When we opened our store on Rue Beaurepaire, nearly seven years ago, we were broke, and in fact, it was I who finished the work.
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People often ask me where I got the wonderful name I gave one day to one of my most beautiful creations, the aptly named Captain Love.
When I was entering adolescence, in search of a self I was still chasing, a film came out called The Color of Money, which was a sequel to a nineteen-sixty film, The Grifter, already starring Paul Newman.
While my parents were busy tearing each other apart over what to do with their lives, at eighteen I took matters into my own hands and decided to perfect my English by spending a term in California with the money I'd earned selling cheese in the market on Boulevard Richard Lenoir, near Bastille.
Today I'd like to introduce you to Moondog, a short-shafted boot that shares a very familiar design with our fabulous Gigi. Its 7 cm heel and the materials used in its manufacture are strong signals that you absolutely must have it.
Very few people know this, but the song Gigi sung by Dalida was inspired by a story told by my mother who, in the seventies, when she had separated from my father, lived from odd jobs in the south of France, in Cannes, the city of poodles and scrunchies.
Last September, I woke up in the middle of the night, flooded, as if the giant aquarium in my bedroom, home to a family of piranhas, had broken and spilled onto my bed. However, I soon realized that I was in the middle of a sex dream.
I'm sure you're dreaming of me telling you the story of the Higgins. I can see you stamping your feet and clicking your heels with your Patricias, clenching your little fists and demanding that I tell you the true legend behind this little jewel perched on a 7-centimetre heel.
When my father arrived in France, he didn't intend to stop there permanently. He thought it would be a stopover. A sort of appetizer to Western life, before crossing the Atlantic and settling in New York.
I grew up in the Sixth arrondissement. Before it became a showcase for luxury brands, it was a good neighborhood. I still love it and love walking around it, reminiscing about the good times.
On the Internet, people often have a need for simplicity, efficiency and speed. I, on the other hand, like to take the time to explain that our creations have a meaning, a soul.
There isn't a model, an image, a word or a name that isn't referenced by me. When I'm in a state of reflection, ready to create, I cast my nets far and wide...
A shoe is always a story connected to a feeling, a moment in my life, a work, a song, a film, a person. I'm obliged to connect all the dots in a drawing in order to move forward and let a figure appear, and that's absolutely essential, because it's how I weave my existence.
It was a Monday in February. I remember because it was cold. A cold that no longer exists, a polar cold. It was snowing hard flakes. Paris was paralyzed. At the time, I was working for a major shoe brand created by a gentleman who has now passed away. No, not in a magic trick. He was well and truly dead, well buried, well decomposed. Far, far away.
Somewhere after graduating from high school and in between a few faded university studies (which is the opposite of brilliant), I looked in the mirror and said to myself (apart from the fact that I thought I looked pretty good):
"Well then, girl, don't you think you'd be better off somewhere else than here? Tell the truth, and don't run away".
I like this story because it perfectly sums up my encounter with the cocktail and my propensity to have no measure. So I was on vacation, in a really great, magical place.
On a whim, I decided to drop everything and leave for California, landing in Los Angeles in the middle of spring. I went to a car dealer. I didn't want a vulgar modern car. And, for the price of a rental, I bought a red Ford Mustang convertible, white leather interior. And off I went.
At some point in our lives, we all come into contact with a work of art. A record, a film, a band, a painting, a book, an author. It may be instantaneous, it may take time...
As in every season, the whole of Paris eagerly awaits the new collections from Patricia Blanchet. And instead of putting insurmountable pressure on themselves, the Team takes advantage of every opportunity to surprise everyone with models that are each more stunning than the last. But it's the names that Team Blanchet give them that always arouse curiosity. Let's meet the most beautiful team since the Dream Team.