ALAINPAUL

Interview by Filep Motwary

As the game of musical chairs continues—major fashion houses reshuffling their creative directors with the same speed that football teams swap players during a decisive match—the global fashion audience remains on high alert. And while all eyes are trained on the future, on that still-unknown yet promising brand that might deserve the next big opportunity, fashion weeks remain the industry’s steady metronome: a reminder that in haute couture and prêt-à-porter there is no room for pauses. The tempo is fast, and evolution is non-negotiable. Beyond the established names who have enjoyed global recognition for years through a continuous, unfolding trajectory—Pierpaolo Piccioli, Demna Gvasalia, Jonathan Anderson—new faces have been commanding our attention in recent months. Some more familiar, such as Duran Lantink at Jean Paul Gaultier and Miguel Castro Freitas at Mugler; others less so—Burc Akyol, Sarah Levy, Hodakova, Meryll Rogge, Steve O’ Smith—all injecting a palpable sense of excitement into the field. Within this landscape, I find myself wondering how easy it truly is for a young designer to stand out among the thousands who graduate from fashion schools each year. Are competitions genuinely a ladder upward, or not always?

Let us pause on the case of ALAINPAUL, the brand co-founded by designer Alain Paul and his partner, strategist Luis Philippe, which in just one year has already captured the attention of an international audience. With an aesthetic that balances refinement and radicalism, the young label—offering collections for both men and women—won this year’s ANDAM Prize, along with €100,000 in funding, and advanced to the final of the coveted LVMH Prize. This is not merely a strong beginning; it is a promise of something far greater. Exactly one year earlier, I had attended their summer presentation for the season that has just concluded: their debut on the official Paris Fashion Week calendar. The experience was undeniably positive. The body played the leading role, followed by movement, in a choreographed harmony with colour and the young Paul’s refined sensibility. We met again six months later, backstage at the show for the current season. Mathieu Malbec from Karla Otto’s agency made the introductions just minutes before the presentation began—a dark, almost theatrical experience titled Performer. This time, the designer’s philosophical inquiry revolved around how clothing becomes a mirror of the role we choose to inhabit in the ongoing theater of life.

In our interview a few days later, Alain spoke to me about his childhood and his early engagement with classical dance. “I was born in Hong Kong in 1989, when it was still under British rule,” he recounts. “My parents were working there, and that’s how they met. It was—and still is—a cosmopolitan city, vibrant, with a unique aura that I still carry within me. Until I was eight, I attended an American school. In 1997, we moved to France, as my father, who is French, found work there. For him it was a natural return; for me, a new beginning. Ballet entered my life when I was six. I continued in France, at a very small dance school—so small that I was the only boy in the class! I’ll admit it bothered me a little. But my mother was tireless. She took me to auditions, to castings, always standing by my side. One of those auditions was for the Opéra de Marseille, then under the direction of Roland Petit. The level was extremely high, with a direct connection to the Paris Opera. I was very young, though—I wasn’t dreaming big yet. All I wanted was to dance. My mother had other ideas and pushed me to aim higher. In the end, I was accepted into the Opera. And after just one year, I realized I wanted to be a dancer!” (laughs). He confides that for many years, dance was his sole outlet for expression.

“I never really learned how to express my emotions with words. Instead, I grew accustomed to communicating first through ballet and later through fashion. From a very young age, I knew how to tell stories through the body in motion. When I began creating choreographies with friends, I instinctively started dressing the dancers. I was fascinated, for example, by how color could shape a dynamic on stage. It was perhaps the first time in my life that I did something resembling styling. That’s where my journey toward fashion truly began, because until then I had never imagined myself as a designer. I wasn’t one of those children who knew their destiny from the age of six. Around fourteen, I started seeing clothing as a tool rather than simply a means of personal expression. Of course, I always loved getting dressed—I was eccentric, different, a boy who never felt the need to hide. I was a dancer, I was also gay, but above all I had an innate need to simply be myself. Clothing became my language. Over time, the more I engaged with garments, the more my interest in fashion grew, and gradually I began to imagine my life within it. Becoming a designer came through experience.”

He began his career working at Vetements and later at Louis Vuitton. Meanwhile, his partner Luis Philippe was gaining experience at the legendary boutique Colette and later at Sacai, Balenciaga, Alaïa, and Jacquemus. I ask how all of this has shaped the evolution of their brand. “We were lucky to have these opportunities, but we worked hard to earn them,” he replies. “And that exposure influences everything, at every level. One of the most valuable lessons was learning how to structure a collection, how to build it from the ground up. I’ve done this countless times, on completely different scales. When I joined Vetements, it was a young brand that grew rapidly. Suddenly, the collections became larger, more complex. At Louis Vuitton, the scale was enormous. There, I learned different ways of approaching creation, inspiration, and translating an idea into something tangible—and, most importantly for me, into something wearable. As much as I enjoy creating ‘artistic’ pieces, I’m equally interested in how they fit into everyday life. There is nothing more moving than seeing someone wear a garment I’ve designed, whether at an event or on the street, knowing that this piece has become part of their life. I love seeing my clothes in editorials too—it’s another kind of beauty, more image-driven, more conceptual. But in the end, both are equally important and function complementarily.”

He sees himself as a multicultural being. “The French side of my family has influenced me deeply, but it’s not the only one. My mother speaks to me in English; she has different roots, different ways of telling stories. As a result, I wouldn’t define my work through the image of the Parisienne or the French woman. What interests me is the person—she or he—who travels, who is curious about other cultures, who knows what is happening in the world. I think these are the clients of ALAINPAUL.” I ask him about his relationship with Luis and the fine line between their personal life and their professional partnership.

“At the beginning, we were a bit afraid. We worried that spending too much time together might lead to tension and arguments. The first year was quite difficult, because our apartment was also our office. We were always there, in the same space, working nonstop. In the end, it brought us closer; it made us stronger. Luis is the person I trust most, and I feel that he trusts me as well. I couldn’t imagine this project with anyone else. Now we have a separate office, each with our own small team, and during the day we barely see each other. We meet to discuss important matters, but he has his role and I have mine—we function complementarily. We are very fortunate, because there are exceptional designers out there who never find the right business partner, or the reverse. I have beside me someone I love, who believes in my work, and who helps me build the brand with me.”

Discussing this winter’s collection, he explains that some pieces—especially at the beginning of the show—appeared as though someone had captured a photograph of a body in motion, wearing a dress, a top, or a pair of trousers. “The garments were worked in draped nylon and silk, and they looked as though air were blowing through them and we had managed to trap that moment. It was an attempt to mimic movement and the volumes it creates.” Toward the end of the presentation, additional elements appeared, such as removable ruffles. “This season I’m returning to the work of Pina Bausch and the way she interpreted the position of women in society,” he tells me shortly before we part. “The message is dual: you must wear ruffles—symbols of femininity—but at the same time you must free yourself from them. It’s not exactly about dance—it’s not a dance collection—but rather about choreography, about cultural commentary. The collection is many things at once. I always incorporate elements of rehearsal wear—the clothes one wears during rehearsals for a performance: cashmere knits, tights, sweatpants… In my work, there are always different ‘snapshots’ of a garment, intertwined and coexisting organically.”