Etro’s new collection was called Halo, which was meant quite literally: an aura of Etro surrounding the woman, with paisleys, fabrics and clothes apparently floating around her from morning to night. It was an appropriately dreamy proposition, if one is prepared to spend the day inside an Etro daydream.

The brand’s familiar codes were loosened rather than reinvented by the in-house team. Paisleys appeared in macro proportions, blurred, fragmented or reduced to fleeting suggestions; even the bohemian cliché seemed to have lost some weight. Vaporous dresses skimmed the body, short hems dissolved into long flying trains, fringes trembled and transparencies alternately revealed and concealed. 

The more diaphanous pieces were grounded by sharp tailoring. Lean trousers, suede blousons and denim brought a useful dose of reality to all the floating. It was Etro with the volume turned down: the familiar signatures still there, only softer around the edges. A halo, after all, should be an aura, not a disappearing act.