Elodie's Blues
Elodie's Blues
Within the soul of Villa Masséna, Elodie became a dream unfolding.
Clothed in a luminous turquoise blue, her gown was a hymn to Fairuz —
the voice of the Levant, the breath of forgotten mornings, the soul of distant gardens.
Clothed in a luminous turquoise blue, her gown was a hymn to Fairuz —
the voice of the Levant, the breath of forgotten mornings, the soul of distant gardens.
This color, soft yet radiant, carried the essence of Mediterranean skies,
of songs once sung at the edge of silence.
It held within it the quiet strength of longing —
a nostalgia too graceful to ache.
of songs once sung at the edge of silence.
It held within it the quiet strength of longing —
a nostalgia too graceful to ache.
As she drifted through the storied halls,
Elodie transformed into a living poem,
a silhouette suspended in time.
Elodie transformed into a living poem,
a silhouette suspended in time.
She was both past and present,
a bridge of beauty between memory and modernity,
tenderness and majesty —
just like Fairuz herself,
forever echoing across generations.
a bridge of beauty between memory and modernity,
tenderness and majesty —
just like Fairuz herself,
forever echoing across generations.
Black Swan
Black Swan
Three silhouettes emerge from the shadows—neither light nor darkness, but the delicate threshold between.
Their presence is not drawn; it is sculpted by absence.
Each figure, a constellation of black fabric, woven with mystery, gliding like a thought unspoken.
Their presence is not drawn; it is sculpted by absence.
Each figure, a constellation of black fabric, woven with mystery, gliding like a thought unspoken.
They are painted by the stars, not by brush—
Threads shimmer subtly like distant galaxies, catching fragments of moonlight,
revealing curves, concealing truths.
This is not fashion.
It is a ritual of light and shadow.
Threads shimmer subtly like distant galaxies, catching fragments of moonlight,
revealing curves, concealing truths.
This is not fashion.
It is a ritual of light and shadow.
The first, sharp and statuesque, cuts through the void like a crescent blade—
structured, still, eternal.
The second floats, her garments whispering like nocturnes—
a swan folding into herself, feathers inked in velvet dusk.
The third—a silhouette ablaze with silence—
moves as if time slowed to watch her.
She is dusk made flesh.
structured, still, eternal.
The second floats, her garments whispering like nocturnes—
a swan folding into herself, feathers inked in velvet dusk.
The third—a silhouette ablaze with silence—
moves as if time slowed to watch her.
She is dusk made flesh.
Together, they embody the chiaroscuro of identity—
bold and blurred, distant yet magnetic.
They do not wear black.
They become black—
as if the night sky needed form,
and found its muse in them.
bold and blurred, distant yet magnetic.
They do not wear black.
They become black—
as if the night sky needed form,
and found its muse in them.
muses : Sofia, Gaëlla, Fatima
photographer : Cédric Nicodemo
Lava
Lava
A short dress, sculpted like a force of nature—
draped in shifting silk, black and crimson,
as if fire had learned to whisper.
It clings and flows in equal measure,
a tribute to Madame Grès—
where every pleat is not just fabric,
but philosophy.
a tribute to Madame Grès—
where every pleat is not just fabric,
but philosophy.
The silk shimmers like molten rock under moonlight—
alive, unpredictable,
a dance between destruction and rebirth.
alive, unpredictable,
a dance between destruction and rebirth.
This is not a garment.
It is an eruption.
It is an eruption.
The red flickers through the folds,
like a memory of flame beneath the ash—
quiet power, controlled chaos.
It moves like lava—slow, sensual, unstoppable.
like a memory of flame beneath the ash—
quiet power, controlled chaos.
It moves like lava—slow, sensual, unstoppable.
She wears it not to be seen,
but to remind the world:
from every collapse,
beauty finds its form again.
but to remind the world:
from every collapse,
beauty finds its form again.
muse : Alexandra
Vanya — A Flame in Stillness
Vanya — A Flame in Stillness
Presented at the Club Stylist showroom,
Hôtel Barrière Majestic – 77th Cannes Film Festival.
Vanya is not simply worn.
She ignites.
She ignites.
Crafted in blazing red organza,
her form evokes the molten beauty of lava—
alive, luminous, and untamed.
her form evokes the molten beauty of lava—
alive, luminous, and untamed.
Each layer moves like rising heat,
a slow, smoldering ascent from the earth’s core.
Delicately embroidered by hand in black thread,
her surface bears the marks of resilience—
as if the fire wrote its own story,
stitch by stitch.
a slow, smoldering ascent from the earth’s core.
Delicately embroidered by hand in black thread,
her surface bears the marks of resilience—
as if the fire wrote its own story,
stitch by stitch.
A tribute to destruction,
a hymn to rebirth,
Vanya embodies the raw tension between fragility and force.
a hymn to rebirth,
Vanya embodies the raw tension between fragility and force.
She arrives not with noise,
but with presence.
A woman in Vanya does not seek the spotlight—
she is the light,
reflected in every gaze turned toward her.
but with presence.
A woman in Vanya does not seek the spotlight—
she is the light,
reflected in every gaze turned toward her.
Muse : Alexandra
Photographer : Jean-Marc Ragnon
The Dame Blanche — A Whisper Through Time
The Dame Blanche — A Whisper Through Time
Unveiled at a fashion soirée held within the iconic Hôtel Martinez, Cannes.
She glides—
not quite walking, not quite floating—
through corridors carved by centuries.
not quite walking, not quite floating—
through corridors carved by centuries.
The gown, pale as mist,
is a vision drawn from legend:
The White Lady.
She moves in silence,
as if time had woven her into the fabric of the walls themselves.
is a vision drawn from legend:
The White Lady.
She moves in silence,
as if time had woven her into the fabric of the walls themselves.
Constellated with delicate flowers,
each one hand-placed like a faded memory reblooming,
her dress carries the weight of a thousand stories—
of longing, of loss, of grace unbroken.
each one hand-placed like a faded memory reblooming,
her dress carries the weight of a thousand stories—
of longing, of loss, of grace unbroken.
Its long, spectral silhouette trails behind her,
haunting and holy,
as if the air itself had chosen to follow.
haunting and holy,
as if the air itself had chosen to follow.
Worn in a house of glamour,
born of a house of ghosts,
this is not merely a dress—
it is an apparition of beauty.
born of a house of ghosts,
this is not merely a dress—
it is an apparition of beauty.
She is not there to be seen.
She is there to remind us:
Elegance, like memory, never truly vanishes.
She is there to remind us:
Elegance, like memory, never truly vanishes.
Alexandra — The Depths of Elegance
Alexandra — The Depths of Elegance
Imagined for a house of haute couture.
Photographed at the Hôtel Métropole Monte-Carlo —
a place close to my heart.
“Alexandra” is a black mermaid gown,
cut in flowing silk crêpe and sculpted organza—
a silhouette born from the ocean’s secrets and the stillness of midnight.
cut in flowing silk crêpe and sculpted organza—
a silhouette born from the ocean’s secrets and the stillness of midnight.
It clings and releases with precision,
like waves kissing the shore,
or a breath held between silence and surrender.
like waves kissing the shore,
or a breath held between silence and surrender.
The gown is not loud.
It commands.
It commands.
Its curves are deliberate,
its shadows deep—
a quiet ode to the strength of femininity,
the mystery of restraint,
and the grace that lies beneath the surface.
its shadows deep—
a quiet ode to the strength of femininity,
the mystery of restraint,
and the grace that lies beneath the surface.
Wearing “Alexandra” is not stepping into a dress—
it is stepping into a moment:
a memory, a dream,
and a promise to oneself.
it is stepping into a moment:
a memory, a dream,
and a promise to oneself.
Made for a stage.
Born from the soul.
And forever tethered to Monte-Carlo,
where elegance never sleeps.
Born from the soul.
And forever tethered to Monte-Carlo,
where elegance never sleeps.
The Dark Lady — Alexandra
The Black gown — Alexandra
She did not enter.
She arrived —
a silhouette carved in shadow,
a vision sculpted in silence.
Draped in deep black,
the mermaid gown embraced Alexandra like a second skin,
then released her in sculptural waves—
a dance between structure and surrender.
the mermaid gown embraced Alexandra like a second skin,
then released her in sculptural waves—
a dance between structure and surrender.
Each curve, each fold,
was drawn like a breath held too long,
a tension between grace and defiance.
She was not adorned.
She was defined.
was drawn like a breath held too long,
a tension between grace and defiance.
She was not adorned.
She was defined.
In her, the Black Swan took new form—
no longer fractured, but whole.
A creature of midnight poise,
of elegance sharpened into strength.
no longer fractured, but whole.
A creature of midnight poise,
of elegance sharpened into strength.
The gown did not simply follow her body—
it respected it.
A monument to femininity both fluid and fierce,
rising from darkness with the dignity of a queen,
and the danger of a myth.
it respected it.
A monument to femininity both fluid and fierce,
rising from darkness with the dignity of a queen,
and the danger of a myth.
Alexandra was not performing.
She was becoming.
She was becoming.
Alexandre — A Silhouette of Fire and Renewal
Alexandre — A Silhouette of Fire and Renewal
Clad in deep black denim and veiled with red-and-black iridescent silk, the Alexandre silhouette evokes the raw power of nature in motion — lava as both ruin and rebirth.
This creation speaks of contrasts: the grounded resilience of denim, rough yet noble, against the ever-shifting sheen of silk, fluid and volatile. As lava carves paths through earth, devouring all in its wake, so too does this piece claim space — unapologetic, commanding.
Yet, from the ashes of destruction emerges beauty. The silk’s shimmering hues echo the molten flow, suggesting transformation, healing, and the fire within. Alexandre is not merely a garment; it is a tale of metamorphosis — of burning down what no longer serves to reveal strength, depth, and newfound light.
