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Back view of the Paola Ermini dress on a mannequin, showing the boat neckline and full batwing sleeves. A dress that keeps most of its opinions to itself from the front.
The dress worn candidly, sleeve in shot, with a black and white cat perched on a pink patchwork quilt behind. Even the cat approves.
Close view of the batwing sleeve where it drops from the shoulder seam. The drama is entirely in the drape.
Side profile of the dress on a mannequin, showing the boat neckline and the batwing sleeve in silhouette.
Close view of the hem and cuff, showing the deep side vent and the fitted, elasticated wrist. The knit does its own tailoring.
Back view of the dress at a slightly different angle, the batwing sleeves falling loose to the tapered cuffs.
Close view of the Paola Ermini Firenze label, handwritten in white on black grosgrain. A signature more than a stamp.
A second close view of the Paola Ermini Firenze label, stitched into the seam. Uneven the way a real signature is uneven.
The fibre content tag held by hand, reading made in Italy, 92 percent viscose, 8 percent elastane. Everything the dress will admit to in writing.

Undertow · Paola Ermini Firenze 2000s Sheer Knit Dress

A$145.00



Paola Ermini Firenze · 2000s · no size tagged, generous stretch fits a broad range · exhibition condition, no flaws · Viscose-elastane gossamer knit · boat neck  · batwing sleeves with a tapered cuff  · deep side vents

Hold this dress up to a lamp and you can see straight through it, a fine dark knit that keeps its secrets badly. Whatever is worn underneath shows through as a soft shadow, the ghost of a seam, a strap, a shape. It is a dress built on that small tension, decent from a distance and confessional up close.

There is a whole quiet school of dressing built on this kind of restraint, women learning from the eighties onward that a dress could be a single unbroken thought rather than a sentence full of commas: one seam, one drop, one idea allowed to fall exactly as gravity intended. The batwing belongs to that school, engineered so the sleeve becomes the bodice becomes the skirt without ever announcing where one stops. Paola Ermini still works this way in Florence, in cloth so fine it behaves more like a held breath than a fabric. What makes this piece worth keeping is the discipline of it: nothing added, nothing excused, a dress that trusts a single cut to do the work most designers spend six seams doing badly.

The neckline sits wide and straight across the collarbone in a boat cut, with dramatic batwing sleeves that taper down to a fitted, elasticated cuff. The body falls loose from the shoulder before dropping into deep vents at each side seam, the hem finishing in soft, uneven points. There is no visible closure. She pulls on, and the knit does the rest of the shaping itself. Worn loose she reads as an easy layering piece over trousers; cinched at the waist with a metal belt, or worn alone, she does just as well as a dress in her own right.

Material

92% viscose, 8% elastane. Made in Italy.

Care

Hand wash cold at 30 degrees, or dry clean. Do not bleach, do not tumble dry. Cool iron only if needed, avoiding direct heat on the knit.

More on looking after vintage pieces in our care guide.

Size

Measured flat: No size tagged. Measured flat: length 91cm, bust 57cm (stretches generously due to the knit), waist 57cm, hip 70cm, sleeve length 52cm, bicep 19cm, cuff stretching from 8cm to 15cm, neck drop 5cm. Bust is measured armpit to armpit on account of the batwing cut. Between the stretch and the batwing shape this is a genuinely forgiving piece, comfortably spanning an AU 8 through 16, International XS to XL, and she is long enough to wear alone as a mini dress as well as over trousers.

Our size guide explains how vintage sizing is read here.

Condition

Exhibition condition, plainly stated: nothing to flag.

Our condition lexicon explains the grades we use.

Before it reaches you

Someone loved this before you did, and I try to honour that properly. Each piece is hand washed, or cleaned in the way that the fabric permits, then steamed until it softens and straightens and feels newly attended to. Wherever a button was missing, it has been replaced with a vintage one from my long-kept collection. Wherever a hem had given way, I fix it by hand. By the time it leaves this room it is genuinely clean, pressed, whole, and looked over one final time before I let myself believe it is ready. Not restored. Not made new. Just returned to a state where it can be loved again, by someone who was not there the first time.

She has decided she is furniture in every gallery she has ever been worn to, the kind that guards move past without seeing, which suits her fine. Cinch her with metal at the waist and she remembers she is actually a dress and gets faintly smug about it for the rest of the evening. She stretches to fit whoever borrows her and then forgets their measurements by morning, the same way she forgets everyone's opinion of the current show. Wear her low and let people wonder what she is guarding underneath. She is not telling.