Fashion designers have long used tactile objects and creative teasers to hint at the mood and themes of their upcoming collections. History is filled with memorable precursors, such as John Galliano’s leopard-print purse for his fall 1998 collection, which was whimsically stuffed with lipstick, crumpled paper bills, and colorful confetti. However, in the hyper-connected age of social media, these tactile conversation pieces have evolved far beyond simple preludes. They are now foundational elements of a well-oiled, highly strategic global marketing campaign designed to generate online buzz before a single look has even been unveiled.
“When you create an invitation that’s so spectacular that everyone is photographing it and posting it on Instagram, that helps to drive engagement,” said Sarah Andelman, founder of the prominent creative consulting agency Just an Idea. “It gives brands an additional communication tool to play with.”
These tangible, collectible show invites make an even deeper impact on the industry because many fashion labels have otherwise pivoted to sending out simple, utilitarian QR codes, she noted. The contrast between a digital barcode and an elaborate, physical artifact has only heightened the allure of the latter.
Among the true masters of this genre, Andelman singled out the late Virgil Abloh, whose imaginative show invitations for Louis Vuitton included a functional wall clock, an item that has since become a rare collector’s piece listed on the Sotheby’s website for $5,500. She also pointed to her longtime friend and collaborator Pharrell Williams, whose debut collection invitation for Vuitton took the form of a miniature stained-glass window, alongside Jonathan Anderson, who has consistently pushed the boundaries of the art form with his whimsical creative direction for Dior.
Since taking over the helm as creative director of the historic French fashion house last year, Anderson has consistently surprised the industry with a succession of imaginative physical artifacts. Recipients have unwrapped porcelain plates featuring trompe-l’œil fried or soft-boiled eggs, sleek black disco balls, delicate decorative fans, and pairs of miniature park chairs. These items typically arrive immaculately packaged in signature beribboned gray cases adorned with white relief patterns.
“It’s a way for our house to offer a visual gift before the show — a new art of teasing, expressed not only in the virtual world, through images, but through the experience of discovering a new object to decipher,” said Olivier Bialobos, deputy managing director in charge of global communication and image at Dior.
According to Bialobos, each carefully curated object serves a dual purpose: it acts simultaneously as an enigmatic clue and a cherished memento. The choices carry deep conceptual echoes of the history of the house, specifically referencing Christian Dior’s very first boutique, named Colifichets, which opened its doors in 1947 and offered an array of eclectic trinkets, novelties, and accessories.
“Each invitation contributes to the storytelling around the show,” Bialobos added. “Like scattered clues, signs to interpret, they spark the imagination in a poetic, sometimes humorous way, carrying multiple layers of meaning. They are therefore priceless, and our guests enjoy keeping and collecting them all the more.”
The online reveal of the physical show invite has firmly established itself as a crucial ritual within the modern fashion calendar. The digital spectacle surrounding these items has transformed logistics into performance art.
“The ‘unboxing’ videos of show invitations on social media fuel a new sense of desire, mystery, and anticipation, which makes the audience eager to discover the show and Jonathan Anderson’s new creative vision,” Bialobos noted.
Everything but the Clothes
For his spring menswear collection, Anderson sent out two traditional Wenwan walnuts, meant to be held and rolled around in one hand as a tactile fidget tool. The selection of the ancient object carried profound symbolic weight.
“We chose objects that bring good luck, in tribute to Mr. Dior’s superstitious nature and his deep attachment to charms and talismans,” Bialobos explained.
Beyond setting the tone for the runway presentation, the choice of the ancient Chinese fidget tool can be interpreted as a subtle nod to Anderson’s expanding focus on the Asian market, particularly as the brand prepares to stage its upcoming cruise collection in Shanghai.
Similarly, the trompe-l’œil egg plate sent to approximately 600 guests for his spring ready-to-wear show was drawn from a 1975 house archive piece. It also mirrored Christian Dior’s profound affection for 18th-century decor, traditional tableware, and fine dining, particularly his personal predilection for jellied or soft-boiled eggs. Bialobos pointed out that the egg motif also functioned as a rich metaphor for new beginnings and creative rebirth.
The strategy has proven so successful that it spawned a commercial spinoff line of decorative plates retailing for upward of $700 in Dior boutiques worldwide. Alongside the eggs, the collection includes whimsical plates shaped like croissants, pretzels, and fried eggs.
Despite these commercial offshoots, the core value of most fashion show invitations lies precisely in the fact that they are fundamentally not for sale to the general public. They remain exclusive badges of honor within the insular world of fashion.
Iain R. Webb, an established writer, curator, and professor of fashion and design at Kingston School of Art, has amassed several hundred such items over a storied career. His extensive personal archive was prominently featured in his book “Invitation Strictly Personal” and formed the backbone of the exhibition “The Fashion Show: Everything but the Clothes,” which he curated at the V&A Dundee in Scotland.
Dating back to his extensive career as a fashion editor for influential publications such as Blitz, The Times, and Elle U.K., his collection includes deeply personal mementos, such as a delicate, hand-embroidered fabric handkerchief sent out as an invite for a 1997 Clements Ribeiro runway show.
Webb traces the modern inflation and grand escalation of show invitations directly back to the extraordinary circumstances of the coronavirus pandemic. During those isolating months, Jonathan Anderson famously engineered a creative “show-in-a-box” for Loewe, which came fully equipped with detailed fabric swatches and a pop-up model of an imaginary runway set. Meanwhile, other luxury powerhouses like Gucci, Prada, and Fendi shipped elaborate care packages containing artisanal foods and thematic objects to editors and VIP clients confined to their homes.
“Certainly that kickstarted the bigger picture, but I think designers have always used objects,” Webb observed. “The idea of Galliano’s rusty key, the books that he used to send out with a flower pressed in them, the leopard handbag with all the little paraphernalia: They told stories in themselves, and I think that’s something that designers are always keen to do.”
Over time, those humble thrifted objects and paper ephemera have largely been superseded by glossy, highly engineered collectibles that recipients actively compete to unbox and showcase across social media networks.
“It does seem to be that the experience around the clothes has become more important than the clothes themselves,” Webb remarked. “Since the ’90s, the whole accent of showtime changed radically. It became much more about big business, and social media has just sped that up, and there is that element of showmanship and one-upmanship on behalf of the attendees.”
Museum Conundrum
From a formal curatorial perspective, this new generation of elaborate fashion invitations presents a fascinating blend of unique challenges and unprecedented opportunities. As major international art and design museums increasingly dedicate gallery space to fashion exhibitions, show ephemera has assumed a new level of importance.
“Some of them are clues. Some of them are distractions. Some of them are just a bigger, better prize than somebody else is giving, but from a museum point of view, definitely they will be included in the future, because they do capture a moment in time,” Webb said.
The exhibition “Catwalk: The Art of the Fashion Show,” currently on display at V&A Dundee after making its debut at the Vitra Design Museum in Germany, features 27 distinct invitations on loan from the prestigious Palais Galliera fashion museum in Paris. The French institution has experienced a significant surge in scholarly and public interest regarding its growing collection of physical show objects.
Emilie Hammen, director of the Parisian museum, noted that the institution has been forced to fundamentally rethink how it catalogs and classifies show invitations. The sheer scale and volume of the modern items have begun to stretch the museum’s historically limited storage capacities.
“Traditionally, show invitations were considered as documentation that accompanied the clothes, so they didn’t have the same value. But we’re having to reconsider that, firstly because they no longer fit on library shelves. They need to be kept more like shoes or hats,” she explained.
“They’re three-dimensional objects made from materials whose aging needs to be monitored to ensure they’re properly preserved. It strikes me that, as museums, we can no longer ignore the emergence of these new objects, because it raises a host of entirely new issues,” Hammen added.
While the Palais Galliera does not typically purchase invitations directly from brands, preferring to rely on generous donations from veteran showgoers and industry insiders, it fully recognizes their increasing cultural and historical worth.
“Although they are mass-produced objects, they come in extremely limited editions and exist outside of any commercial context. I’m sure some invitations are resold on eBay, Vinted, or elsewhere, but originally, they were never intended as merchandise. That gives them even more value and it must pique collectors’ interest,” she said.
Yet, proof that even the humblest paper invitation holds enduring fascination can be found outside the high-end showrooms. French photographer Meyabe, who spends his time documenting the fast-paced energy of Paris Fashion Week, has spent the last decade meticulously collecting discarded paper invitations and discarded show notes left behind by attendees. He recently compiled these ephemeral paper artifacts into a new book titled “Not Invited.”
The publication, printed by Imprimerie du Marais—the specialized printing house responsible for producing many of the intricate paper invitations used by top luxury fashion houses—makes its official debut at independent bookstores including Smith & Son, Yvon Lambert, and 7L to coincide with the opening of the spring ready-to-wear shows. In a final, fittingly ironic twist for an industry obsessed with exclusivity, the book itself has been released in a strictly limited edition of just 100 copies.
