WWD: Innovation? F.C.: Today, you cannot live without it. It’s a very
competitive market. We went from having four collections a year to
having eight collections a year. You have to keep up. Fearlessness is a
WWD: A difficult condition to achieve. F.C.: The most difficult.
WWD: That Calvin statement you alluded to, what was it? F.C.:
“We stand for being modern, contemporary, sophisticated, pure, natural
and often minimal. Consistent. And, we stand for sex in a very big way.
We are a brand that can affect youth and people of any age.”
I have my own mind and I cannot be led a stray from what I believe in, I’m very relaxed, immature but mature as hell when it comes to business. I know when to have a laugh, but know when it’s time to be serious. I don’t believe in dictating to anyone how anyone should be or dress, for example trends and season. I stay true to myself, and I wont let anything or anyone make me conform to what society wants us to be. If people don’t like, it I just don’t really give a fuck.
What qualities do you look for in a model?One thing we look for is someone who is going to be extremely positive and dedicated and is going to take it extremely seriously. You’re only going to get by so far by being the highest-stakes con artist in the world. Social interactions with this industry are key. You’re at a fitting with Karl Lagerfeld or John Galliano, or you’re on a shoot with people like Fabien [Baron] or Steven [Meisel]—they’re going to want to know that they can relate to you, that you understand their visual language. The people who work in this industry, whether it’s a designer or a photographer, are passionate. They know everything there is about it. They don’t want to surround themselves with tourists … The most important and relevant models are those who understood that.
This is a naive question, but if they were doing so great already, why did they come to you? What more could you have given them?I didn’t really know, but I got very passionate about it. I was working 20 hours a day. I was living with Linda in Paris. I was spending my time with all of them going on shoots, going backstage, traveling. So maybe they liked how passionate I was about their careers. I love photographers, I love designers. I guess that did translate in our relationship. It was a very strong moment for all of us. We felt the sky was the limit.
“I like simplicity and coziness,” says the renowned Brazilian beauty. “I want to live in a place that feels like a real home, where you can put your feet up on the couch and just relax.” Brady seconds the notion: “Gisele and I have eight sisters between us, and there are lots of kids. We built this house as a sanctuary for our family—a place where we can enjoy being together.”
Vogue Memos, a new tome from Rizzoli out next month, has quite a ring to
it. One imagines it to have all the scandal and intrigue of, say, the
Pentagon Papers — as if some dark fashion-world secret lurks between its
pages. Actually, the long title is Diana Vreeland Memos: The Vogue
Years, which promises less in the way of scandal, but all the intrigue
one could hope for.
It's a fascinating compilation of the memos —
reprinted in their original form — that Vogue's ten-year
editor-in-chief Diana Vreeland sent to her staff and photographers, who
included Cecil Beaton, Horst P. Horst, and Richard Avedon. Her official
communication with them, these memos were usually dictated by phone from
her Park Avenue apartment (she was rarely in the office before noon),
typed up by a secretary, annotated further in Vreeland's own
hand-writing, and dispatched wherever her team may be.
you walk me through the process of how she made these memos from her
Park Avenue pad each morning? Sure. She would call her office and speak
to one of her secretaries, as they were called at that time, and she
would just dictate the different things that she was thinking about, or
things she wanted done, or correspondence to people she was working
with. Some memos were just sent to her senior staff and she would never
see them again. Others were more like letters. She would be given a
folder of these letters that she had already dictated, and she would go
through them and mark them up with changes and corrections, but she
never had them re-typed. She basically they were sent with her
punctuations, underlining, word changes...
WS:What do you consider to be modern couture elements. It's a phrase I see you using in your "manifesto".
Couture is a supreme craftsmanship build on ages of tradition. When
ready to wear became the standard, the creation, handling and production
of clothes changed drastically as you know.
What we are always
in search of in the studio is to retain and reinvent techniques used in
traditional Couture, see how we can integrate them more in the ready to
wear industry to lift the quality of construction techniques, finishing
and handling of the fabrics without loosing our ready to wear
We all, in the end aim to create clothes that
breathe the times we live in. This always relevant meeting point between
tradition and the future plays a relevant part in this process. For
clothes, for life in general.
JACOBS: How did you find Brooke? Where was she in the world at the time?
Francesco Scavullo used to do a lot with her. She was a child. Dick and
I used to drink a bottle of vodka every night with Doon Arbus—Doon was
the writer and Diane Arbus's daughter—and we would create this stuff
together. Right from the beginning, we knew that the person we were
talking about had to be childlike and that it had to be some kind of an
actress. Brooke had done some things at that point, but she hadn't
really done too much. I remember having a conversation with her mother
at about three o'clock in the morning ...
JACOBS: Teri ... The ultimate stage mom.
She would call me at two or three o'clock in the morning all the time.
We made a deal for a contract, she and I. But Brooke was just great. I
spent a lot of time with Dick and Doon, trying to figure out what she
would say and the character and trying to make it with a sense of
humor—you know, give it something, because it was about denim. But in
those days, like, crêpe de chine ...
PALAU NEVER GREW UP dreaming of being a hairdresser, ending up in the profession completely by accident. The son of a hotel manager and real estate entrepreneur father (Spanish by origin) and stay-at-home mother, he grew up in the sleepy seaside town of Bournemouth, Dorset, with his three brothers. He dropped out of school at 16 to bum around Europe, earning his way by waiting tables and working in bars. When he returned to England, he discovered a few of his mates had begun working as hairdressers, prompting him to make the move to London and land himself a trainee position at the Vidal Sassoon salon on South Molton Street.
But the strictures of salon life were not for him, and he was fired after 18 months, being told, "We don't think this is your career." "I never could imagine myself behind a chair doing 10 appointments a day," says Palau. He assisted a friend on a fashion shoot and was hooked, scrapping for any job he could get: women's weekly magazines, makeovers, even working for mail-order catalogues. Despite the limited platform, his later style was already emerging as Palau began seeking ideas beyond beauty's conventional references in the era's exuberant street style. "In 1984 and '85, the street was like a catwalk. I was informed by that," explains Palau of the inspiration that has since fascinated him.
Winston Churchill knew it. Ernest Hemingway knew it. Leonardo da Vinci knew it. Every trendy office from Silicon Valley to Scandinavia now knows it too: there is virtue in working standing up. And not merely standing. The trendiest offices of all have treadmill desks, which encourage people to walk while working. It sounds like a fad. But it does have a basis in science.
But it could also describe what they offer clients: a wide array of marketing services from traditional large-scale advertising to digital brand-building for luxury, lifestyle and media brands under the Saturday Group umbrella, which has grown into a consortium of 12 companies. Together, Torstensson and Grede created this spring's mega H&M ad campaign featuring Beyoncé, conceived of e-commerce menswear platform Mr Porter and got model Lara Stone to dance in her bra to Salt-N-Pepa's '80s jam "Push It" for a Calvin Klein digital spot that has amassed 11 million views on YouTube.
The duo also publishes a biannual glossy print magazine—aptly called Industrie—that riffs on the navel-gazing tendencies of the fashion industry.
Recently, the Saturday duo has applied themselves to more physically tangible endeavors. In 2011, they introduced Industrie, which, in a humorous twist, is published on a paper size that's too big to be scanned and uploaded online. Their hunch that the regulars on the front-row circuit would relish the chance to be interviewed and read in-depth profiles on themselves has given them valuable influence in their own industry, and begat publications like System (launched by two former Industrie staffers).
They also enlisted supermodel Karlie Kloss, a friend, to codesign two pairs of extra-long jeans. Torstensson himself shot a series of black-and-white photos of her wearing them,
"BOHEMIAN." The word comes up when discussing the French designer
Isabel Marant. She grudgingly accepts the inescapable. "I hate to be put
in a box," she says. "It's difficult to accept, but it's not a bad tag.
I'm bohemian in spirit."
Although it accurately describes
Marant's iconoclastic, freewheeling approach to life, as well as many of
her enormously popular creations, from lace minidresses to fringe
boots, it minimizes the scope of Marant's designs and her puritanical
work ethic. Her attitude toward the business of fashion, however, is
"I never dreamed of being a big designer," Marant, 46, says. "I don't care about being known all over the world."
Today, when I read him interview a GQ editor about GQ’s new What to Wear
Now stylebook, I was mildly miffed but mostly surprised. The reason for
my chagrin perhaps is how I view GQ: an antithesis of what Williams
and others like him (for instance the gentleman who writes Die Workwear)
stand for — the little guy. GQ at its most naked is nothing more than a
marketing vehicle for the large conglomerates such as LVMH, PPR and
From shoes to clothes to watches to
belts — everything these guys recommended was from big giant fashion
brands and what they want to be sold in the market. We all were paying
for their huge marketing spends and not the quality of the product. I
owned a pair of Prada shoes and often wondered how the hell did I talk
myself into buying such poor quality – both in terms of leather and
construction. (And now that Prada owns Church’s, one of my favorite shoe
brands, I am not touching them with a ten-foot pole.)