A portrait of Lord Snowdon, or Anthony Armstrong-Jones to those who prefer their aristocratic credentials unvarnished, shot by David Bailey in the 1960s served as the spark for Simon Holloway’s Dunhill fall collection. It’s difficult to imagine a more fitting muse. If Dunhill were a man, it would surely be this rakish, brilliantly improper aristocrat: sexy, cerebral, and stylishly insubordinate.
“Snowdon embodied the collision of blue-blooded pedigree and creative restlessness, at the crossroads of tradition and rebellion,” remarked Holloway. He did not merely chronicle the cultural upheavals of the late ’60s; he wore them with insouciant precision. His style moved between extremes: hyper-formal one moment, ruggedly insistent the next, never apologizing for the contradiction. This was a man who rode motorcycles, adored fast sports cars, and looked entirely at home in leather and suede field jackets, yet could pivot seamlessly into formal tailoring and impeccably knotted ties, lending even the most orthodox menswear a sense of creative insurgency. Aristocratic but restless, impeccably dressed yet faintly dangerous. “He was the ultimate Dunhill guy,” Holloway observed.
Opting for intimacy over spectacle, the collection was staged within the elegant interiors of Villa Mozart; the setting encouraged close inspection, allowing Dunhill’s sartorial finesse to be fully appreciated. The presentation was accompanied by a limited-edition catalogue raisonné, shot by Ethan James Green in crisp black-and-white. Featuring model and artist Henry Kutcher, the portraits nodded to the Bailey–Snowdon photographic lineage: intelligent, sexy, strikingly stark.
The collection moved from nuanced gradients of gray for daylight to deeper, nocturnal, almost cinematic shades by evening, playing on the tension between the rituals of British heritage dressing and the brisk modernity demanded by contemporary life. It’s precisely this balancing act that Holloway has positioned as Dunhill’s raison d’être.
He kept the silhouettes slender, gently easing the stiffness out of British tailoring without undermining its authority, introducing a softness in construction that felt deliberate rather than indulgent, and a polish that never tipped into severity. Daywear leaned towards casual elegance; tailoring was considered, outerwear relaxed yet luxurious. After dark, the mood shifted to a heightened register of refinement, peaking in a series of stand-collar Bourdon jackets in somber silk jacquard, their Art and Crafts-inspired patterns woven in a specialist mill in Suffolk.
“Dunhill was born not from a single icon, but from a way of life,” Holloway said. From its motoring origins, the house evolved into a fully rounded wardrobe and, later, a purveyor of luxury accessories, before establishing itself as a refined bespoke tailor, particularly celebrated for eveningwear. That legacy is perhaps best captured by Truman Capote’s tuxedo for the Black and White Ball, a fabulous bespoke Dunhill piece still in the archive, and one of the most legendary garments in the history of men’s black-tie dressing.