Why Galliano? And why now?
Words matter.
That may sound like a rather predictable statement from the founder of a communications agency. But words reveal what we believe. The words we choose to repeat, excuse, soften or omit tell people what—and whom—we value.
Last week, the Metropolitan Museum of Art announced that its spring 2027 Costume Institute exhibition will be John Galliano: Horizons, a retrospective devoted to the work of John Galliano. The exhibition, organized by Costume Institute curator Andrew Bolton, will provide the theme for fashion’s most visible night: the Met Gala.
Only two other living designers have received a solo Costume Institute exhibition. This is not simply the inclusion of Galliano’s work in a broader study of fashion. It is one of the industry’s highest honors.
Anna Wintour’s announcement made the positioning perfectly clear. “There is no one more deserving of an exhibition of this scale than John Galliano,” she said, adding that his career should not be defined by “a moment.”
The thing is, it wasn’t merely “a moment.” Galliano was filmed declaring, “I love Hitler,” before telling people at a neighboring table that their families would have been “dead” and “gassed.” He was subsequently convicted in France over racist and antisemitic abuse arising from two separate incidents. Calling this “a moment” is not neutral language. It is reputation management. It compresses repeated conduct into an aberration. It replaces specificity with something softer and more survivable. It transforms what Galliano said into an unfortunate episode that happened primarily to him.
Galliano did apologize publicly in 2011. In the years since, he has sought treatment for addiction, met with rabbis and Holocaust survivors and described his behavior as disgusting, shameful and horrific. The Anti-Defamation League has accepted his apology and praised his efforts to learn and repair the damage he caused. That matters. Repentance matters. Rehabilitation matters. I do not believe that every person who commits an appalling act should be permanently denied the possibility of redemption. But redemption and celebration are not the same thing.
Galliano has already returned to fashion. He spent a decade at Maison Margiela, received widespread critical acclaim and rebuilt his professional standing. He is now collaborating with Zara. Whatever “cancel culture” once did to John Galliano, it plainly did not erase him.
The question, therefore, is not whether he should be permitted to work again. The question is why one of the world’s most powerful cultural institutions—and one of fashion’s most powerful women—has chosen this particular moment to place him on its grandest pedestal.
According to the ADL, the United States recorded 6,274 incidents of antisemitic assault, harassment and vandalism in 2025—an average of 17 every day and the third-highest annual total since tracking began in 1979. The American Jewish Committee reports that 91% of American Jews feel less safe following a series of violent antisemitic attacks.
Jewish people are removing Stars of David before entering public places. Jewish students are concealing their identities on campuses. Jewish businesses and institutions require security simply to operate. Against that backdrop, the Met and Vogue have decided that 2027 belongs to John Galliano.
Why now?
The exhibition’s organizers say it will not avoid his past. One section will directly address his antisemitic, racist and anti-Asian conduct, its consequences and his subsequent recovery. That is better than airbrushing the record. But curatorial context cannot alter the central message created by the event itself.
The Met Gala is not a tribunal, a documentary or a symposium on forgiveness. It is a spectacle. Its images will travel around the world: global celebrities dressed in interpretations of Galliano, headlines celebrating Galliano, social media flooded with Galliano. The medium will overwhelm the disclaimer.
That is the communications failure at the center of this decision. The Met may intend to present a complicated story about genius, disgrace and redemption. The message most people will receive is much simpler: John Galliano has been restored, officially and spectacularly, to fashion’s highest altar.
Institutions make choices. Every retrospective, cover, award and gala theme elevates one story over thousands of others. There is no shortage of extraordinary designers whose work could fill the Costume Institute and inspire the Met Gala. Selecting Galliano was neither inevitable nor culturally neutral. It was a judgment.
Perhaps the exhibition will examine his conduct with genuine rigor. Perhaps it will ask difficult questions about addiction, accountability, prejudice, forgiveness and whether we can separate creative brilliance from its creator. But Wintour’s language does not inspire confidence. “No one more deserving” is not the language of inquiry. It is the language of canonization.
John Galliano may deserve forgiveness. He may deserve the opportunity to work. His contribution to fashion history may deserve serious study. But at a time when antisemitism is not a historical artifact but an escalating, lived threat, declaring him uniquely deserving of fashion’s most glamorous celebration signals something else entirely. It signals that enough time has passed—not necessarily for the people targeted by antisemitism, but for the people who were inconvenienced by having to care about it. And that is bizarre at best. At worst, it tells Jewish people something we have become painfully accustomed to hearing: Your fear is real. Your history is terrible. Your pain will be acknowledged.
But it will not be allowed to get in the way of a beautiful dress.
