With a patchwork of trunks as a podium, we thought Nicolas was packing his bags, he who transformed the iconic Vuitton trunk into a “Chiquito” for supermarket bimbos. Yesterday, I saw a strange world, that of the unreal empire of the irrational, on the edge of the realm of the night, of a house more than a hundred years old. I saw an ancient world, a blurred reflection of the past, and a fairground of memories that have sprung from the waves of a path of suitcases.

Jackets with balloon sleeves, striped capri pants and skirts with sequined fringes that give me no emotion in a world without echo and whose horizon is so dreary. I saw the nascent city of apostates, sectarians and iconoclasts materialize before my eyes. They adorn these models not with one bag, but with two to always increase sales.

In the Cour Carrée of the Louvre, they wanted to sell us an era embellished and flamboyant with sparks to better blind us. As for us, we saw fairy monsters, populated by fictitious beings, elves and illusions that glided on the sea of ​​lost imagination. And in the distant sky, under the dawn of my dreams, the dark night of disappointment arrives.

FM