So here we are, presented with yet another temple of luxury, erected like a manifesto of ostentatious grandeur, with its seven levels piled up like the vanities of a world already overfed. A design gallery, two culinary spaces, an interior studio… it reads like a catalog of desires packaged in marble and glass. Paris, once again summoned as a postcard backdrop, finds itself ordered to host this transatlantic hybrid: half American dream bunker, half French palace of illusions.

And already, the specialized media wave their censers: “success,” “innovation,” “international clientele”… As if the philosopher’s stone of high-end retail had just been discovered. But what revelation is there, other than the repetition of the same equation? Money, staging, a hint of lifestyle, and the illusion of endless refinement. One almost regrets that the Lord Himself did not do this with La Samaritaine. Continue reading →

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She steps into the role after Mathieu Baboulène, and will now report to Caroline Deroche Pasquier, who joined Versace last year as vice president of global communications following a celebrated tenure at Bottega Veneta.

True to her Kering roots, Hautcoeur moved to London in 2021 to take on the role of head of communications for Northern Europe at Bottega Veneta. A strategic position at the heart of a house on the rise, it allowed her to sharpen her expertise across key markets. Continue reading →

Never, since the blissful hours when my childlike soul wandered along the shores of Saint-Malo with my kittens, had my body known such affliction. Brittany, mother of winds and waves, had given me back, along with the copper glow of summer days, the dryness and tugging of its salty nights. My skin, once supple as a morning leaf, bore the marks of a blazing sun, stinging sand, and a bitter breeze. My heart, faithful to the sea’s promise, nonetheless found itself captive within this tormented body.

It was then, amidst my dismay, that Topicrem Ultra-Moisturizing Body Balm appeared, like a remedy to earthly woes. Its formula, rich in shea butter and beeswax, became a soothing anointment for my wounded skin. From the very first application, it dispelled the arid veil covering my flesh, and the promise of forty-eight hours of softness became a tangible reality. The skin, once rough and flaking, regained the suppleness and velvet touch of a ripe peach. Continue reading →

Printemps Fires Its Boss With the Usual Formula: “Thank You for Your Commitment”

Sometimes there are phrases so moth-eaten from overuse that they reek of formaldehyde, serving only to mask embarrassing realities. Printemps’ press release announcing the departure of Jean-Marc Bellaiche after five years at the helm is a textbook example: “We would like to thank Jean-Marc Bellaiche for his commitment and the successful transformation he has led.” HR translation: “Thanks for dropping by, the door’s over there.”

But Bellaiche didn’t walk into a serene household. He took over right in the middle of the pandemic, when department stores were emptying out and Chinese tourists once the golden goose  were stuck at home. He patched up the leaks, launched e-commerce just as everyone else was pulling down the shutters, and even splurged on a New York opening at the imposing One Wall Street, as if to remind the world that Printemps still liked to dream big. Continue reading →

A peaceful farewell rises for this breath of elegance: on the morning of September 4, 2025, a light went out. Giorgio Armani, in his ninety-first year, has departed, surrounded by his loved ones, leaving upon the fabric of time the indelible imprint of a style that has become memory.

Like a star whose path spans the centuries, he glided through the eras, reinventing masculine and feminine forms, imposing upon fashion a new physiognomy—simple and sublime at once. His vision, fluid and solemn like an ancient river, unrolled over the world an invisible carpet: from Milan to Hollywood, reaching even into the very souls of those who wore his creations as one might don a poem. Continue reading →

The LVMH Prize for Young Designers, supposedly the embodiment of fashion’s future, has it not become just another showcase for the gigantism of an empire obsessed with admiring itself in its own mirrors?

Yes, it celebrates “emerging talent,” but through carefully staged ceremonies, parachuted celebrity ambassadors, and a self-congratulatory luxury industry handing out neatly packaged checks like tossing a few crumbs of caviar to hungry birds.

Soshi Otsuki, awarded by the Fondation Louis Vuitton, becomes the new flag-bearer of this liturgy of “controlled innovation.”
We hear of coaching by LVMH experts but what kind of coaching? The kind that molds designers into Arnault tiny houses, primed to manufacture profitable dreams? Continue reading →

He was from Béarn, yet his name will forever resonate along the avenues of Paris and on the world’s red carpets. Jean Barthet, a genius milliner, shaped hats the way others write poems: letting audacity and grace dance together on a single thread.

I remember those dinners in his apartment in the 16ᵗʰ arrondissement, after a day spent at the factory of his perfumes. The table would glow with laughter, raised glasses, and anecdotes in which the stars of cinema and couture seemed almost familiar. Barthet had that rare gift: turning the ordinary into a celebration, and everyday life into legend.

Grace Kelly, Brigitte Bardot, Sophia Loren, Lauren Bacall, Catherine Deneuve, Michael Jackson… all, at one time, were crowned by his imagination. His hats were not mere accessories: they were fragments of light, shards of dream, signatures of style.

Today, in Nay, at the Maison Carrée, his brilliance is being celebrated for the first time. The exhibition, designed by his son Alexandre, unfolds more than forty years of creation: hats, photographs, sketches, films, memories. A universe where glamour meets craftsmanship, where one understands that elegance is an architecture of the soul. Continue reading →

For a long time a symbol of eternity and prosperity, luxury today is facing a deep crisis. While prestigious houses still retain their aura, their model is weakened by economic, social, and cultural upheavals. Several factors explain this decline.

1. An excessive dependence on emerging clientele
For the past two decades, the growth of luxury has relied almost exclusively on the wealthy classes of China, Southeast Asia, and the Middle East. However, China’s economic slowdown, stricter taxes on imported products, and travel restrictions due to geopolitical tensions have curbed this demand. Houses, overexposed to these markets, are seeing their sales plummet.

2. The erosion of desire in the face of banalization
Luxury is no longer rare. Massive communication campaigns, the omnipresence of logos, and the opening of stores in every capital have turned the exceptional into a commonplace product. What was once reserved for a cultured elite is now within reach thanks to credit or online resale. As a result, symbolic value erodes, and luxury items no longer impress. Continue reading →

During an interview in Milan to comment on his company’s solid results, Brunello Cucinelli reminded everyone that he was speaking on behalf of a house “firmly positioned at the exclusive level.”

“Too often, desirability has replaced exclusivity. An iPhone may be desirable, but it is not exclusive,” he explained.

French groups, however, see things differently: “Why bother with exclusivity when you can sell tote bags with giant logos to everyone?”

While Cucinelli has repeated for years that there are no shortcuts to true quality, some French champions have invented the concept of fast-luxury: XXL margins, XXL outsourcing… and sometimes S-sized quality.

“Young people are wary of companies reporting excessive profits,” added Cucinelli. On the French side, the motto is closer to: “If they don’t see our astronomical profits, how will they know we’re luxurious?” Continue reading →

It’s official: Givenchy has found its ambassador in China, and her name is Zhang Ruonan. The Chinese star had already hinted at her fashion love affair during Sarah Burton’s very first Givenchy show last March. For the occasion, she wore an asymmetrical papaya-colored dress’ that fruit we’re never quite sure about at breakfast but absolutely adore turning into a fashion statement. In her hand: a mini Antigona bag in box leather, barely big enough to hold a credit card, two Tic Tacs, and a reasonably sized ego.

“Givenchy is a brand I adore very much,” Ruonan declared, proving once again that in 2025 redundancy remains the purest form of love. We’re eagerly awaiting her next compliments: “I adore it enormously,” “I passionately love it a lot,” or even “I freaking love it hardcore.”

At Givenchy, they’re rubbing their hands with glee. A young, glamorous ambassador capable of making papaya suddenly desirable is a surefire guarantee to boost sales faster than a handbag featured in an Instagram story. As for the fans, they’d better prepare for the new Givenchy-Ruonan era: fruity, asymmetrical, and just a little cartoonish.

FM

I was leaving behind that millennial Brittany, blessed by its granite, standing like a shoulder of eternity, and when the sky blazed with a burning red, resembling the wrapping of Fahrenheit, which dares to claim it can hold infinity in such a trifling glass bottle, I admired this spectacle of dawn. The roar of the engine and the hoarse power of the 530cc echoed through the narrow streets of Pleslin like thunder rising from the depths of the ages. I was heading back to the capital, and this departure reminded me of mornings from another life, when, thirty years earlier, I tore myself from the warmth of a bed to write to the one I had just left, as if a single hour of absence already carved the abyss of eternity.

The speed and the heat of the waning summer carried me to push the machine beyond the allowed limits, as though dawn itself stirred in me the urge to flee these three Breton months. Along the straights and the bends, I thought back to that dawn of my youth upon which I had invented the ghost of a woman to adore; and it was only at the dawn of my forties that I saw that phantom take flesh. Thus life forges in us invisible idols that we carry within until the day they deign to reveal themselves. Continue reading →

Milan is getting ready to turn the heads of broke starlets and cash-strapped actresses eyeing their next Mercedes. So grab your sunglasses and your best jaded stare: Milan Fashion Week is back from September 23 to 29, and this edition promises to be as chaotic as a fashionista’s wardrobe during an existential crisis.

Between a cascade of highly anticipated debuts and Giorgio Armani’s 50th anniversary (yes, already!), it’ll be hard to keep up. Let’s hope Pinault is kind enough to lend us his jet again only for the right journalists, of course. By the way, I was the only one on board last time.

Brace yourself for a tsunami of new faces at the helm of major houses!
Dario Vitale is landing at Versace, Simone Bellotti takes the wheel at Jil Sander, Louise Trotter shows up at Bottega Veneta, and chic surprise Demna is swapping Balenciaga for Gucci. Yes, that Demna, with his post-apocalyptic-sociological aesthetic, is unpacking his bags in Italy. Continue reading →

They came without warning, these guests with silent steps discreet, conquering the peace of my Breton retreat. Not mere passersby, but true tenants of silence, come to fill my days with a tender kind of stir. And with a gentle intrusion, like the wind sneaking into a house long closed, these unexpected lodgers decided without contract or condition to take up residence in my daily life.

The first to cross the threshold, I nicknamed her Mini Bimbo. A frail silhouette, bold and delicate, like a lost muse. She has that sharp gaze the kind you see in those who’ve witnessed the old man with a remarkable abundance of food. A look that disarmed me, to the point that I offered her, without a hint of hesitation, the salmon I’d set aside for myself the night before. She accepted it with the grace of a starving queen, then let me stroke her hindquarters, as if giving her tithe, and in a blink, she vanished again for a nap elsewhere with a young cat, hence the name: a true bimbo.

Then came Garage, all black except for a small white patch on his neck, like a bow tie carelessly tied. A distracted adventurer who had gotten himself locked inside the garage. It took me two full days of clearing out the space, moving mountains of wood, before I finally saw him curled up between two beams. A silent prisoner, he looked at me with neither fear nor reproach, and I understood then that a quiet trust had just been born. Continue reading →

At Interparfums SA, they’re not afraid to take risks. After making the perfumes of major houses like Van Cleef & Arpels and Montblanc shine, the company is now preparing to launch its own in-house brand: Solférino Paris. An evocative name that smacks of… political maneuvering, backroom deals, and the polished floors of old-school politics.

Why Solférino? To honor its headquarters, of course! Located at 10 rue de Solférino, in the very chic 7th district of Paris, the building—formerly the stronghold of the Socialist Party—is now in the hands of a different kind of conquering empire: that of luxury fragrances. Once, the battle of ideas was fought there; now, the battle of olfactory notes is waged, often more subtle (but just as divisive).

And what a tribute! With Solférino Paris, Interparfums is playing the memory and chic card. We don’t yet know if the top note will evoke the sweat of a Socialist congress in 30°C heat or the post-artillery ozone of the 1859 battle the very one where Napoleon III and the Sardinians thrashed the Austrians. But in any case, there will be sweat. Continue reading →

The Ponte Sant’Angelo didn’t tremble under the march of lions, but under a show so over-the-top it made Anna Wintour’s Met Gala look like a Mormon birthday party. Picture this: chic church ladies, but Italian and not even heaven could have predicted this baroque-gladiator-catholic-fantasmagoric whirlwind. After Puglia came the ragazzi with rags and rhinestones.

Emperor Hadrian built this bridge in 136 AD to connect the city center to his tomb. Tonight, the guests sat in a silence so holy it could’ve raised saints except for Chiara Ferragni, of course, livestreaming the whole thing like a TikTok televangelist freshly escaped from prison. And then… BOOM! The gates opened. Continue reading →

Ah, the purveyors of protective cosmetics… those valiant modern-day alchemists, armed with golden pipettes and pseudo-scientific slogans, ready to save us from every rogue photon! Give me a break — but not too loudly, I’m wearing SPF 130 on my lips and it’s stickier than regret.

Meanwhile, the internet is oozing with skincare misinformation — and has been ever since humanity realized you could smear some blurry science into a pretty pink bottle and call it “dermatologist-approved.” But surprise! It’s no longer just TikTok influencers in the middle of a histamine meltdown spreading nonsense. No, no — now the big media outlets have joined the party. CNN, in a fit of cosmeto-apocalyptic panic, recently warned us that only 25% of sunscreens are both safe and effective. And to make sure the info really seeps into our pores, they sent out a push alert. Ding dong, your SPF might be chemical poison! Thanks CNN — I’ll sunbathe by candlelight just to be safe. Continue reading →

Loro Piana, the house once said to be beyond reproach, has just fallen from the hand-woven pedestal on which luxury so loves to perch. In Lombardy, it’s not rare wools that are spun, but illusions. Behind the nobility of the materials lie phantom, undeclared workers, serving a cascading subcontracting system, as opaque as the Marand’s moonless night coat.

The Italian courts have ruled: judicial administration for twelve months. The message is clear: ethics are not trifling, especially when jackets resold for €3,000 are produced for a paltry €100 in sweatshops.

But the affair would be almost trivial if it didn’t affect one of the most cherished jewels of the LVMH group, this empire resembling a contemporary Versailles, ruled with a gloved hand by the “Cashmere Wolf,” known as the lord of the Arnaults. Behind this monarchical figure, all control, image, and global ambition, stretches a kingdom sewn with gold, but sometimes tinged with silence and compromise. Continue reading →