I should start by telling you something:
I have been a fan of fashion since the age of seven.
I design, I sew, I patch clothes up.
So, my idea of heaven is the aptly named "Marché Saint-Pierre" in Montmartre.
A place filled with all the fabrics you can dream of:
poplins, muslins, twills, cretonnes;
a place also filled with a very distinctive atmosphere
of friendliness and shared interest among the clients,
as if we recognize each other and respect each other,
us weekend fashion designers and fashion professionals;
a place which brings people together from very different backgrounds,
who don't necessarily mix anywhere else,
but who, here, are alike,
because they are only defined by this same thing,
the love of scissors sliding across fabric,
the pattern you trace, the needle going in and out,
and the material that falls just right on the mannequin.
That's why, for me,
clothes serve, above all, to weave together -
if you'll excuse the pun -
the threads that form bonds between people.
For instance, have you ever expressed empathy towards someone
by complimenting them on their outfit?
What we decide to wear
has that certain ability to distinguish us from one another,
while reinforcing and marking our belonging to a group,
or to several groups,
social, religious, regional, professional, generational.
In France, we are proud to be home to such strong cultural diversity
in a relatively reduced space.
In France,
a country recognized throughout the world for its elegance and its way of life,
we attach a lot of importance to what we wear on our backs,
and on our heads.
Let's talk about headwear.
You don't notice anything?
These photos were taken during different periods
and represent women from various backgrounds and regions.
However, they have two things in common.
Firstly, all these photos were taken in France.
Secondly, they show that, at all times in history,
French women covered their heads
at some point in the day, in the year, even in their lives.
The function and form of headwear evolves according to customs and fashions,
but it continues to be an integral part of our clothing.
And here you go!
Headband, fascinator, sunhat, woolly hat,
cap, balaclava, hood, hat,
headscarf, veil, toque, turban, visor ...
Put up your hand those of you that haven't worn anything on your head this year -
those who have never done so in their lives.
(Laughing) It's unlikely!
These family photos are mine.
They're those of my friends' or of friends' of friends,
but they could also be yours, right?
So when I hear that covering your head isn't French,
it makes me laugh.
Not French?
But that's to ignore our history!
That's not looking beyond the end of your nose!
Covering your head, for women, has always been a subject of debate.
As for the ancient Greeks,
the veil distinguished married women of high virtue
from prostitutes that could and must go out with nothing on their heads.
In "Corinthians",
Saint Paul urges believers to cover their women.
In the Muslim tradition,
only prophet Muhammad's wives, initially, wore a veil,
thus marking their belonging to an elite that was both social and religious.
For centuries, even millenniums, a covered head has by turns meant:
modesty and archaism,
conservatism and decorum.
Even in my own family,
each generation of women has given a different meaning to headwear.
Take for example,
that for my paternal great-grandmother,
at the start of the 20th century,
wearing a hat meant conforming to a group she was part of,
and asserting her belonging to an area,
the Redon area in Brittany.
For her daughter,
my paternal grandmother,
in the 1940s,
to go out with your hair on show had a certain nuance at the time.
It meant escaping the peasant headscarf,
which marked both your rural origins
and the fact you worked in a field,
where it was used to protect against sun and dirt.
Going out with no headwear was to proclaim oneself a lady of the town,
even one of those blow-dried cinema stars who always looked perfect.
In the countryside, still in Brittany, we used to go out bareheaded,
keeping headscarves that were tied under the chin
for Sunday mass,
hats for attending weddings,
and veils for marriage ceremonies and for communions.
As for my maternal great-grandmother,
more urban and middle-class,
headscarves and hats, like gloves and pearls,
were mandatory attire for all women in high society,
an accessory that both marked her status
and stopped her styled hair from getting tousled
when she found herself
going from a promenade by the sea to a game of bridge.
As for my mum, who grew up with the May '68 events,
the majority of headwear,
middle-class or working-class, aesthetic or religious,
represented an infringement of women's bodily freedom.
She didn't think she really had a head for hats,
but nonetheless sported a boater in summer,
and a hood or a headscarf in winter.
Finally, for me,
wearing something on your head
is to multiply the fashion potential of an outfit,
to tell a story, to invent a persona.
My weaknesses are:
wedding hats, which I create myself;
tweed caps, which fill my cupboards;
fur toques, to the great disgust of some;
and silk headscarves,
which, tied in a headband around my neck,
allow me to dream of myself as a reincarnation
of Grace Kelly or Audrey Hepburn,
although most often I end up
looking like one of my great aunts when they were twice my age.
So, this relationship that we maintain with what we wear on our heads
is indicative of each period.
It also reflects the concerns and evolutions of our society,
here in France, but also abroad, in other countries.
So, the next time you pass by a haberdashery,
think about this bond woven by fabric.
And when you pass a woman wearing something on her head,
remember that that headwear,
as full of memories, symbols, and history, as it is,
remains a piece of fabric or straw
that only has the meaning that we want to give it,
and that a head, covered or uncovered,
so long as the decision is free,
need not obscure much more troubling concerns.
To finish, let's go back to these walls and these shadows.
What we wear on our backs, and on our heads,
protects us from fair and bad weather,
from the gaze of others or of the divine.
It can also make the wearer stronger,
and drive them to assert themselves, show themselves at their best.
It's the shy people's flag.
Outfits and headwear have nothing, of wall or of shadow,
than there ability to protect.
If they establish, in effect, physical barrier between individuals,
they scream: "Look at me! Interact with me!
Identify with me!"
So, let's look beyond these barriers,
and not make a wall of this material
but a door.
Thank you very much.
(Applause)