This article is taken from the June 2026 issue of The Critic. To get the full magazine why not subscribe? Find our subscription offers here.
In a world in which even hoof-proof Hermès is warning about the commercial impact of the war on Iran, I bring sybarites news of great joy. Lingerie bastion La Perla is back, and it means business.
This purveyor of undercrackers to Beyoncé, Nicole Kidman and Daniel Craig (his 007 swimmers, not yet a brassiere) will turn 75 in 2027 and — following a couple of years in the liquidation wilderness — boasts a new owner: American billionaire Peter Kern.
La Perla
Kern’s wife, Kirsten’s, backing is every bit as vital, a wearer of 35 years’ standing, not only chief fan girl, but unofficial archivist and roving creative force. For this is a brand created “for her, by her”, as its motto has always been.
It was established in 1954 by corset maker-turned-couturière Ada Masotti, the sole female founder of an Italian luxury fashion house. When her son, Alberto, succeeded her in the 1980s, it was his wife, Olga Cantelli Masotti, who acted as creative director.
The backbone of the brand was the hundred highly skilled seamstresses at its Bologna HQ. When the company was plunged into insolvency in 2024, these women named themselves the “Perline”’, setting up a workbench outside their shuttered atelier to demonstrate their eagerness to work and lobbying the European Parliament.
After months of campaigning, the Italian government brokered a sale to Italophile Kern for an initial investment of 25 million euros, provided the firm’s 210 employees were reinstated, the Perlines not least. Today, women make up 96 per cent of the brand’s workforce, and it shows in every stitch. La Perla isn’t about the male gaze; it’s about feminine feel.
Chief product guru, Barbara Zappoli, summarises the situation as: “women making things with their hands for other women”. Every last confection is conceived and created within the atelier. Its hallmark is Leavers lace, crafted in Calais, encasing the skin in seamless scallops. Its silk is of the finest grade, soft and fluidly luminous.
Embroidery is hand-sewn, further decoration provided via soutache (silk braiding) and frastaglio (Florentine fretwork); a couture option always available (from £235 to tens of thousands).
I could already attest to the legendary comfort of La Perla. Viz a rather long story involving a lace blindfold, bra and thong road-tested for Elle, whilst serving as a lighthouse keeper for The Times. Suffice to say, if you find yourself having to race up and down 300 steps every ten minutes, La P is your brand.
Similarly, I knew its wares cut a dash from sporting a scarlet La Perla slip and dove-grey negligée to Tatler’s infamous Claridge’s pyjama party, at which lesser women merely donned their actual pjs.
Still, La Perla must be worn to be believed. For, lo, I have discovered the essence of luxury and it whispers wealth in the form of a body clad in cobwebs crafted by feminist Italian fairies. Theirs isn’t the science of squeezing and sculpting.
Instead, it is about cossetting a body beautiful no gym could craft; the most intimate extravagance, in which the individual impressed is oneself. Zappoli tells me: “It’s like painting on the body”. And it is, one’s own physique the art form.
And, yet, the requisite bolstering is there should a woman jump Britishly up and down whilst scissoring her arms, declaring it a miracle that something so gossamer should offer such support.
Most flattering on my small-backed, round-busted form is the Garden Tattoo Wire Plunge (£350), a v-shaped affair that not only looks fetching in its own right, but makes my physique appear winning under every garment.
Thrillingly, La P has expanded into the world’s most subtly sumptuous clothing. There is the Jet Lace Skirt (£1,310) that would look unutterably chic juxtaposed with a cashmere roll-neck.
Silk Uniform: a blazer (£1,170) and trouser (£795) suit in silk
The Silk Uniform is a blazer (£1,170) and trouser (£795) combo in silk so exquisitely tailored, yet airily supple, one feels as if one might take flight.
It’s the kind of outfit that makes one yearn to sell off all one’s wardrobe, then exist only in this guise. I can’t begin to talk about the embroidered Camisoles (£2,060) or I’ll sacrifice a kidney. And, then, there is the Waspie Corset (£450), nothing short of this season’s key accessory when assumed over a white shirt or sheath dress.
Forget drab, greige athleisure. This is what the rich should be wearing: the ultimate stealth wealth. Knowing this has ruined my life in the best of all possible ways.
