“This is my new office,” Carine Roitfeld jokes when I meet her in the lobby of the Carlyle on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. It is less than a week since she officially vacated her throne as editor in chief of Paris Vogue, and in this darkly lit grand hotel, it’s tempting to see Roitfeld, with her gray fur jacket and Russian roots, as a glamorous aristocrat in sudden exile. It’s an exile that will be short-lived, no doubt. She has already exerted an unmistakable influence on fashion, not once but twice: first with the porno-chic aesthetic she co-authored in the nineties as a stylist for Mario Testino and Tom Ford, then of Gucci; later, with her provocative, photo-driven, decade-long tenure at Vogue. Now everyone is speculating about her next act.
The moment we slide into a booth and Roitfeld removes a pair of Tom Ford sunglasses the size of saucers, a different woman emerges: talkative, immensely charming, unafraid to appear vulnerable, yet also fiercely determined. I barely have a chance to turn on my tape recorder before she is off and running on a variety of subjects: her mysterious departure from Vogue, the need to promote young talent, and dinners à trois with Riccardo Tisci and Karl Lagerfeld.
The moment we slide into a booth and Roitfeld removes a pair of Tom Ford sunglasses the size of saucers, a different woman emerges: talkative, immensely charming, unafraid to appear vulnerable, yet also fiercely determined. I barely have a chance to turn on my tape recorder before she is off and running on a variety of subjects: her mysterious departure from Vogue, the need to promote young talent, and dinners à trois with Riccardo Tisci and Karl Lagerfeld.
chech ou the interview at: http://www.style.com/stylefile/category/the-future-of-fashion/
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