They had left the shores of Spain with fevered hearts and hands outstretched toward the unknown. Guided by the rumor of an Eldorado hidden beyond the Andean mists, they marched not to conquer, but to love. Amid spears and breastplates, a name rose like a song: Franck Sorbier, goldsmith of dreams, cartographer of an invisible kingdom, whose borders were drawn not on maps, but in the folds of a gown, in the breath of a veil.

His creations were expeditions. Each fabric, a jungle crossed; each embroidery, a lost golden path. Devoured velvets became burning forests, hand-draped metallic organzas, like banners borne by the fallen angels of Cuzco. Ancient guipures, scalloped lace, intertwined silk satin ribbons: these were treasures more precious than those of the Incas, buried not in earth, but in a lover’s gaze.

Then appeared a noblewoman of Lima, the chieftess of the Lake of Gold, draped in light, observing—frozen in her millennial solitude waiting for dawn to finally brush against her kingdom of fire and silence. Gold flowed like promises over bare shoulders—this was a never-ending fable, woven of ancient threads, lunar satin, and a breath held back. Continue reading →

Succeeding John Galliano in the delicate exercise of a haute couture runway show is akin to following Freddie Mercury on stage an endeavor that requires as much daring as mastery. Glenn Martens, the latest to step into this demanding arena, did not choose the path of least resistance. As Renzo Rosso, the hedonistic yet clear-sighted entrepreneur, would say: “We all work like madmen.” The times offer little respite to creators. Continue reading →

I have a paradoxical impression: both familiar and strangely static. The rigidly cut jackets, the decorative accumulations overwhelming light fabrics, the dresses saturated with technicality to the point of losing their grace—all of this gave the collection a artisanal veneer, but one devoid of poetic momentum. It matters little how many hours are spent assembling a piece if its purpose is hard to grasp or if one struggles to imagine who would wear it. Continue reading →

Last night in Paris, while some were still scribbling aphorisms about “creative audacity” and the “couture spirit,” Hael Rider was presenting a far more pragmatic take on style: the kind that fits neatly into an Excel spreadsheet built to please the Almighty. Forget stylistic introspection here, we’re talking about average basket sizes, conversion rates, and sell-through percentages. Continue reading →

We’ve known Ferrari for its screaming cars, its capillotract millionaires and its leather options more expensive than a studio in Paris. Now we discover them designing futuristic sailboats, proof that in Maranello, they seem to know the expression “to have a sea legs”.

Called Hypersail, because “Gondole Turbo” sounded too local, this 30-meter monohull is presented as a concentrate of technology, renewable energy and well-oiled megalomania. The boat is designed to “fly over the waves” thanks to foils. At this stage, it’s hard to tell whether this is a sailboat, a luxury drone or the prototype of an aquatic Pokémon.

Under the hood (well, under the boom), 90% of the parts are derived from road-going Ferraris. The tiller is probably made of Alcantara, the winches are fitted with Brembo brakes, and the GPS has been replaced by a map of the nearest Ferrari dealerships. An engineer, seen chewing parmesan on LSD, sums up the project: “It’s a Formula 1, but it floats, flies and sometimes decides on its own to go to Ibiza.” Continue reading →

In recent weeks, Nicky Zimmermann spent some time in Mykonos, where she marked two key moments: the opening of her namesake boutique on June 16 and 17, and the shoot for her Twisted Romance resort collection, captured in the island’s winding whitewashed streets.

“I loved the idea of connecting the celebration with the world of the collection. And in Greece, there’s always a pirate bar hiding somewhere,” she says, referencing the eclectic inspirations behind the line: a romantic nostalgia, dramatic silhouettes, and subtle nods to the sea that together evoke a dreamy yet spirited femininity. Continue reading →

On Thursday, Louis Vuitton unveiled its latest showstopper in Shanghai: “Le Louis.” t’s not a new €15,000 plastic handbag—it’s worse! “Le Louis” is a brand-new “cultural monument” where exhibitions, gastronomy, and of course retail coexist—essentially a Disneyland-style cathedral of consumerism disguised as a temple of art.

Here we have a form of luxury that asserts itself as a diplomatic power, colonizing the cultural space while wrapping it in grained leather sponsored by Shanghainese elites, all serving as a glamorous showcase for a triumphant capitalism that quietly helps sugarcoat the Uyghur repression. Continue reading →

Once again, Simon Porte Jacquemus serves us a lukewarm Provençal soup, this time simmered at the Orangerie of Versailles because the rural fantasy must coexist with the gilt of the monarchy. On one side, aprons, petticoats, and cuffed collars; on the other, Matthew McConaughey and Gillian Anderson in the audience: the great divide between the farm and the red carpet, expertly orchestrated for the shedding of couture blood.

Jacquemus isn’t presenting a collection; he’s endlessly reenacting an autobiographical tale that has become a cliché: the country boy who becomes the prince of hype. A rural mythology that he recycles “ad nauseam” (obsessively and repetitively) each season, as if we must constantly remind ourselves that he is “a country boy.” We get it. And with the curtains transformed into skirts for his mother, the storytelling continues, but do you really have to wear a shawl collar in 2026 to pay homage to Mamie Claire and her vegetable baskets?

This show, supposedly “upmarket,” smacks of mimicry, with amplified silhouettes, geometric volumes without a sense of design, but above all, without rigor or new vision. This isn’t fashion, it’s nostalgic scenography, illustrating a memory. Continue reading →

The designer was moved by a tender scene: young people having fun dressing up in their elders’ clothes. This simple image inspired his spring collection. He wanted to capture the essence of this clumsy yet sincere sartorial exploration, where you thoughtlessly layer an evening dress borrowed from your older sister with a sports jacket, or an oversized suit and tie found in your father’s closet.

“I found it interesting to see how boys and girls make mistakes when they dress for the first time,” he confided through an interpreter. This tender look at young people’s experimentation with clothing gives rise to a fashion imbued with nostalgia, freedom, and boldness, where mistakes become style and improvisation becomes elegance.

A jumpsuit inspired by workwear and sky suits, the piece reinterpreted for a modern woman who embraces her movements without constraint. We can sense the echo of workshops and the burning breath of sewing machines, but in reality, another force is now expressed. Continue reading →

Jonathan Anderson, newly installed at Dior, had the rare foresight to warn everyone: no need to get excited before five collections which translates to roughly five years of patience, suspense, and colossal marketing budgets.

Essentially, he’s asking us to sit down, breathe deeply, and wait for the miraculous vision to emerge somewhere between the 247th experimental embroidery and the 12th 18th-century waistcoat, remixed à la Margiela.

Critics will have to relearn the art of anticipation, shareholders must practice mindfulness, and the public is expected to applaud the invisible while hoping that, perhaps, a concept will eventually materialize like a couture epiphany. Dior has thus become a long-form PhD, and we, kindly, its loyal guinea pigs.

FM

The rise of 33-year-old Damson Idris is a true success story, catapulting him from the streets of Peckham, South London, to the heights of Hollywood. Far from being a path paved with gold, his journey is marked by perseverance and unwavering determination, as evidenced by his driving lessons: “When I finally passed [my driving test], I was an exceptional driver, the best in Peckham,” he confides with a mischievous smile during a recent photoshoot. Continue reading →

At Emporio Armani, it was a Netflix-style One Thousand and One Nights atmosphere. A dramatic turn of events: King Giorgio wouldn’t be coming. Officially, he was “convalescing.” Unofficially, he was binge-watching his own collection on a flat screen from his bed, likely in a silk bathrobe. It was Leo dell’Orco, faithful right-hand man and Italian Mr. Clean doppelgänger, who came out to wave at the end of the show. He announced in a zen tone that Giorgio had seen everything, loved everything, validated everything. The style was safe. Continue reading →

To witness yet another season of so-called “innovation” or the redemption arc of Raf Simons, desperately chasing the last scraps of his once-praised creative genius! What fresh hell of utopias is this—he and Miuccia give us a field of shaggy carpets shaped like flowers. Seriously? The natural light and birdsong were meant to evoke a sense of calm, but all they did was highlight the total lack of imagination.

Rineke Dijkstra’s portrait of a boy in an ill-fitting swimsuit, presented as a symbol of “vulnerability”? Well, no—for Raf, it was just a boy in a badly tailored bathing suit. And that striking 1993 image of a teenager on the beach in Odessa, Ukraine—is that supposed to be political commentary?

Simons, sipping his miniature Coca-Cola like a parody of Karl, chiming in with platitudes about “calm, positivity, and balance” and the noble “freedom to express yourself however you want.” The only thing truly expressed here was a profound apathy toward real innovation, according to Dior’s former designer.

A starched white camp shirt half-tucked into a bloomer yes, a sort of ironic harem pant—made the models look like oversized toddlers in a school play. Continue reading →

Night falls over Shanghai, but nothing dims; the city pulses and stretches, like Hermès leather drawn tight between tradition and vertigo. It is here, by the riverbank, in the shimmering of towers and dreams, that Hermès opens the second chapter of its Fall-Winter 2025 collection. Continue reading →

Who would have thought that one day, our wildest (and bluest) dreams would come true? Hold on tight, because Ferragamo and Porsche have decided to unite in a collaboration so luxurious it would make the summer sky pale in comparison.

No more struggling to find a handbag that matches your car! Now, lucky owners of a Porsche and Ferragamo accessories will be able to match their leather to their luxury car. Yes, you read that right: the intense blue from Maximilian Davis’s Fall 2023 Ferragamo collection is now the new black… for sports cars! Continue reading →

A cruise show at the Royal Palace, but in Caserta, perhaps to summon the spirits of a glorious past, of silent queens and luminous heroines. However, forget the rigid crinolines and ball gowns. Max Marrat, through the inspired hand of its artistic director, crafts an ode to the free, ardent, imperious woman—in short, the woman I love. Continue reading →

There was a time, not so long ago, when working for a major luxury brand was enough to ignite dreams. The mere name of a brand, embroidered on a business card, opened doors to the world and brought smiles. But since the silent storm of the Covid-19 crisis, that charm has eroded. Recruiting in the retail sector has become an uncertain, almost thankless task. And luxury, despite its brilliance, is no longer an exception.

Shop windows still gleam, salons still echo with the hushed murmur of rare fabrics, but the backstage is searching for players. According to a study by the Comité Colbert, French luxury houses are struggling to attract new talent. Boutique positions that living theater where the emotion of the first encounter with an exceptional object plays out – remain vacant longer than before. And on the front lines, in hotels or flagships, the shortage is felt even more acutely because service demands haven’t changed.

But it’s at the very top that the absence becomes glaring: 93% of luxury houses admit to difficulties recruiting directors. These are the very individuals who once embodied the link between elegance and operations, between vision and the immediate. Continue reading →

It’s now official: director “De Mytho,” a genius of electrified sheet metal and king of retro-recycling, is taking the reins at Kering. After reviving 1950s Renaults by plugging them into an iPhone socket, he’s now tackling a new project: fashion and luxury. No less.

At Renault, he already wowed us by reinventing the Renault 5 as a poor man’s Tesla. Now, we’re wondering with a shudder: what will he be able to unearth from the haute couture closets? Perhaps a little black dress by T Ford?

But let’s be honest, an Italian at the head of an Italian group seems almost logical. “You France, me Italy,” he is said to have whispered in the ear of the lord of the Arnaults, in a hushed duel of tasseled loafers, all under the gilt of a board meeting scented with Hermès leather and a triptych of egos. Continue reading →

David Hockney is exhibiting at the Fondation Louis Vuitton, and it must be said that everything is there: the large formats, the explosive colors, the small, very precisely calibrated dose of non-subversion, and above all, meticulous staging. But what do we really see? Hockney, certainly, but also a lot of Vuitton.

The Foundation, this contemporary luxury cathedral designed by Gehry, continues its balancing act between art and brand image. It sells us culture as one would sell a Capucines bag, with the veneer of storytelling and an impeccable display. Hockney, with his blond blow-dry and drawn cigarettes, ticks all the boxes: global star, mischievous octogenarian, and an artist “who still dares to use color” in a world saturated with digital gray. He’s perfect for the poster. A bit too perfect?

The exhibition journey is generous, immersive, visually very strong, and the use of a vibrant color palette, while charming to some, could be seen as a stagnant visual identity rather than a deep theoretical justification. But in striving to overwhelm us visually, the exhibition ultimately resembles a kind of Arty Disneyland: everything is big, everything is “bigger,” and above all, everything is “Hockneyland.” Continue reading →

Olivier Rousteing, the charismatic captain of the Balmain ship, continues his voyage across a huge ocean of wool, steering far from the glittering reefs of excess. For the pre-spring collection, he took a deep breath probably somewhere between two turtlenecks to announce his new credo: easy to stitch, easy to sell! Continue reading →

In a valley suspended out of time, nestled in the secret embrace of the Alps, lived an old jeweler named Silas. He wasn’t just a master of gems; it was said he listened to stones as others listened to the stars, and that gold spoke to him in dreams. He never crafted the same piece of jewelry twice, for each was born from a unique silence, a breath from the deep world, dictated by the sigh of metals and the buried song of crystals.

One pale winter morning, as snow wrote its poems on the windowpanes, a figure slipped into the workshop. She wore a cape of bark and moss, her hair smelled of sap, and her eyes reflected the infinite blue of mountain lakes. Her name was Oréade. “I seek a jewel that isn’t given,” she murmured, “but earned. A jewel that can recognize the soul.”

Silas, seized by an ancient shiver, delved into his memories and, with a slow gesture, pulled a forgotten box from a shadowy corner. From it, he drew a stone—an emerald like a drop of ancient forest, green as a memory, fluid as the secret of a vanished river. Continue reading →

In the traveling soul of Giambattista Valli, Marrakech was no longer just a destination, but a haunting presence, an oriental melody that vibrated deep within his being. Like a collector of fleeting impressions, he constantly went to breathe the air of its medinas, where the echo of merchants mingled with the intoxicating scents of spices. The secret gardens, edged with exuberant bougainvillea, and the flower stalls, opulent like precious silks, were no longer simple fleeting visions; they had inscribed themselves, with the delicacy of a dream’s imprint, at the very heart of his moodboard, and even to the reins of his marketing inspiration.

For his spring haute couture show, Valli, like an alchemist of dreams, as an oniric odyssey, materialized in voluminous skirts, ethereal with royal caftans, woven in fantasy jacquards that shimmered with a pure gold gleam, like the most precious gold of Byzantine jewels.

A nomadic spirit, a wandering soul, for daywear of luminous impeccability, alongside ceremonial gowns, fluid as whispers, all imbued, with an exquisite delicacy, with the scents of the Maghreb. Continue reading →