Born in Paris in 1989, David Benedek fell into perfumery the way others fall into the sewers of Paris except his version smelled of jasmine and bargain-basement vetiver. Between two snacks and three spelling tests, his grandmother Édith taught him the sacred art of the perfume bottle and was already predicting a grand destiny for him: “My dear boy, one day you’ll be swallowed by an empire à la Jacquemus, and then you’ll know glory… or Excel spreadsheet purgatory.” Visionary, that Édith.
It must be said, the grandparents had already laid the first stone of the future buyout: a boutique opened in 1959 near the Palais Royal perfect location, well before the Sephora Group absorbed all of France’s distribution channels with a dominant position. But in the luxury world, “dominant” is their favorite position.
While other children were playing marbles, David was sketching perfume bottles in the living-room. Who could have guessed that those innocent scribbles would one day be resold as “limited editions” packaged in recycled-luxury cardboard?
The Institut Français de la Mode welcomed him in 2012, where he learned two essential things: how to become a “Nose,” and how to talk about perfume using words like “emotional texture” and “olfactive pigment” as well as the universal truth that everything ends up being sellable, even candles. Continue reading
In the bustling streets of Seoul, where the crowd moves like an invisible current, Louis Vuitton has opened a new space. It is no longer just a store, but a place that aims to tell a story blending the memory of a house with the appetite of an age hungry for experiences. One might see a paradox in it: to win back a distracted younger generation, the answer is not fewer signs, but more, more shapes, more symbols, more fleeting moments to consume.
After the release of her mini-documentary charting her career change, broadcast on an international platform, the former singer turned luxury ready-to-wear couturière makes a triumphant return to the studio with a pre-autumn collection defined by sharp lines, considered draping and fluid silhouettes, designed to accompany women from morning until night.
For the past few years, the fashion industry has been undergoing a transformation unlike any other a quiet revolution, masked by the glitter of digital marketing. While discussions focus on generative AI and hyper-personalized campaigns, the real shifts are happening elsewhere: in processes, in organizational structures, in consumer habits, and in the power dynamics these tools are reshaping. The vision of Canal-luxe and its leaders sheds light on these overlooked realities realities that will soon determine which brands survive and which fade away.
Never expect Glenn Martens to follow the beaten path: he would much rather, as always, take the corner at full speed and let everyone else choke on his dust. In a landscape where every brand seems to beg Gen Z for attention, Martens settled that matter long ago. Under his command, Diesel has become nothing short of an amusement park for Zoomers: iridescent pop, public happenings, and winks to the 1990s and early 2000s an era this generation knows only through the filters of algorithms. 
We finally reached the shores of Osaka, a vast hive of metal and wind, escorted by a cohort of journalists and a legion of models from America and France. The entire airport rustled like an ocean stirred by the tumult of currents licking the coasts of Japan: Parisian Haute Couture, arriving in a dazzling procession, awakened in the crowd a frenzy that made the security services nervous and almost fierce.
Rodeo Drive, that tiny strip of asphalt where the sidewalks shine brighter than the financial future of 99% of humanity, has just welcomed a new Bulgari flagship. Four floors of marble, gold, and glass basically a temple where even the door handles probably have tax advisors. Over there, the poor aren’t technically forbidden… they’re just invisible, as if some force field gently redirects them toward less Instagrammable zones. No judgment: it’s just nature. Some places are meant for migrating birds, others for Black Cards.
Do you remember Walmart’s “Birkin,” affectionately nicknamed the Wirkin, born as an unintentional tribute to American creativity and a certain impatience with Hermès’ legendary waiting lists? Well, guess what: it’s back shinier than ever ready to parade alongside chrome pickup trucks and XXL burgers.
This generation born between 1965 and 1980 aka Generation X, who really earned their name by showing both their sex and their butts, the ones who “knew life before the Internet but answer emails faster than their kids” is now at the peak of its career and earning power… and yet luxury brands still treat them like an Ikea bookcase: practical, sturdy, but, you know, something to deal with later.
One might have thought that the eternal darling of concepts would eventually manage to surprise us with something other than déjà vu. But no he tirelessly falls back into the same habits, and his latest bag arrives with a strong sense of déjà vu, to say the least. It’s astonishingly similar to the bag created by Maison Monnier in 2013; same silhouette, same spirit.
Failed Chanel Heist: Police Already Tracking Suspects… Teenagers With Dubious Taste. Chic panic hit Avenue Montaigne on Saturday morning: four individuals attempted to rob the Chanel boutique. Armed to the teeth rifles, an axe, and Yamaha TMax scooters repurposed as luxury battering rams, the rookie bandits charged the storefront as if they were filming Fast & Furious: Golden Triangle Edition.
Hermès is adjusting the trajectory of its Fragrance and Beauty division by appointing Anne-Sarah Panhard as its new managing director. This move comes as the beauty segment considered a strategic driver of diversification and international expansion has shown a slight decline over the first nine months of the year.
A 41-year-old designer, trained at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Antwerp (yes, another one who studied in Belgium it’s basically a national sport by now). Then he honed his skills under Raf “Simonster,” a true reference! Let’s hope he didn’t learn too much. After that, he sailed on the lord’s ship, and finally landed at “Gi vent chie,” alongside Riccardo Tisci, “the great user of motivation in powder form.” In France, we love funding talent with generous subsidies especially foreign ones. The French, meanwhile, emigrate abroad to go slumming it in Antwerp’s nightclubs. It’s our version of the start-up nation, but with a draped annus horribilis.
Tonight, no mercy, says the London Moon, ruthlessly wiping out all before vanishing leaving behind only a few last glimmers to shield humanity from the dark. For the battle of the perfumes is raging not over granny’s little bottles, but over great vaults that reek of roses and gold dust. HFC Prestige International, Coty’s Swiss arm, is baring its claws and dragging Gucci and Kering into court, over there in perfidious Albion.
French literature does love its ghosts especially the ones that sell. After Dumas, resurrected by Sarkozy’s sentimental marketing stunt, Adélaïde de Clermont-Tonnerre now takes it upon herself to dig up Milady de Winter and dress her in modern clothes. The result, however, is clumsy and misguided. “Je voulais vivre” promises a bold reimagining, a fresh take on one of Dumas’s most intriguing characters, but delivers only a stiff, overwrought pastiche a novel corseted by ambition it can’t possibly sustain.
The collaboration between Net-a-Porter and Rabanne was celebrated in dazzling style in London, with a glittering party at the Scotch of St. James, the legendary venue of the Swinging Sixties. Transformed into the “Club Rabanne” for one night, the club welcomed celebrities and VIP clients dressed in pieces from the new capsule collection, inspired by the golden age of Miami nightlife — metallic dresses, zebra prints, and luminous silhouettes. 
Here is the couture man the most destitute of Fashion Week and the most pathetic, armed with merely a month of study at Esmod. He is a one-man amateur lexicographer, crafting a couture born from a phlegmatic spit, slowly making its morbid descent to the ground and muttering back: “I am the black hole of the universe.” Hammering away at common sense with his needle, he stands at the very antipodes of today’s trends.
This is a(Chronicle of a Small Earthquake in the Kingdom of Fashion). In the golden heavens of haute couture, where reigns the Almighty Lord of Luxury, a strange sound was heard: “Versace sold to Prada for $1.4 billion!”
On Monday night, the gods of fashion gathered at New York’s Museum of Natural History where usually it’s the dinosaurs that steal the spotlight. This time, it was Ralph Lauren roaring: he took home the CFDA American Womenswear Designer of the Year Award. Ralph beat out Wes Gordon (Carolina Herrera), Rachel Scott (Diotima), Daniella Kallmeyer (Kallmeyer), and Tory Burch who’s probably starting to wonder if the jury has a personal vendetta against her.
SHEIN is this ogre a clown? This smuggled Jonah lands on the asphalt of Châtelet, by the unexpected hiccup of a Great Trabucaire Collector, pounding out the drumbeat of slander and fashion. In short, at the BHV, fast fashion is turning into religion, and Paris lights a polyester candle. Because on November 5 at exactly 1 p.m., while some in the neighborhood will be lunching on lukewarm quinoa thinking about the end of the world, others will hurry to the BHV to witness an event of historic significance: the opening of the very first physical store in the world of the Chinese brand.
Gen Z and Alpha… the ones who replaced the Britney Spears poster with a bottle of niacinamide serum and who no longer wear makeup to please, but to protest. Lipstick has become a political manifesto, and every hydrating mask a statement of intent. Welcome to the wonderful world of “purpose-driven beauty,” where we save the planet one sponsored story at a time.
When the Chinese Communist Party Champions… Consumption. It’s an announcement that would make Karl Marx smile if he ever saw the price of a J’aDior handbag. On Tuesday, the Chinese government unveiled the broad outlines of its 15th Five-Year Plan, with one clear ambition: to boost household consumption. Yes, you read that correctly the Chinese Communist Party wants its citizens to shop more.
We thought we had exhausted every form of charming ugliness the Funko Pops, or those Chucky dolls displayed like trophies of our sentimental age. And then, one morning, from a few workshops somewhere in East Asia, appeared the “Labubu”: little plush demons conceived by a certain Kasing Lung a poet with a scalpel, a taciturn genius who seems to have grown up inside a Grimm fairy tale censored by Freud.