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Those designers inspired to tackle the question of dressing for the tropics usually go the skimpy route, showing all sorts of itsy-bitsy, skin-baring clothes and gauzy fare. That’s not Julie de Libran’s way. For resort she held Indochine in mind, not the New York restaurant, not the movie, but the one-time French colony. “The idea for the collection was that it was so incredibly hot, but that the women were still well-dressed,” she explained.
A slick of sequins glazed the front of a white broderie anglaise shirt worn with tobacco-brown culottes. She showed boxy jacquard tunics with a seventies vibe over slim tailored shorts, and a slouchy sequined T-shirt with a long and loose denim vest and gaucho pants. The models peeked out from under elongated visor caps, like they just couldn’t get enough shade, towering on Taxi Driver platform heels. Surely the fashion fan who might slip on a two-toned pink-and-brown fur during a heat wave is beyond dedicated, but even when de Libran’s reality went into soft focus she never lost track of the essence of a great resort collection: ease.
There was a fabulous effortlessness in her laid-back new proportions, the tunics, the relaxed camp shirts, and drop-waist dresses, bringing high-concept style and offhand cool all together in the same look.
About Julie de Libran
In truth, though, de Libran was to Vuitton born. She had always wanted to work for a storied French brand, and she greatly respected Marc’s talent. She was raised in Vernègues, a small village close to Baux de Provence in the south of France, by her wine producer turned restaurateur father and interior designer mother who was perpetually decked in Yves Saint Laurent, Hermès, and Sonia Rykiel. When de Libran was eight years old, her father moved the brood to America. She spent the ’80s in the United States. Some of de Libran’s earliest and happiest memories are of visiting the tailor with her mother and grandmother to be fitted for smock dresses. But when it came to shopping, she never found what she wanted in stores. During high school, she drew some sketches and took them to a seamstress. “Oh, it was very ’80s,” she says, describing a fitted black velvet dress with long sleeves, a low waist, and a fuchsia taffeta balloon miniskirt. “I think my mom still has it.”
Though she proclaims that “every French girl grows up loving Vuitton,” she’s not a believer in the single-brand mentality. Using a stool to reach a high closet shelf, she pulls out a traditional brown monogrammed Vuitton shoulder bag, but there are also multiple Hermès bags here, plus jeweled heels by Prada, Alaïa, and Vuitton, all lined up in boutique-worthy rows. (There’s enough here that, a few years ago, she changed her pochette, or clutch, so often that her friends nicknamed her Pochette.) “I don’t believe in total brand loyalty,” she says. “I love to mix designers and collections and time periods. I’m never head to toe in anything. I always need to personalize my look.”
Those designers inspired to tackle the question of dressing for the tropics usually go the skimpy route, showing all sorts of itsy-bitsy, skin-baring clothes and gauzy fare. That’s not Julie de Libran’s way. For resort she held Indochine in mind, not the New York restaurant, not the movie, but the one-time French colony. “The idea for the collection was that it was so incredibly hot, but that the women were still well-dressed,” she explained.
A slick of sequins glazed the front of a white broderie anglaise shirt worn with tobacco-brown culottes. She showed boxy jacquard tunics with a seventies vibe over slim tailored shorts, and a slouchy sequined T-shirt with a long and loose denim vest and gaucho pants. The models peeked out from under elongated visor caps, like they just couldn’t get enough shade, towering on Taxi Driver platform heels. Surely the fashion fan who might slip on a two-toned pink-and-brown fur during a heat wave is beyond dedicated, but even when de Libran’s reality went into soft focus she never lost track of the essence of a great resort collection: ease.
There was a fabulous effortlessness in her laid-back new proportions, the tunics, the relaxed camp shirts, and drop-waist dresses, bringing high-concept style and offhand cool all together in the same look.
About Julie de Libran
In truth, though, de Libran was to Vuitton born. She had always wanted to work for a storied French brand, and she greatly respected Marc’s talent. She was raised in Vernègues, a small village close to Baux de Provence in the south of France, by her wine producer turned restaurateur father and interior designer mother who was perpetually decked in Yves Saint Laurent, Hermès, and Sonia Rykiel. When de Libran was eight years old, her father moved the brood to America. She spent the ’80s in the United States. Some of de Libran’s earliest and happiest memories are of visiting the tailor with her mother and grandmother to be fitted for smock dresses. But when it came to shopping, she never found what she wanted in stores. During high school, she drew some sketches and took them to a seamstress. “Oh, it was very ’80s,” she says, describing a fitted black velvet dress with long sleeves, a low waist, and a fuchsia taffeta balloon miniskirt. “I think my mom still has it.”
Though she proclaims that “every French girl grows up loving Vuitton,” she’s not a believer in the single-brand mentality. Using a stool to reach a high closet shelf, she pulls out a traditional brown monogrammed Vuitton shoulder bag, but there are also multiple Hermès bags here, plus jeweled heels by Prada, Alaïa, and Vuitton, all lined up in boutique-worthy rows. (There’s enough here that, a few years ago, she changed her pochette, or clutch, so often that her friends nicknamed her Pochette.) “I don’t believe in total brand loyalty,” she says. “I love to mix designers and collections and time periods. I’m never head to toe in anything. I always need to personalize my look.”
Selections by ANDREA JANKE Finest Accessories
Photo Credit/Source: Louis Vuitton
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