A Sacred Moment in Nice

Dear belles âmes, beautiful souls, 

Ahead of the launch of this new fall/winter collection this Tuesday (if all goes as planned!), I wanted to share a brief story and some reflections I had while I was back in France.

I was in the heart of my atelier in Nice: the inimitable sounds of machines churning out new prototypes, the click and hiss of steam blowing from irons hastily pressing open seams, the French language buzzing around me in the form of couturiers' questions about thread color, button placement, and finishings.

Out of the cloud of creative chaos stepped a very elegant older gentleman, exiting the elevator with our Patternmaker as they walked toward me. Dressed to the nines in a three-piece white suit, with perfectly coiffed white hair, Mr. Albert, the founder of a revolutionary menswear brand in the 60s, the French version of Ralph Lauren, stopped to talk to me. He exuded an air that doesn’t exist anymore in men today—the kind of grand homme who lived through wars or was born during them, achieved tremendous success, and still moves through this world with humility, grace, and elegance. An air that mirrored that of my ever-so-chic late Italian pop-pop Salvatore.

At 87, technically retired and likely with hundreds of millions of dollars in the bank, Mr. Albert still goes to this atelier every day to check on his pieces. That day, he sat in front of Kamel, a master tailor I’ve posted about before, to watch him bring his creations to life. In fact, he can’t sleep at night, ridden with anxiety that they aren’t moving forward. That moment, now frozen in time in my mind and my heart, touched me in a way I’m still finding hard to put into words. I felt seen. In my own preoccupations, my own obsessions, my own passion, while also witnessing a shared love so great, both hard to understand and impossible to shed. A gift and a curse. A lifetime of sacrifice for a passion you simply cannot shut off, as much as the industry it’s embedded in tries to take your life. Even at 87 years old. Even when you can barely walk on your own. 

The beauty of that moment moved me to tears. It also made me acutely aware of how bastardized this industry has become. How performative and calculated, how empty and exhausting. Mysterious and elusive, designers used to wear the same outfit day in and day out, living in the shadows, the true space it takes to go so deeply inward for months on end, only to emerge and reveal everything that was sacredly becoming. Today, the fashion landscape too often feels like an ego-driven pursuit; a just-for-fun hobby of celebrities and "influencers," measured by follower counts, the best algorithmic hooks, and viral gimmicks. A process once sacred, now dumbed down, curated, and sold back to you, only distracts from the soulless product polluting the planet. 

Upon arriving in France, I felt pressure to make a spectacle of the trip, to share everything that was going on, and to make people dream. I thought it’d be exciting and create movement around the brand. But I was already exhausted from the grueling circuit of shows I had done from April through August. I had just arrived in what has always felt like a room of my own, a place apart where I could experience myself differently and make space for the poetry that dances through my thoughts and inspires my days. I suddenly felt a surge of resistance, fighting against the fast-paced, go-go-go current I had been in since moving back to NY. The artist in me whispered, “This is sacred,” which was all I needed to hear to slowly retreat back into myself, into my storied, emotional world there, a decade-long history of total immersion, love, heartbreak, deception, family. My happy, complex place that I needed to experience fully, solely, and with all my presence, to nurture certain relationships, close one massive chapter, and create something I’m proud to put out into the world.

True passion doesn’t perform; it simply is. Some days, it’s a gift; other days, a curse. For whatever reason, I can’t let go of my passion for this craft. Ultimately, I guess this is my gift to you—the dear women who feel seen, beautiful, alive, and empowered by the pieces I create. Somehow, Mr. Albert reminded me of the silent pact we both made: to keep going, keep believing, and trust that authenticity, passion, and reverence for this craft will always prevail.

This upcoming collection is a piece of that quiet, sacred space I held onto in France. I cannot wait to share it with you this Tuesday. Thank you for being a part of this journey, and for valuing the reverence behind our pieces.