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There isn't a model, an image, a word or a name that isn't referenced by me. When I start thinking, ready to create, I cast my nets far out into the ocean of my culture broth and wait patiently for it to bite.

I open a Coke, have a smoke and miraculously, the ideas start to flow, so I bring them to the surface of my consciousness. Of course, I always tend to sail on clear waters, in heavenly lagoons, so I'm perpetually conjuring up positive images.

For this new spring, I wanted to enlarge the family and give Kaktus a little sister. So that she'd feel less alone and learn to share and live in a community. So, as a pleasure rather than an obligation, every shoe should have a story, here's the Kaprisky, a sublime little low-boot that will brighten up your silhouette. I clearly remember that my childhood was punctuated by Starfix, a geek magazine that straddled the line between cinematheque rat pointillism and unabashed love of Z-series, the kind that would give Street Trash 5 stars. I'm not sure if they did their cover on Breathless, I think they did, but I remember very well an article in which I learned that it was a remake of a film I didn't know at the time. It was 1983, June, and I came across this article about a film that looked very sexualized, with an advertising aesthetic. Although I hadn't seen him in action, I quickly sensed that Richard Gere's acting range was limited to that of a windscreen wiper: I blinked and tilted my head. And opposite him, the new sensation, a young girl I didn't know, French, who had managed to get herself hired on an American film. I was pretty young, but I realized what a feat it was to come out of nowhere and through the Hollywood front door.

In the meantime, I'd learned that she'd previously filmed with Jean-Marie Poirée. But no matter, Kaprisky was in California and the French guarantor of this really strange reboot of a film that could have done without being photocopied. I was far too young then to see this film, which included sex scenes by the dozen. And even the films with Valérie that followed. Between Zulawski's Public Woman and Christopher Frank's Year of the Jellyfish the year after, it was hard for a little girl to attend a screening of one of those films where sex was omnipresent. It was the 80s pop erotica period, which included sweaty movies like 9 1/2 Weeks. In my pre-adolescent years, this aroused my senses.

So that's where the name comes from for my pretty low-boot that will turn your feet into jewels of purity. It comes from a pretty little actress whose films I've never actually seen, but who has always made me fantasize ever since.
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