cosmetics and sunglasses. Armani may have been one of the first to realise that fashion was an ecosystem that didn’t just stop at clothes and accessories, but extended to scent, homeware, and hospitality.

Armani Privé, launched in 2005, brought the house’s signature refined glamour to couture salons; Armani/ Silos was a museum housed in a converted granary on Milan’s Via Bergognone, which opened in 2015 and cemented Armani’s design grammar in concrete and light; and the hotels in Dubai’s Burj Khalifa (2010) and Milan (2011), translated the Armani ideal into the ultimate ecosystem of unstuffy luxury. 

There was little in the culture left untouched by the sprawl of Armani’s empire—even sport. He dressed Italian Olympians for London 2012, Sochi 2014, PyeongChang 2018, and prepared uniforms for Tokyo 2020. He even kitted the Italian football team off-field, as well as designing uniforms for the Chelsea and England teams over the years. In his work with Italian sports people, he bound the country’s image to his signature sinuosity of line, making his patent minimalism synonymous with modern Italian design. Armani’s success prompted the Italian press to coronate him “King Giorgio”—guilty, perhaps, of stating the obvious.

What distinguished Armani among his peers was not just that he resisted the gravitational pull of selling to a luxury conglomerate, but the upright and principled way in which he governed and used the power at his disposal to engender change within the fashion industry. In the wake of Brazilian model Ana Caroline Reston’s anorexia-induced death in 2006, Armani committed to stop working with models whose Body Mass Index measured below 18. In 2016, the company pledged to stop using animal fur, and three years later, he signed the Fashion Pact, an initiative of fashion industry leaders that focused on sustainability and put forth a “nature positive, net-zero future for fashion.” In February 2020, as northern Italy was ravaged by the Covid-19 pandemic, he closed his show to the public and instead livestreamed an empty room—a testament to the shared isolation of the moment. Later that year, he aired his runway on Italian broadcast television, making a case for the democratisation of fashion as public culture rather than rarified private spectacle.

It comes as no surprise that the man behind the magic was famously disciplined—an early riser, a tireless editor, and a consummate craftsman. Perhaps it is this regimented dedication to the everyday details that makes the measure of Armani’s achievements not institutional, but intimate. He taught generations how to move through space without resorting to clodding themselves in armour, proposing that the most modern thing a body can be is unburdened. This may be why the language of his silhouettes endures in contemporary collections—in the softness of men’s tailoring across continents, the dominance of neutrals on runways that once shouted in primary colours, and in the current of “quiet luxury” that seems newly minted until you realise that Armani drew its blueprints decades ago.

The Giorgio Armani Foundation was established in 2016 as a means of ensuring the continuity of values and guardianship beyond Armani’s lifetime. After his passing, details of a meticulous succession plan became public, including instructions to sell a minority stake in the company, and an order of priority for potential partners. Half a century after he founded the company, Armani leaves his house standing, its rooms in order, and the door ajar for the future. There will be negotiations and adjustments—perhaps even new hands at the till—but the line will likely hold, largely because what Armani built was a culture, and not a fleeting trend waiting to be dethroned.

Given his tireless dedication to his work and his notoriously relentless pursuit of perfection, it should come as no surprise that over the 65 years that spanned his career, Armani amassed a whopping $13 billion in sales, with the Armani Group noting in their statement on his death that he “worked until his final days.” But far from Milan’s bustling metropolis and the regimented rigour that defined his working life, Armani’s place of refuge lay on the island of Pantalleria, in the Strait of Sicily, where he spent his days among dammusi and date palms and dips in the Mediterranean, insisting that dinner was “always outside and always by candlelight.” After his passing, it is his motherland that has offered the most touching tribute—Italy has moved to rename Pantalleria airport after their beloved King Giorgio. The country will memorialise him in the place where he was as at ease as the silhouettes that defined him—a reminder that even the most exacting of men are buoyed by serenity.

Lead image: Getty Images

Inside images: Getty Images and Harper's Bazaar archives

This article first appeared in Bazaar India's September-October 2025 print edition.

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