by Garance Dore
For others, it’s being on the cover of Vogue.
It took me a very long time to arrive at my own definition. I gave it time and learned to follow my instincts, and it slowly became obvious.
To me, success means being part of a creative conversation and, above all, feeling free. It means being surrounded by a team you love and working in a beautiful, inspiring place.
And, to make these things happen, I learned to trust myself and follow the energy. The energy of places, of people. The energy I feel but also the energy I put out into the world.
It also helps to be able to sense when things are getting static, slow, complicated, to recognize when it’s time for a change, and to do something about it.
Like I should have when my parents said no to my artistic dreams or when my studies stalled.
And it’s important to say yes when the energy is right, even if you don’t know where it will lead you.
Like when I said yes to Bérard even though I could have ignored that weird call. Or when I started working on my blog for nothing else but the passion and the energy.
Because life is short, and fascinating. And, really, there is no time to lose.
* * *
Follow me to Planet Fashion Week. A glamorous, yet crazy world unto itself…
So I worked worked worked to put my career on track, took risks, and followed the energy.
And that’s how one day I found myself sitting in the front row at Paris Fashion Week, which is kind of the ultimate fashion-industry stamp of approval.
f course, it all began with standing tickets at small shows. (Okay, sometimes no ticket at all and just a lot of panache, showing up and pretending I had lost my ticket.) But within a few years, I was tensed up next to the toughest editors in the industry, or trying to keep my cool next to the occasional celebrity, at all of the biggest shows.
The thing is, fashion shows are an alternate universe. They’re fascinating, draining, and hilarious all at the same time. You want to know what it’s like? Here, follow me to the shows….
Let’s face it. I lose all perspective when it comes to Fashion Week.
Or Fashion Weeks, I should say.
Because there’s New York, followed by London, followed by Milan, followed by Paris…Sounds like a dream, right? Right?
This idea—that I might be losing perspective—came to me one day when, after a show, I found myself wondering if it was my duty to rush backstage and throw my arms around the designer.
I had worked with him, we had told each other our life stories, but isn’t that what everyone does in the fashion world? Was I now one of the people he would expect to see after the show? Would he be upset if I slipped out early?
In doubt, I joined the frenzied crowd charging the backstage door, and waited for my turn to say hi to a designer already smothered in hugs and congratulations. He seemed ecstatic to see that I was there too…I think.
After a moment’s hesitation, he called me “darling.” That means he recognized me, right?
I wasn’t so sure. So I decided to go have a coffee, to get my head straight.
Perhaps I should have chosen a more discreet spot than Le Castiglione on rue Saint-Honoré (during Fashion Week, the only place less private than the runway) for my coffee break. I hadn’t even finished ordering when a stylist friend of mine sat down next to me.
“Of course we end up losing our minds! You have champagne for breakfast, you’re treated like a princess by some people and like shit by others, and all of that while wearing way-too-high heels.
“You spend all your time making small talk with people you don’t even know.
“And after seeing the same faces every day for a month, you can’t even remember who you know and end up calling everybody ‘darling.’
“On top of that, now we have to tweet.
“Besides, there are only three people a designer wants to see after a show—Suzy, Cathy, and Emmanuelle. Anna comes before the show. And there you are in the middle of it all, like an extra in a movie.”
She finally came to the harrowing conclusion:
“Fashion Week isn’t what it used to be.”
I nodded my head in agreement, but how would I know? My first steps into the fashion world were relatively recent—that is, recent enough for me to realize I’d lost my perspective but not recent enough for me to believe that all of this was perfectly normal.
Without even realizing it, I’d become an insider.
So, what do you do at Fashion Week when you’re an insider? Well, first of all, you work. Pfff, boring, I know.
SO, WHO’S WORKING AT FASHION WEEK?
You have the press—the critics giving their opinions on the collections. You have the fashion editors, who are there to find inspiration for their next magazine editorials.
You have the buyers and retailers, who are there to decide what will be in their stores next season (very important, the buyers). Most of the time, they read the critics’ advice carefully to get the scoop on what to buy for next year, and then they end up buying the exact same thing they bought the year before.
And, of course, there are the photographers, publicists, makeup artists, designers, and models who work like crazy to make the fashion shows happen.
THEN THERE ARE THE PEOPLE WHO WORK A LITTLE LESS.
There are the starlets (or maybe we’re supposed to say “it-girls”), whose job is to be photographed at fashion shows. Depending on the brand they’re representing, they embody the young and happy woman or the young and sexy woman.
It’s easy to get an it-girl in your front row, even if nowadays:
“Pfff, they all have agents, it’s impossible to get them at a show!” or, “Pfffff, everyone is so over those girls, we see them all the time, enough with the it-girls!”
And then there are the celebrities, who are there to:
1. Have their photo taken, if their career is on its way down.
2. Have their photo taken and support the brand that is paying them a LOT of money to be their muse, if their career is on its way up.
3. See the show, if they are interested in fashion. A few are. I’m not kidding.
But above all, celebrities love going to fashion shows because it’s a rare opportunity to get mistreated a little. They get pushed around trying to get through the door, they have to wait forty-five minutes for the show to start, they get too warm and no one even offers them a drink, and, most of all, no one recognizes them.
Because fashion people would never be caught dead recognizing a celebrity. Are you crazy?
Besides, people in the fashion world live (as mentioned) in a parallel universe, so it might actually be the case that they don’t recognize Rihanna sitting next to them.
For a celebrity fresh out of that sunny, servile bubble known as Hollywood, going to a fashion show is a liberating experience.
But, as we’ve covered, who cares about celebrities? Let’s get back to the shows.
A fashion show is first and foremost a place where people work. The rest is just survival.
GETTING DRESSED: IT’S ALL RELATIVE.
As a wise friend once put it: “It’s a trap! Even if I don’t feel like dressing up to go to a show and I decide to be cool about it, everyone is going to think I actually tried and will say, ‘That’s the best she can do?’ ”
So even if you have the most innate sense of style, you still have to make an effort. You must drag three fifty-pound suitcases across Europe, you must make impulsive last-minute purchases (I must have the Jil Sander veiled knit hat!), and no matter what you do, you never feel like it’s good enough.
GETTING AROUND: AN EXERCISE IN STYLE.
You can hire a chauffeur (pros: the mystery of tinted windows, graciously stepping out of the backseat, hosting a party in the back of your Mercedes; cons: never-ending traffic jams), or take a bike (pros: street cred and athletic calves; cons: vulnerability to the elements and permanent bad-hair day), or take a taxi, but good luck finding one in Mil
an and Paris.
As for the metro, if you are capable of enduring a traumatic plunge into reality between a Lanvin show and a coffee with Anna Dello Russo, then go for it.
GETTING INVITED: A complex mathematical equation.
Especially now that the trend is to have fashion shows where no one is invited.
Not to worry: The enormous, spectacular, grandiose, unforgettable, majestic fashion shows still exist.
But you will also see the fashion world reacting to the transformation of Fashion Week into an over-publicized mega-event by curling in on itself and whispering words like “exclusive, secret, inaccessible!” and drastically reducing guest lists. To, like, five people.
“I knew it!” cry out the happy few upon receiving their invitation for Balenciaga one hour before the show.
“Oh no! I’m not going to be able to make it; too bad, I have an important meeting scheduled then,” say the others (who weren’t invited).
Nobody has an important meeting during the Balenciaga show.
SITTING DOWN: A QUESTION OF VALUES.
Getting an invitation is great, but that’s not all. You have to get a seat in the front row. It’s kind of like the metro. You’d really like to have a seat, but you’ll pretend like you’re just fine standing up.
Ah, the front row. The spot where you get photographed, looked at, and wooed. Where the first-class gossip gets traded and where you can experience the intense satisfaction of rubbing shoulders with celebrities.
Literally: sitting next to Rihanna.
On a side note, it’s also the best place to see the clothes. But, don’t worry, if you missed everything because you spent ten minutes trying to take a picture of Rihanna’s manicure without her noticing, you can make up for it on the Internet as soon as the show ends.
It’s already online for the world to see.
COMMUNICATING WITH 140 CHARACTERS: A SKILL YOU NEVER THOUGHT YOU’D NEED.
These days, someone puts a phone in your hand and says, “Now you tweet, you Instagram, you socialize, or you die.”
It may be for your newspaper, if you’re a journalist; for your store, if you’re a buyer; or it may just be your sixth sense, if you are under twenty-five.
In any case, don’t make yourself crazy. Do as I do—tweet complete emptiness.
EATING: WHY NOT?
The idea is to eat when you can.
Eating isn’t a very interesting subject during Fashion Week.
GOING OUT: I’D LOVE TO.
They say that people who work during Fashion Week don’t have time to go out, and it’s true. You spend your nights finishing up articles, placing your orders, editing your photos. That’s probably why the people who work less are there. They keep the party going and annoy you with their enthusiastic tweets.
If I could, I would go out every night during Fashion Week. Have you guys seen Vogue’s party photos?
Amazing!
But you want to know the truth about my Fashion Week evenings? The truth is: room service.
NOT ATTENDING: THE BEST WAY TO GET YOUR PERSPECTIVE BACK.
A concept that’s spreading like a cloud of face powder: Fashion Week by proxy.
A friend of mine first discovered this when she was very pregnant during one Fashion Week and couldn’t go to the shows. She sat down in front of her computer with a chai latte, got on all the fashion sites, logged onto Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube, and her conclusion was:
“I saw everything. I know exactly what happened. I saw all the shows, even Céline, live. I knew what people thought about the collections right away. I knew which party was great, who was going out with whom, and I was even able to see everything that was going on in the showrooms. It was great. Usually I don’t even have the time to see a quarter of what I saw online!”
I guess today the real insider is out.
IN THE LIFE OF GARANCE DORÉ
FREELANCER, ENTREPRENEUR, BOSS
2007
I’m a freelancer, so I work from home. How else to explain why I blog at the weirdest hours of the day?
7h00 — Lucky for me, my cat is an early riser. At the crack of dawn, my fat gracious, hungry feline pulls me out of bed. I throw on old sweat pants a cool and casual outfit, drink an espresso water with lemon, and make a nice little breakfast while looking for friends on Facebook reading Le Monde.
9h30 — After pillaging the magazine rack down the block my yoga class, I fall asleep in the bath take an enlivening shower; right after that, I’m ready to look through some blogs at my planner. Four hours later, totally guilt ridden with a sense of accomplishment, I make a few phone calls.
13h30 — This is usually when I like to start putting together some pasta steamed vegetables for lunch that I’ll enjoy with the TV on a few friends. A quick nap coffee and then back to work.
Afternoons are my favorite. Everything is calm, and it’s the perfect time to go shopping get going on some bigger projects. Time flies in department stores when you’re really focused.
18h00 — Panic sets in It’s time to take a break. I make some tea that I like to have with a box of cookies an apple. Then it’s back to work for an hour or two, just to stop feeling so guilty finish up a few projects.
20h15 — My man is on his way home and the end of the day is near. I’m exhausted, but I have to do some networking at the Flore at a fabulous gala.
23h00 — I get home totally drunk enchanted after this incredibly productive day, ready to start fresh the next.
The life of a freelancer is so hard.
2012
I’m a freelan…an entrepreneur. Okay, I’d like to think that I’m still a freelancer, but I have to admit that things have changed quite a bit. So let’s update and take a look at my schedule from 2012.
6h30 — I wake up early. I hear my iPhone alarm forty-five minutes after it started at the first ringtone, hop out of bed, and pull on the same sweatpants from 2007 my yoga outfit.
Right after I take a quick look at Twitter drink a big glass of water, I do my daily forty-five minutes of reading the ingredients on the back of the box of oatmeal yoga and meditation.
8h45 — My employees are about to arrive. My living space is about to transform into my working space. Time to put my best foot forward and get ready to lead my team by example. I keep daydreaming while looking at Tumblr hop into the shower and think about the super-chic outfit that I’ll slip into for my role as inspiring-yet-friendly boss.
9h00—I’m still in my sweatpants on the starting blocks. Emily, my assistant, arrives with a big smile and her Starbucks mug and reminds me that I have a meeting.
Ah, shit! Awesome! I totally forgot am totally ready: looking my best with the first clothes I see in my closet in an outfit that’s perfect for a spokeswoman such as myself, perfect hair in knots brushed and ready, PowerPoint that Emily prepared for me and that I of course will forget on her desk know by heart, and off I go into the new and exciting day.
Whether I’m shooting, in a meeting, or chugging a hot chocolate in the kitchen that’s dangerously close to my work space brainstorming, I’m super productive.
13h00 — Ooooh, it’s time for lunch. Everyone knows that when you’re a career woman, you have to use every lunch to network. So every day I lunch with my boyfriend someone different, just to keep filling my belly address book.
After lunch, I make my way back to the studio. Oh, did I mention? I don’t have a desk. Nooope, I’m too disorganized creative for that.
I work sprawled out on my couch wherever inspiration leads me. Everyone at the studio finds it super annoying inspiring.
They love to find traces of my total mess my creative process strewn about everywhere. Hard drives, jump drives, drawing pads…With me, you never know when you’re going to slip on one of my art pens I’m going to blow your mind with my art.
16h00 — I start freaking out because I haven’t even started my post for the next day getting organized to have a meeting on one of my many projects. I’m always supe
r last minute ahead of schedule with my blog, and that makes me as tense zen as can be.
To get my energy up, like all New Yorkers, I’m a big fan of the cookies from The Grey Dog (five hundred calories) green tea.
19h30 — Everyone is still at the studio and I start trying to shoo my employees out. It takes them about a half hour. I don’t know why they love lingering at the office so much, but maybe it has something to do with the meltdowns calming energy that I communicate throughout the day finally taking effect.
I remind them that I they all have lives, that even if they love what they do, going out helps to keep you connected with the pulse of the world around you.
That said, I close the door behind them, hop into my boyfriend’s arms, and put on a movie, perfectly chill and totally oblivious connected to the pulse of the world around me.
2015
Garance Doré, Founder, Creative Director, President. Don’t you love my titles? I just gave them to myself.
I’ve come a long way in my professional life—even though deep down I still can’t believe I have my own studio and a team working with me. But it’s true; I have seven employees, three agents, two lawyers, and a real studio. I have overhead, guys. So my daily life has changed. Here’s how I roll in 2015….
7h30 — I wake up in a crazy rush very early in the morning. Usually I set my alarm for 6:30 and it rings till 8 to meet with my huge pot of coffee and tartines personal trainer. It’s so important to make time to scroll though Pinterest stay in shape when you have professional responsibilities!
Then I jump into the shower, put on the same jeans and T-shirt I was wearing yesterday a simple yet elegant outfit, and head to the studio to get there two hours late before the rest of my team. It’s the perfect time of day for a deep chat about what’s new on Net-A-Porter with my sister getting work done. I check my Instagram e-mail, my Twitter schedule, and catch up with the team to discuss Gwyneth Paltrow the plan for the day.