CECILIE BAHNSEN

Interview and Photography by Filep Motwary

That sunny afternoon in March, in the packed first-floor hall of the Palais de Tokyo, I was told that Cecilie Bahnsen’s guests—mostly Scandinavian—had gathered well before the show was due to begin. As I stepped inside, it became clear that the lighting tests were still underway, while from the speakers came a poem by the Danish writer Tove Ditlevsen, set to music by fellow Dane Puce Mary—a detail that hinted at what was to follow. Having arrived late, I found myself torn between enjoying the show like everyone else or heading backstage in the hope of capturing a few photographs to accompany this interview. I chose the latter and, full of curiosity, made my way to where the models were getting ready.

In the large room at the back of the museum, a serene atmosphere prevailed, allowing me to take in the collection at leisure and begin to decode Bahnsen’s otherwise romantic aesthetic. As the models lined up quietly, choreographer Marianne Haugli reminded them of the importance of this particular show for Cecilie Bahnsen, while the designer herself listened, visibly moved. Smiling, make-up artist Rikke Denso Jensen interjected, warning, “There’s no time to redo the make-up, so please—no more tears!”

As in life, so too in fashion: fortune favours the bold—especially when it comes to presenting a debut collection in the City of Light in the post-Covid era. With that in mind, I managed to steal a few words from Cecilie Bahnsen just two minutes before the first model stepped onto the runway, before we arranged to continue our conversation later. “What does it mean for you to show your work here?” I asked. “Paris has always been a second home for our brand, given our long-standing presence in trade fairs and showrooms, as well as the relationships we’ve built here with the press. It’s a constant source of inspiration and the most important place to present one’s work internationally. A fashion show like this is a major step for us, as it allows us to see everything we do through a new lens,” she told me.

A few days later, she confessed that she had never imagined creating her own brand. “When I was a student, I assumed I would end up working for another designer. What drew me to this profession was the magic of craftsmanship and the environment in which a garment is made. After graduating from the Royal College of Art in London, I was fortunate enough to work with people who taught me a great deal about the fashion industry. They encouraged me to offer something new from Denmark, away from the logic of the fashion capitals, redefining the time it takes to create a collection.”

It is true that the Scandinavian scene differs greatly from other fashion capitals—its pace is slower, and people favour clothing that is comfortable and functional around the clock. Bahnsen’s aesthetic, however, is often seen as “eveningwear” or reserved for special occasions, and at a high cost. She disagrees, explaining that a collection involves everything from fabric design to the many hands required to complete a garment—dressmakers, embroiderers, and more. Tailoring is anything but easy, and it takes courage for a young independent designer like her to enter the arena alongside major houses, especially within a global landscape shaped by powerful social media and evolving ethical standards in fashion.

“When I first started, Instagram and Facebook already existed, but they were far less influential. They didn’t have the speed or importance they do now. Our collections aren’t based on how photogenic they are, but on the essence of the garments when worn. I must admit that the brand has grown through the digital world, and the messages of love and support we receive are incredible. Still, I think it’s important to remember where we began. Fortunately, I didn’t have those kinds of pressures when I was a student,” she says, laughing, before continuing: “I needed to find my voice through experimentation before others began forming opinions about my work. I remember that while teaching drawing at a design school, a student told me he felt his work wasn’t beautiful enough and that he couldn’t share it. That mindset limits creativity—it’s simply wrong. I’d say my design approach is somewhat old-fashioned. Everything in the studio is made by hand, not digitally—at least not entirely. That said, presenting a collection no longer requires preparing it in the country where it will be shown. Technology allows us to participate from anywhere. On the other hand, the digital world demands speed and constant change, turning everything into fleeting moments. That’s something I want to avoid, because duration matters to me, not the ephemeral. I want to create collections people will love—pieces that carry memories. The love I pour into my work is closer to furniture design or architecture. I work with timelessness in mind.”

She hasn’t struggled to adapt her design language or establish herself in the market. As she explains, it’s a process repeated every season, even as her perspective evolves. “With each collection, I grow more confident. I like to challenge myself, to find ways to improve—even to change. I’m very self-critical. Especially now in Paris, I try to experience success at a distance, holding back the intensity of what I feel.”

How difficult is it, ultimately, to design for a universal, global woman? “As our collections grow, so do our skills. At first, we created rather oversized garments, which limited our clients. Now we’ve expanded our size range and developed ideas that fit the body better, creating a more feminine silhouette. Technically speaking, the closer you get to the body, the sharper the design needs to be. This new direction wasn’t easy to integrate into the brand’s philosophy. However, with my team, we’ve managed to democratise the Cecilie Bahnsen look—in the sense that I love seeing girls and women styling our pieces with those of other brands. That inspires me.”

She explains how motherhood has transformed her and helped her better understand femininity. “Before becoming a mother, I designed dresses simply because I loved doing so. I focused on voluminous silhouettes, light as air. Pregnancy pushed me to observe my body and its changes, helping me understand the meaning of comfort. From that moment on, I introduced more colour and moved closer to the feminine silhouette and flattering cuts. In a way, I discovered myself by wearing my own designs—as an ode to life and the beauty found in everyday moments.” At the same time, she believes emerging from lockdowns has encouraged people to dress as extravagantly as they wish. “I love the idea of dressing up for no reason at all!” she exclaims.

Thinking back a few days, I recall Bahnsen’s clothes worn by girls who looked as though they were on their way somewhere—but where? That sense of fragile presence, overflowing with romance, emerged, she explains, through an almost meditative process—from handmade work at the first sketch and initial fabric sample to the final result. “For me, dreams, poetry and gentleness in expression inspire those who wear our creations—they allow them to feel beautiful while also encouraging empathy.”

I turn the conversation to the casting of the models, which was as compelling as the clothes themselves. “Coming to Paris, it was important for me to bring something from my own country. Ten of the girls have been with us since our first show in Denmark. The other twenty were found through Paris agencies, selected with diversity and equality in mind—values aligned with the message we wanted to convey.”

Her winter collection was inspired by the poem *Night Wandering* by Tove Ditlevsen, which revolves around the idea of conscious and unconscious movement. The mood board was filled with blurred images of girls moving through the night. Concepts such as hyper-femininity, innocence and confidence drove the designs. She draws a parallel with Ditlevsen, comparing her own leap—showing at Paris Fashion Week—to the poet’s discovery of her voice through an obsessive need to work. I learn that the floral motifs on some dresses were embroidered in Italy, based on broderie anglaise techniques, creating the illusion of three-dimensional petals. In motion, they come alive, as if blooming—reminding me of the paintings of my favourite artist, Henry Darger, which I had the chance to see earlier that day at the Musée d’Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris, just 200 metres away.

Flowers did not dominate only the fabrics but also the garments’ design. I noticed some dresses were cut on the bias, referencing the way Danish women gather their skirts while cycling. Tiny appliqué pansies adorned shoulders and hems—pure magic. “Everything I create is based on the idea of everyday couture,” she explains. “For me, luxury is feeling like the best version of myself when wearing a dress. During the pandemic, I enjoyed the ritual of getting dressed, which led me to create these pieces that emphasise movement and touch. Contemporary femininity is so broad—it all depends on each woman’s interpretation and how she allows it to shine.”

Another issue close to her heart is sustainability. “Our company approaches this major challenge in several ways. The starting point remains the creation of timeless garments. Beyond developing our own fabrics, we also look at how to minimise waste. Any leftover material is incorporated into future collections. This is made easier by the timeless nature of our production—often, a dress may be made from more than two fabrics from previous collections. It reflects our creative mindset: everything new is built on something that already exists. A designer moves forward carrying a kind of ‘starter culture’ with them, just in case. What drives growth is experience and constructive criticism. Responsibility towards people and the planet is hugely important to me. If success doesn’t come immediately, it will come later. What matters is staying true to what I believe in.”