An assistant named Rick Owens
She attracts glances, fascinates, challenges. We ask her the basic question, about her general impression of the candidates’ work. We find ourselves having a coffee together, far from the rush, a few minutes before the deliberations. She is relaxed, visibly happy to be in Doha, a thousand miles from her usual haunts, which nevertheless cross time zones. She likes to talk about the 1970s, how she went from law school to post-modern philosopher Gilles Deleuze’s classes, from a job as a criminal attorney in charge of imprisoned sex offenders to stripping, and then following her instinct and the wind, a book or a song, “without knowing why”, leaving Paris for New York and L. A. where she discovered “New York on the Riviera” and was fined USD 75 for showing up topless at the beach.
L.A. is her natural environment, where she opened two successful cafés and launched her fashion label, Lamy, with a certain Rick Owens as her assistant. A free woman above all, a Lilith seduced by androgyny, gifted with an irresistible creative force who explains to you without your asking that her rings are gifts from friends and that her tattoos and the line of kohl she draws on her forehead every morning reconnect her with a previous life in Berber country that she unlocked during a trip to North Africa as a teenager.