Here's the story behind Prove You Exist. A style born somewhere between uncontrollable laughter and a cushion stained with shakshuka, during an intense sofa-swaying session, while blissfully listening to France Gall. It all began on a Sunday the 26th... of some month I've completely forgotten. Somewhere between pre-dinner drinks and pure denial, as I was sharing one of those timeless moments with my sister—this wonderfully poetic, semi-botanical creature who talks to plants and dresses as though Saint-Germain-des-Prés had never come to terms with Françoise Sagan's passing.

The music was playing. And then it happened. "Résiste." France Gall's voice, as pure as plain yogurt with no additives, rose through the living room and pierced us like an arrow shot from a cloud of milk straight into our White Russians. Instantly, our bodies fell into perfect harmony, like two Tibetan monks who somehow caught chickenpox at a nightclub. We started swaying. We swayed so hard that the sofa groaned with memories of orgies long past. Our glasses began to wobble. Even the ficus slowly turned towards us, visibly moved.

And in that moment of domestic bliss, while my sister launched into a choreography performed entirely with eyebrow movements and strategically blurred gestures, I had a vision. An epiphany. A full-on Michel Berger slap across my prefrontal cortex. The shoe. THE shoe. DAMN IT. A golden, or perhaps emerald green, soft and radiant silhouette that would appear to women at the exact moment they were about to say, "I deserve better." A pump that felt like a declaration of independence. A rebellion against depressing loafers and soul-crushing ballet flats. I grabbed an old TV magazine, probably Télé Star, and started sketching. It would have a 7 cm heel. Not too high. Not too low. Just enough to make you feel above idiots without giving you vertigo. A champagne hue, because life isn't meant to be sipped. It's meant to be sabred. And a cut so precise you would swear it had been designed by a robot in love.

Why "Prouve que tu existes"? Because that's what we all do, isn't it? Every morning, somewhere between two passive aggressive text messages and a cup of instant coffee, we desperately try to prove that we're more than just a shadow with an Apple ID. This style is for women who would rather make spectacular mistakes than settle for a lukewarm life. Women who know that sometimes proving you exist is as simple as slipping into a pair of shoes that are far too beautiful for reality, and walking out the door anyway. It is a glitter covered prayer for the sensitive souls with fire in their hearts, the elegant women who are tired, and the badass women wrapped in lace. It is a shoe that whispers, you don't need anyone's approval to be extraordinary. And France Gall would have approved. Or at the very least, she would have danced in them.