ICARUS

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ICARUS

When beginning this season of Haute Couture, I found myself looking for old and unusual color references. I ended up at an antique shop with an inventory of ribbons from the 1920s and 1930s. Before the war, many of these ribbons were created in Lyon, and shipped around the world. But when Germany invaded France, many of these spools of ribbon were hidden away, lost for a period to history.

As I ran my hand among them last year, I realized what I wanted to do: Create something that feels new because it's old. I'm so tired of everyone constantly equating modernity with simplicity: Can't the new also be worked, be baroque, be extravagant? Has our fixation on what looks or feels modern become a limitation? Has it cost us our imagination?

The process began with the ribbons' colors. There were butters, saffrons, faded peacock greens and burnt saffron browns. We dubbed the brown one "toast," and the warm French grey one "mink." They inspired me to indulge in a bit of time travel, to design silhouettes that might conjure the Haute Couture of the past. I spent months studying the great chapters of great couturiers from various decades: Madame Grès, Charles Frederick Worth, Paul Poiret, Yves Saint Laurent, and Azzedine Alaïa. I didn't want to copy their work; I wanted to learn from them.

Every look here has been nurtured and tended to like a baby, as have our shoes and bags, all treated like petits bijoux, and embroidered in all manner of techniques, from Matador cording to resin rosettes. Every season can feel like a quixotic struggle, a climb, to reach an ever-higher level of execution and vision. But we do it—I do it—for you, our viewers, our clients, our passionate followers.

You make Haute Couture for love, of course. You also, however, do it for duty. I never forget that I get to helm what is perhaps the last great Maison to have been resurrected. It's my joy, but also my responsibility, to keep making the work better. Haute Couture aspires to reach great heights; it promises escape from our complicated reality. It also reminds us that perfection comes at a price. How high can we couturiers go? As high as the sun—and the Gods—allow us.

Daniel Roseberry