Haute Couture should be fun, foolish and almost unwearable.
I am always anxious to know what has happened while I’ve been asleep.
With the development of the Christian Lacroix house in Paris and my work notably for the theater, it wasn’t serious doing things by half.
That was the idea behind glam clubs like Seven and The New Eve. You could eat and dance to live music. To enter you had to descend a grand staircase.
I never loved the world around me as it was.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have been influenced by the idea that my name could be spread across the entire world.
Fashion needs to be worn.
We all look for lost time.
There’s always some kind of hidden logic.
I translated Beatles songs for my English class.
Italy is a divided country without a center.
I am not nostalgic for the past.
I am still in love with couture because it is just two months from drawing pad to runway so everything on the catwalk is hot from the oven.
But some one will say that this supreme Being, who made all things, and those also who conferred on men particular benefits, are entitled to their respective worship.
But the Milanese have made bad choices, bad fashion, and bad jewelry.
For me, I am still very happy to be able to do stage design as it’s an opportunity to express the extreme.
French design hardly exists, except as artificial modernism.
The notion of time bothers me. You look at thirty-year-old photographs and realize how the time has passed.
They say that the best furniture and clothing design from the ’50s and ’60s is Scandinavian or Milanese.
But it seemed like the more we advanced, the more the future looked impossible, making us return to the more radical times in the past.