If resortwear still makes you think of a breezy linen shirt, leather sandals, and a bored stroll through a Saint-Tropez lobby — Mike Amiri just walked into the room, raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, and politely suggested you reconsider. In his universe, vacation dressing isn’t about dialing it down. It’s about dressing the part — the part of the poetic rockstar who doesn’t just go on holiday, he curates an experience. And that experience involves silk lapels, vintage hues, and a healthy dose of cinematic flair.
On a runway that looked more like the terrace of a decadent Mediterranean villa than any fashion venue, the models didn’t walk — they glided. Each of them seemed as though they’d just read Rilke, sipped an espresso, and received divine inspiration directly from Yves Saint Laurent. Shimmering fabrics, robe-like tailoring, and pants with enough volume to be confused for parachutes — all wrapped in pastel tones that whispered rather than shouted. This wasn’t about making a scene. It was about being the scene.
Amiri’s genius lies in his balancing act — equal parts rebellion and restraint. This collection wasn’t trying to be loud or ironic; it simply refused to try too hard. The vibe? A man who’s lost track of time in the best way, possibly somewhere between his third Negroni and an obscure jazz vinyl. There’s a softness here that’s rare in men’s fashion: folds, drapes, fabrics that breathe and move — but never slouch. It’s polished and undone, like bed hair that took an hour to style.
And yes — all of this could have easily slipped into costume territory. But not on Amiri’s watch. He walks the line between theatrical and tasteful with the confidence of someone who knows his references — and isn’t afraid to use them. The pajama-as-daywear concept? No longer a cheeky nod to lockdown fashion, but a full-blown philosophy. Because when your silk robe fits this well, why wouldn’t you wear it to lunch, or to a gallery opening, or while contemplating existence on a sun-drenched balcony?
So — is this still resortwear, or have we entered the realm of fashion existentialism? Hard to say. What’s clear is that Amiri isn’t just designing clothes — he’s composing moods. Each look is a whispered story of freedom, indulgence, and maybe just a bit of beautiful boredom. The kind of luxury that doesn’t need to scream, because it’s already being noticed — probably from across the pool, behind vintage sunglasses, with an untouched Campari in hand.
Photos courtesy of AMIRI
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