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.
I'm sure you're dreaming of me telling you the story of the Higgins.
Before each new collection launch, like a monk, wearing my most beautiful pumps, I set off with my team in search of the holy grail, divine inspiration, hoping to be struck by lightning like the tree of life split in two by the gods of Olympus.
Like every season, the whole of Paris waits impatiently for Patricia Blanchet's new collections. And instead of putting themselves under insurmountable pressure, the Team takes the opportunity each time to surprise everyone by bringing out models that are each more stunning than the last. But it's the names that Team Blanchet give them that always arouse curiosity. Let's meet the finest team since the Dream Team.
I'm going to let you in on a little secret: last year, I went through a period of emptiness, something that really put me on edge. Between a mid-life crisis and the need to hold on to something concrete and give meaning to my life, I really wondered whether I was on the right track. But I had to move on, so I decided to postpone my questioning.
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.
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".
In the course of her life, Patricia has had the opportunity to travel and experience a wide variety of places. From the desert of Tatacoa, to the great plains of Cergy-Pontoise, she has had the privilege of treading on territories that she has been able to transcribe in her passionate creations.
Palm Springs was a vague indication, but if I went by what his mother had told me, it wouldn't be long before I could get my hands on him. All I had to do was frequent luxury hotels, posh dance halls and old-lady bars to try and locate him.
When we arrived on rue Beaurepaire twenty years ago, at number twenty, where we still are today, the neighborhood looked completely different.
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.
My great love affair with the Western. Horses, buffalo, cowboys, Indians, the Great Plains, stagecoaches, deserts, campfires, harmonicas, forts, Apaches, peace pipes, treachery, Death Valley, the Grand Canyon - the whole mythology of the American West has always fascinated me.