Paris 1er, 7 July 2013
My wife's cousin is Creative Director for a major fashion house in Paris, and every six months or so we head over to see his runway collection. This week we went to his offices on the banks of the Seine the night before the show. It was nice to see the collection before it went public, but more revealing is being in the tornado of a fashion house as it taxis up for the runway.
First you notice the language. And I'm not talking the effing and blinding, of which there is plenty. On the lower three floors, the administrative bit, the language is French. On the top three floors, it switches to English. All the creatives are English, with a smattering of Americans. Vive l’exception culturelle!
Most interesting is the way it is no different for the big players as the independents. Next to the design room is a room full of tailors hovering over sewing machines, making final adjustments. All hands are on deck - even some models - packing clothes up to go to the show venue. The leather specialist is panicking because his shoe delivery is late.
No that different to us, then, only bigger. Just doing whatever it takes to deliver perfection.