10am on a frosty January Monday morning.
Backstage of the hall Melpomene of the École des Beaux Arts in Paris.
In less than an hour the haute couture spring-summer 2010 show of the designer Christophe Josse starts.
Monsieur Josse answers to the journalists’ questions while I enjoy the psychotherapeutic effect of Christophe on me.
The last of the real Parisian romantics; the true embodiment of the French elegance; a soft charm and impeccable style, manifested in a jauntily rolled-up lapel; a hand movement, adjusting a lock of hair on his forehead and the radiating eyes, when Christophe responses to the not so various and don’t-know-how-many-times already asked questions of my colleagues; he belongs to a rare breed of those who do not need to prove anything.
And not just because they have already proved everything – but because they have long understood something important about the world and therefore enjoy the luxury of doing things they love, observing with a good irony the futile vanity of the others.
Here’s the best way Christophe describes his collection dedicated to the Romanticism: “My heroine came down from the pages of novels of Jane Austen, reminiscences of a fascinating ‘fin de siècle’, the portrait of a sensual young woman, romantic, refined, feminine and vulnerable.”
Romantic, but not passively melancholic, she is sensual and exciting. However not aggressively but with a hidden subtext – the most dangerous sexuality, from which men once and forever lose their minds, appearing in a purple blusher on the high cheek-bones of the models, aerial lace bondage following the curves of the body, boyfriend cashmere trousers lengthening the line of the thin hips, a curling demons of hair ringlets.
The palette of the colors the designer borrowed from the English skies are blue-greys, misty, watery shades like a Bonington watercolour. And then those curious scarabs embroidered on skirts of the muslin dresses; or that ‘grain de poudre’ dinner jacket – a renegade from the prêt-a-porter collection – which brushes with the dizzying exercise of couture. A mixture of genres and a confusion of feelings.
The only two words to add here are: “Bravo, Maestro!”
Photo credits: Christophe Josse
Originally published by LuukMagazine. More details here