When we receive our beautiful little shoes, they arrive in boxes, very large boxes which, once emptied, are of little use to us and even become cumbersome.
People often ask me where I got the wonderful name I gave one day to one of my most beautiful creations, the aptly named Captain Love.
Very few people know this, but the song Gigi sung by Dalida was inspired by a story about my mother who, in the seventies, when she had separated from my father, lived from odd jobs in the south of France, in Cannes, the city of poodles and scrunchies.
Today I'd like to introduce you to Moondog, a low-boot that shares a very familiar design with our fabulous Gigi. Its 7 cm heel and the materials used in its manufacture are strong signals that you absolutely must have it.
I'm sure you're dreaming of me telling you the story of the Higgins.
When my father arrived in France, he didn't intend to stop there permanently. He thought it would be a stopover. A sort of appetizer to Western life, before crossing the Atlantic and settling in New York.
I grew up in the Sixth arrondissement. Before it became a showcase for luxury brands, it was a good neighborhood. I still love it and love walking around it, reminiscing about the good times.
On the Internet, people often have a need for simplicity, efficiency and speed. I, on the other hand, like to take the time to explain that our creations have a meaning, a soul.
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.
Somewhere after graduation and between a few extinguished university studies (which is the opposite of brilliant), I looked in the mirror and said to myself (apart from the fact that I thought I looked pretty good): "Well then, girl, don't you think you'd be better off somewhere else than here? Tell the truth, and don't hide from it".
A shoe is always a story connected to a feeling, a moment in my life, a work, a song, a film, a person. I have to connect all the dots in a drawing in order to make progress and let a figure appear, and that's absolutely essential because that's how I weave my life together.
It was a Monday in February. I remember because it was cold. A cold that no longer exists, a polar cold. It was snowing heavily. Paris was paralysed. At the time, I was working for a major shoe brand created by a man who has now disappeared. Not in a magic trick, no. He was well and truly dead, well buried, well decomposed. Far, far away.