Tonight I’m not on the side of the big bad corporate giants: there is something rather moving about the final whimper of a brand that once had dreams as big as its art.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have been influenced by the idea that my name could be spread across the entire world,” the designer said, running his hand through his closely cropped hair before aiming a taut smile at his client. “You need ego but mine is not blinding.”
In July a couture show, a stripped-down compilation of black skirts and navy dresses, was cobbled together with the help of donations from friends and admirers. Onlookers wept as the final couture gown swept past and his staff unfurled a banner which read “Lacroix forever.”
“Maybe we need something modest,” he says. “Something which makes a profit.”
How much of the old world do we have left?