Fashion Week's Best Clothes Came From the Wardrobes of "French Peasants"
Fancy clothes at fashion week? Yawn. Garms ripped from the closet of a French farmer? Now you're talkin'!
Pristine clothes are boring. It's simply true. A crisp white shirt will never possess the intrigue of one that's stained and tattered, because a fresh shirt is a literal blank canvas while the latter bespeaks a life well-lived. This kind of visual storytelling is innately interesting.
Fashion brands know this and are attempting to cash in on the current yen for worn-looking clothes with their own vision of pre-repaired luxury. But nothing beats the real thing, as Martin Lours knows. Lours has spent the past 14 years collecting of vintage furniture and clothing, emphasis on "vintage." We're talking real rustic stuff, including wooden chairs whittled by hand and the kinds of threadbare jackets likely worn by the folks who did the whittling.
"It was not at all like our era now. It was not a consumer [culture]," says Lours, speaking of early-to-mid-20th century when much of his stock was created. Lours' interest in this flavor of old-school objects comes from his grandfather and great-grandfather, whom he describes as "peasants living in Auvergne," the French countryside.
"In the 19th century and beginning of the 20th century, the people who didn't have much money built their own furniture with what they had around their house," he says. "And they'd wear and repair the same jackets for years and years."
Lours' interest in this niche was piqued by the handmade furniture like those he grew up seeing in his grandparents' homes, his interest in the clothes came later.
"Sometimes [the furniture] is rough — I don't know the word but not very well-constructed. They were not searching for aesthetic," he says. "They were trying to build something, resistant, functional, and cheap." Though these pastoral products were created out of need rather than want, their forms are quite beautiful. Every good shaped by purpose possesses a singular charm that a mass-produced object can never attain. Each of the former bears the imprint of the hands that assembled it, making them as distinct as their creator and thus special.
This is not always a good thing, mind you. "There will be less and less of these clothes over the next 10 years, because it's already very difficult to find old pieces in a good condition," notes Lours. His Paris Fashion Week pop-up presents an increasingly rare opportunity to peruse all manner of authentically lived-in garments IRL, and they are beautiful. This fading is authentic, these are load-bearing patches. Modern faux-distressed clothing may offer convenience but they will never match the feel.
"I think that the young generation is very interested in the quality of the pieces and the history of the pieces," says Lours. "They do not [have] the means or goal of buying something new; they want authentic things, unique things, with good fabric. Here, they're not just seeing the pieces but seeing the quality and design of the pieces."
Beyond the current zeal for all things secondhand, Lours' collection also reflects something special, something uniquely French.
"This is our patrimoine," or heritage, he says. "Some people are reminded of when they were young and saw their grandparents wearing this kind of clothing. The first half of the 20th century was huge for French clothes, we were very good at it. We had very good brands, very good fabrics. I wanted to show this at the pop-up, both the clothes and the furniture of the farmer, the peasant, the worker."
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