”There’s something of the night in myself” Riccardo Tisci
Riccardo Tisci… My aesthetic brother from another mother. Romantic. Melancholic. Victorian. Holy Grailian. It’s like, I died in Vivienne Westwood. Woke up in Jesus bar with Rei Kawakubo. Died again. Woke up on the ’93 Versace catwalk next to Naomi. Died again again– and woke up in a Transylvanian alleyway revived by a demigod in head to toe Dries, whose sole condition of life was for me to live out my days for Givenchy… Long story short- I live. I die. I breathe. I cry. Le Tisci.
Before the fashion house scooped up Riccardo, he was just a regular old unknown’ish from Taranto, Italy. One of nine but not amish. Working on his own label. Doing his own visionare designer thing. The usual… It’s said that he was actually going to turn down Givenchy’s offer, until his mother called with the harsh reality that poor, she’d have to sell her assets in order to support the fam. And well, the rest is Givenchistory. Sometimes poverty does have a way of working itself out. That, and giving up the starving artíste thing for a corporate life. At least thats what they keep saying. I’m not sure where Riccardo weighs in on the whole sexuality sitch but when I said brother earlier, I meant lover. Call me. I’m into it.
I’m also really into the past seven years of Givenchy:
Images courtesy of Style.com