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He is just so awesome. I want to hug him.
ALBER ELBAZ IS A RARE BIRD in a business oft dominated by ego and drama. Humble, funny and all about the work, the beloved Lanvin designer eschews the high-profile social life of his star clients. Likening himself to "a concierge in a beautiful hotel," he feels it's best not to hobnob with the guests: "It's good not to know all these people, not to go to all these parties, to just be in the shadows a little bit and be able to dream. That way I can keep the fantasy of who they are and what they are looking for."
The Moroccan-born Elbaz began his career with Geoffrey Beene in New York before moving in 1997 to Paris, where he soon landed the top job at Yves Saint Laurent. Abruptly replaced by Tom Ford when Gucci Group bought the company, he eventually moved to Lanvin, where he has clearly had the last laugh. The world's longest-running fashion house, which was founded in 1889 by Jeanne Lanvin, was barely breathing when Elbaz arrived in 2001. Almost overnight, the designer's whisper-light frocks and beribboned accessories became favorites of both critics and consumers. A rare coupling of mystery and wearability, the clothes reflect the sensibility of their creator, who says he works from intuition and emotion and is a dogged ignorer of trends. "I want to know where is that committee in Switzerland that sits to decide what is in and what is out," he says. "I don't listen to the formula makers. I think maybe I have a selective hearing disorder."
This year, after his knockout 10th-anniversary show, Elbaz treated the crowd to a performance of "Que Sera Sera," including the gender-tweaked line, "When I was just a little boy, I asked my mother what will I be?" When he finished singing, every woman in the room was cheering, grateful for the path he'd chosen.
I THINK FASHION IS ONE THING to the world, and it's another to the people who work in it. It seems like one of those glam jobs in which you wake up and don't have cereal because you have champagne, and you mostly start at 6 o'clock—not in the morning but in the evening—and by 7 you have to rush to do something else. The reality is very, very different. Producing so many collections every year, starting from scratch and turning creation into business—it is a very difficult thing to do.
There was a time when designers hated other designers. But today there is actually major respect between many of us. We understand each other. We are all going through the same stressful process. Before shows we send each other little cards with congratulations; we send each other flowers. We're kind of a crazy family, but still a family. There are many designers I really respect and love. I love Azzedine (Alaïa). I like Narciso (Rodriguez) and Marc (Jacobs) and Nicolas (Ghesquiére) from Balenciaga. The first collection Raf Simons did for Dior was gorgeous. I'm not jealous of people—I'm only jealous of people who can eat and not gain weight. I respect talent. When I see talent and when I see a good person who comes with the talent, I melt.
Fashion used to be a family business. For years and years, it was the kind of business in which mothers and fathers and children and grandchildren would all work together. And there was something in that. Because family is the only place where you feel comfortable enough to make mistakes, and in creation, mistakes are really important. They drive you forward. We have no titles at Lanvin; at lunch everybody eats together and the studio feels as one. I don't believe in a hierarchy, in a pyramid of people reporting to other people who report to me. I always say that if you really want the truth you have to go to the basement because that is where things happen. If you look for the truth in the penthouse, usually it's fake.
I feel today we have to relearn how to be small again. The industry now is very strong and very powerful and very big and loud. I think it's an important time to go back to design, to think small and to go back to creativity. It's not just about marketing, but about creativity again, about a return to intuition, to emotion. We have to bring joy to people—that's the essence of the job.
I've never worked with a muse or thought, Oh, I am so inspired by her, because I'm not doing the collection for one woman. I'm making it for different women, different ages, different body shapes, different colors. Everything can inspire you: a story, a conversation with a buyer, a need, an editor's comment. All we are as designers are infantile antennae. We are just so childish and naïve. We have to capture the moment and then we have to project that back into our work. I have an idea and sometimes it is very grand, then I have to translate it and make it relevant. For me, I don't want to see a maharajah on Fifth Avenue. So I have to ask: Is it comfortable? Can you enter a taxi? Can you have dessert if you wear that dress? And sometimes I have to be honest: "F--- the dessert, get the dress!" In the end, the most beautiful thing is that nobody will know where it comes from. The idea is that you look at a dress and say, "Well, that's a great dress." It doesn't matter if you take it from the maharajah, from Brigitte Bardot, from the '60s or the '80s. The important thing is to erase the evidence.
What do you wear in a bad economy? This is a very, very sensitive issue. On one hand, you say that when things are going sour—when everything is not as easy and fun as it used to be—maybe there is some element that can bring fun and joy again. And it's chocolates, maybe it's love, and it's a beautiful red dress. If I were a buyer today in one of the American department stores, I would go with extremes—the most beautiful, the more expensive, the more eccentric. I would take risks. The worst thing would be to buy only the little black dress. You know why? Because everyone has it already. I would go with a purple dress, something different.
On the other hand, the world is going through so many changes. People are protesting about salaries and they can't afford to buy a home. There are a lot of companies that are taking what we are creating and translating them to the masses. So we cannot be accused of eating cake when the world needs to have bread. Because in our little domain, we create ideas that are being translated by High Street a season, or even an hour, later. I think the fact that we are the source of the High Street fashion is good. A year and a half ago I did a project with H&M, which is something I would never have done before, but I thought it was important. It was about giving something to people that they could not afford, something that they only dreamed about. And it felt good to know that 95 percent of the clothes had sold around the world within four hours.
Full article here
ALBER ELBAZ IS A RARE BIRD in a business oft dominated by ego and drama. Humble, funny and all about the work, the beloved Lanvin designer eschews the high-profile social life of his star clients. Likening himself to "a concierge in a beautiful hotel," he feels it's best not to hobnob with the guests: "It's good not to know all these people, not to go to all these parties, to just be in the shadows a little bit and be able to dream. That way I can keep the fantasy of who they are and what they are looking for."
The Moroccan-born Elbaz began his career with Geoffrey Beene in New York before moving in 1997 to Paris, where he soon landed the top job at Yves Saint Laurent. Abruptly replaced by Tom Ford when Gucci Group bought the company, he eventually moved to Lanvin, where he has clearly had the last laugh. The world's longest-running fashion house, which was founded in 1889 by Jeanne Lanvin, was barely breathing when Elbaz arrived in 2001. Almost overnight, the designer's whisper-light frocks and beribboned accessories became favorites of both critics and consumers. A rare coupling of mystery and wearability, the clothes reflect the sensibility of their creator, who says he works from intuition and emotion and is a dogged ignorer of trends. "I want to know where is that committee in Switzerland that sits to decide what is in and what is out," he says. "I don't listen to the formula makers. I think maybe I have a selective hearing disorder."
This year, after his knockout 10th-anniversary show, Elbaz treated the crowd to a performance of "Que Sera Sera," including the gender-tweaked line, "When I was just a little boy, I asked my mother what will I be?" When he finished singing, every woman in the room was cheering, grateful for the path he'd chosen.
I THINK FASHION IS ONE THING to the world, and it's another to the people who work in it. It seems like one of those glam jobs in which you wake up and don't have cereal because you have champagne, and you mostly start at 6 o'clock—not in the morning but in the evening—and by 7 you have to rush to do something else. The reality is very, very different. Producing so many collections every year, starting from scratch and turning creation into business—it is a very difficult thing to do.
There was a time when designers hated other designers. But today there is actually major respect between many of us. We understand each other. We are all going through the same stressful process. Before shows we send each other little cards with congratulations; we send each other flowers. We're kind of a crazy family, but still a family. There are many designers I really respect and love. I love Azzedine (Alaïa). I like Narciso (Rodriguez) and Marc (Jacobs) and Nicolas (Ghesquiére) from Balenciaga. The first collection Raf Simons did for Dior was gorgeous. I'm not jealous of people—I'm only jealous of people who can eat and not gain weight. I respect talent. When I see talent and when I see a good person who comes with the talent, I melt.
Fashion used to be a family business. For years and years, it was the kind of business in which mothers and fathers and children and grandchildren would all work together. And there was something in that. Because family is the only place where you feel comfortable enough to make mistakes, and in creation, mistakes are really important. They drive you forward. We have no titles at Lanvin; at lunch everybody eats together and the studio feels as one. I don't believe in a hierarchy, in a pyramid of people reporting to other people who report to me. I always say that if you really want the truth you have to go to the basement because that is where things happen. If you look for the truth in the penthouse, usually it's fake.
I feel today we have to relearn how to be small again. The industry now is very strong and very powerful and very big and loud. I think it's an important time to go back to design, to think small and to go back to creativity. It's not just about marketing, but about creativity again, about a return to intuition, to emotion. We have to bring joy to people—that's the essence of the job.
I've never worked with a muse or thought, Oh, I am so inspired by her, because I'm not doing the collection for one woman. I'm making it for different women, different ages, different body shapes, different colors. Everything can inspire you: a story, a conversation with a buyer, a need, an editor's comment. All we are as designers are infantile antennae. We are just so childish and naïve. We have to capture the moment and then we have to project that back into our work. I have an idea and sometimes it is very grand, then I have to translate it and make it relevant. For me, I don't want to see a maharajah on Fifth Avenue. So I have to ask: Is it comfortable? Can you enter a taxi? Can you have dessert if you wear that dress? And sometimes I have to be honest: "F--- the dessert, get the dress!" In the end, the most beautiful thing is that nobody will know where it comes from. The idea is that you look at a dress and say, "Well, that's a great dress." It doesn't matter if you take it from the maharajah, from Brigitte Bardot, from the '60s or the '80s. The important thing is to erase the evidence.
What do you wear in a bad economy? This is a very, very sensitive issue. On one hand, you say that when things are going sour—when everything is not as easy and fun as it used to be—maybe there is some element that can bring fun and joy again. And it's chocolates, maybe it's love, and it's a beautiful red dress. If I were a buyer today in one of the American department stores, I would go with extremes—the most beautiful, the more expensive, the more eccentric. I would take risks. The worst thing would be to buy only the little black dress. You know why? Because everyone has it already. I would go with a purple dress, something different.
On the other hand, the world is going through so many changes. People are protesting about salaries and they can't afford to buy a home. There are a lot of companies that are taking what we are creating and translating them to the masses. So we cannot be accused of eating cake when the world needs to have bread. Because in our little domain, we create ideas that are being translated by High Street a season, or even an hour, later. I think the fact that we are the source of the High Street fashion is good. A year and a half ago I did a project with H&M, which is something I would never have done before, but I thought it was important. It was about giving something to people that they could not afford, something that they only dreamed about. And it felt good to know that 95 percent of the clothes had sold around the world within four hours.
Full article here