KENZO | FELIPE OLIVEIRA BAPTISTA

Interview by Filep Motwary

The new creative director of Kenzo, Felipe Oliveira Baptista, begins his tenure with a collection that bridges his own creative signature with that of the founder of the house.

The recent invitation to Baptista to revive the 50-year-old Kenzo house came as a surprise, though not by chance. The Portuguese-born designer, now based in Paris, gained widespread recognition as the successful creative director of Lacoste—a position he held for eight years until May 2018. In 2016, the historic brand’s revenue surpassed €2 billion, propelling Baptista into the limelight and positioning him as the perfect candidate for Kenzo’s creative direction. Founded in 1993 under LVMH’s ownership, the house had faced numerous challenges before, and its founder, Kenzo Takada, retired six years later. Since then, designers like Frenchman Gilles Rosier (2000-2004) and Italian Antonio Marras (2004-2011), as well as the American-Asian duo Carol Lim and Humberto Leon (2012-2019), had infused it with youthful energy, leaning into streetwear and sportswear sensibilities.

However, the ingenuity and vision that defined Takada, who left Japan for Paris in the mid-1960s with dreams of a fashion career, were absent. Despite his significant success five years later, his approach did not enter history for its innovation, as did that of his fellow compatriots from the ’80s—Issey Miyake, Rei Kawakubo, and Yohji Yamamoto—who rightfully earned their place as ambassadors of the avant-garde. Takada, who sadly passed away recently from COVID-19, was celebrated for his ability to evolve Japanese influences, adapting them to European sensibilities and creating bridges between cultures, all centered around style. His signature included bold prints, oversized scarves, flared skirts, and comfortable coats. Who could forget the iconic campaigns featuring Iman, photographed by Hans Feurer, which remain timeless?

The first morning of Paris Fashion Week for the Fall/Winter 2020-21 season, back in March, began somewhat awkwardly. Just 24 hours earlier, Milan had sounded the alarm over the rapid spread of COVID-19, prompting Giorgio Armani to present his collection via video from his private theater, avoiding the risk to the safety of his guests. This decision gave a first hint of the changes to come in Paris in the following days. Many Italian editors and buyers decided to skip the shows, a stance already taken by their Asian colleagues, while attendance was moderate. Amid the confusion and uncertainty, the buzz surrounding Baptista’s debut at Kenzo was a welcome distraction for those of us still working at the event.

Two months later, at the onset of the lockdown, I reached out to the designer by phone—a friendship that began years ago in a cold warehouse in Villa Noailles, Hyères, at a festival for emerging designers. With his usual warm tone, he shared that he was holed up at home in Paris with his family, trying to maintain a positive outlook on the ongoing crisis. “I want to believe everything will be okay,” he said. “My kids attend an international school and had been prepared for what was coming. From 9 a.m. to 4 p.m., they do their lessons via video call. Although it’s only been four days since the lockdown began, we can’t complain—we have plenty of space and light at home. Things could be worse.”

He spends much of his time communicating with production units and his studio, trying to gauge what the future might hold. “Given how things are evolving day by day, planning for the future seems futile. Each collection is the result of a chain, from fabric suppliers and production to sales and distribution in stores. That chain has broken, and the fashion industry has been shaken to its core. It’s an opportunity to reflect on what needs to change. We can’t afford to be negative. We need to double down on creativity to restore balance, even if in a new form. It’s human to feel fear, but we must take a step forward with optimism and slowly find our answers. The pandemic has undoubtedly led to a recession. I’m not sure how severe it will be, but it’s already evident.”

As I listen to him, I think back to his journey—a designer who started entirely on his own, with one success following another. I ask him to recall his early steps. “The first year I was in Paris was tough, mainly financially, as I had to live off my creations when no one knew who I was. Growing up in Lisbon, I was somewhat isolated, and in Paris, it was the same. Of course, that’s changed now—I’m more social and have many friends. What’s certain is that I’m here today because I was never a product of hype,” he laughs and then adds more seriously, “I have a feeling that back then, anything beautiful had more staying power and resonated with a larger audience.”

His work evolved steadily, maintaining some core principles, such as quality and alignment with his clients’ profiles. He founded his own brand in 2003, in collaboration with his wife Séverine, and kept it for eleven years. “I built everything step by step, in an era before social media. Recognition for my work came at a steady pace. When I started at Kenzo, I felt like I was beginning my third life in fashion. Looking back, it was a good decision to end my own brand before the offer came in, so I could focus on a new chapter that would allow me to think differently.”

Born just a year after the fall of the dictatorship that ruled his country for nearly 50 years, he feels fortunate that his father, a pilot, took him on extensive trips around the world. As a child, he dreamed of a career in photography or architecture. Fashion was an unknown field, one he did not initially take seriously. His first exposure to fashion came when MTV appeared on his television screen via a satellite dish—a moment that changed his life. Later, the parents of a friend, both directors at the School of Fine Arts, inspired him to study there. They encouraged him, along with his own parents, to move from Lisbon to London. “So, in 1992, I found myself at Kingston University, studying fashion, with no prior knowledge of it,” he explains. “I pushed myself hard. I remember sitting in the library, flipping through a book about Balenciaga, looking at the famous 1966 bridal gown, and feeling something shift inside me. The timelessness and architecture of the garment made me realize that fashion was what I truly wanted to pursue. Even though today I complain about the pace of our industry, back then, I found the six-month period to create a collection exhilarating.”

At Kenzo, what was the first thing that changed? “On a human level, there’s always difficulty. You arrive in a place where a team works in a specific way, and you must integrate yourself, gradually molding that culture to your own vision, so we can all evolve the brand together. This process requires a lot of energy, but it’s something you find everywhere. Creatively, without disrespecting any of my predecessors, when I arrived at the company, I felt the need to change everything—from the tiger, our logo, to how we use colors and fabrics. Concepts like optimism had been translated into neon shades, plastics, and nylon. But looking back at the beginnings of the house, I saw an intensity and delicacy reflecting Japanese culture. With the great opportunity I was given, I wanted to introduce organic proposals that express my love for nature. Sustainability interests me. I want to propose things that will matter for more than one season. With this first collection, I tried to bring light back to the house—and I mean daylight, not club lights. That’s why my first show for Kenzo was held early in the morning, rather than at night, as it had been in the past.”

That icy morning, I was backstage early, watching him work alongside his team. The models were finishing their makeup one by one and entering the designated space to try on the collection’s garments. In the courtyard of the Institut National des Jeunes Sourds (National Institute for Deaf Youth), tunnels of transparent plastic were set up, allowing light to filter through. As I gazed at the designs, I felt that Felipe had wisely held back, not revealing everything at once. His fresh take on the house felt both rooted in Kenzo’s archives and his own. His silhouettes, inspired by the freedom of a nomadic life, carried a youthful spirit and a touch of mysticism—tall figures with hoods and hats that hinted at the Azores, where his family comes from. “That’s exactly it,” he agrees. “Like Kenzo, we are islanders who moved to a big city and got into fashion. I thought it would be interesting to create a dialogue between all the places I’ve encountered along the way, and to document the references I’ve kept. Kenzo arrived in France by boat—it took six months to reach Marseille. When he disembarked, he went to a disco to unwind before continuing his journey by land. Nomadism is, in a sense, the hallmark of our times, as we all travel and are citizens of the world. At least for now. This is how I see things. I’m fascinated by different cultures, while I also love poetry and taking photographs on my travels. Without wanting to sound nostalgic, I believe things were much freer twenty years ago in terms of personal discovery through travel. This collection, for me, is a celebration of cultures. It’s for people who don’t necessarily think the same way.”

The Azores remain a constant source of inspiration for him. Since his student days, he has revisited this theme, which also appeared in his debut collection for Kenzo. “I find it incredibly interesting to return to my roots, each time with a modern perspective,” he notes, recalling that he once thought of his work as a “recreation of the Azores.” “When I was young, I didn’t really care about fashion,” he confides. “My parents were very pragmatic and uninterested in the subject. But they did expose me to other things, like travel. I think I inherited this sense of freedom. I felt more relaxed growing up with this perspective on life.”