Rome is a city that knows a thing or two about falling empires. It is a place full of old stones and ghosts. So, it is the only fitting place to say goodbye to the man they called the Last Emperor of fashion. Valentino Garavani has died at 93, and naturally, the funeral was less about death and more about the front row seating chart.

Let us be honest with ourselves for a moment. In the world of high fashion, a funeral is just a runway show where everyone agrees to wear the same color. And that color is black. Not just any black, but expensive black. The kind of black that absorbs light and money in equal measure. Crowds gathered in the streets of Rome, not because they personally knew the man, but because that is what you do when a legend dies. You stand on a sidewalk and hold up your phone to record wealthy people being sad.

And the wealthy people certainly showed up. We are told that Liz Hurley and Anna Wintour were among the mourners. Of course they were. Did you expect them to miss the season’s most exclusive event? Anna Wintour, the woman who runs American Vogue with the warmth of a frozen tundra, was there. One has to wonder if the sunglasses stayed on. In the fashion world, wearing dark sunglasses to a funeral is not just about hiding tears. It is about hiding the fact that you are already planning who will take over the market share. It is a shield against the reality that even beauty eventually rots.

Valentino was 93 years old. That is a long time to spend worrying about hemlines and the specific shade of red that bears your name. He came from a time when "glamour" was a job description, not just a filter on a social media app. He represented a version of the world that is dead and buried, much like he is now. He believed in elegance. He believed that if you put a woman in a beautiful dress, life would somehow be better. It was a lovely, expensive lie. But looking at the state of the world today—where people wear pajamas to the airport and politicians dress like used car salesmen—you have to miss his specific brand of delusion.

There is a deep irony in mourning Valentino in 2024. We are saying goodbye to a man who demanded perfection in a world that celebrates being messy. He was the "Emperor" because he commanded taste. Now, the empire has crumbled. We are left with fast fashion that falls apart in the wash and trends that last for twelve seconds on the internet. The crowds outside the church weren’t wearing couture. They were wearing t-shirts and jeans, staring at the last remnants of a civilization that valued style over comfort.

The presence of celebrities like Liz Hurley turns the whole thing into theater. It ceases to be a moment of human loss and becomes a photo opportunity. The paparazzi cameras click like a firing squad. The mourners must walk a very fine line. They have to look sad, but still pretty. They have to look devastated, but not puffy. It is a performance. Valentino would have appreciated the effort, I suppose. He understood that life is mostly about how you present yourself to the audience, even if the audience is just a bunch of strangers judging you from behind a barricade.

So, the Last Emperor has left the building. The fashion industry will pause for exactly one minute of silence before going back to selling overpriced handbags to people who can’t afford rent. The magazines will run tributes. The influencers will post photos of dresses they never owned. And Rome will go back to being a city of ruins. Valentino fits right in now. He is another beautiful monument to a past that isn't coming back.

We can mourn the man, but really, we are mourning the effort. We are mourning the idea that clothes should matter, or that beauty is worth the trouble. In a world that is increasingly ugly, grey, and functional, losing the man who loved "Valentino Red" feels like the lights are being dimmed just a little bit more. But don't worry. The show will go on. It always does. It will just be a lot less well-dressed.