PARIS — “Paolo Roversi’s photos have always made Comme des Garçons clothes stronger and more beautiful,” designer Rei Kawakubo says.

Collaborations between Kawakubo and the photographer are currently on display in the newly inaugurated Dover Street Market Paris’ courtyard and exhibition space, as well as coating the facade of the Comme des Garçons flagship on Rue du Faubourg Saint Honoré.

Kawakubo is not the only one paying tribute to the iconic Italian photographer at present: Roversi is the subject of a major monograph at the Palais Galliera fashion museum — his first-ever dedicated museum exhibition in Paris — as well as two new books, a large-format catalogue accompanying the Galliera exhibition and “Letters on Light,” an exchange of epistolary essays between Roversi and the philosopher Emanuele Coccia.

Roversi was born in Ravenna, Italy in 1947, the same year Christian Dior debuted his “New Look.” In 1973, he moved to Paris, where his delicate portraits filled with light and shadow made him a trusted collaborator of designers including Kawabuko, Romeo Gigli and Yohji Yamamoto, as well as a sought-after contributor to the likes of Vogue and Egoïste during fashion media’s golden era.

But Roversi is something more than a photographer. His work carries on the legacy of Renaissance and humanist painters, bringing an unusual sense of eternity to the ultra-ephemeral fashion world. His works appear to emanate from an ancient soul, offering lessons in wisdom without speech and radiating something beyond today’s chaotic times.

Nothing looks stolen. While Roversi has contributed to immortalising many of fashion’s most memorable faces from Natalia Vodiaova to Saskia de Brauw and Audrey Marnay, his photographs have little to do with the erotic cliché of the “supermodel.” Each image appears to be drawn — closer to a work by Balthus than a simple photographic exposure.

BoF met Roversi in his studio in Paris’ 14th arrondissement, where he remains faithful to the language of a Renaissance artist, building his work around light.

Laurence Benaïm: Your exhibition at Palais Galliera and the accompanying book are the first monograph dedicated to your work by a Paris museum. What are your thoughts on this milestone celebration?

Paolo Roversi: The exhibition is the fruit of a long process. At Palais Galliera, I worked with [curator] Sylvie Lécailler, who gives an excellent account of this adventure, which began in 2016. I also worked with set designer Ania Martchenko and designer Akari Lisa Ishii from I.C.O.N for the lighting.

I asked them to keep the atmosphere of a palace. And they succeeded marvellously. The common thread was light, with darker, more enchanting rooms that allowed for daylight, and a large table in the middle, reminiscent of Studio Luce. Finally, a sort of “chapel”. There’s something a little religious about it.

What I observe, what I feel, is the great silence of the visitors. You get the impression that they’re in meditation, contemplation. Whether it’s a silver gelatine, Polaroid or carbon print, they all very meticulous and different. Every visitor has physical contact with these photographs—they are not floating images. They have a body, a weight. A presence, a materiality.

LB: And at Dover Street Market?

PR: There it’s a different matter. The entire scenography was conceived and designed by Rei Kawakubo, starting in the courtyard where the images are wrapped around these huge columns. And in the basement, we hung prints around another imposing column. Circling the photographs gives them a particular harmony and mystery. The images are all about Comme des Garçons. It’s a very long story, a story of friendship and loyalty since it began in 1982. I have immense admiration for Rei Kawakubo; her creations are works of art. They’ve always pushed me to surpass myself, to seek out terrain previously unknown to me.

In both cases, I choose to experience the moment as a celebration rather than a consecration. There’s nothing academic about it. It has more to do with joie de vivre than professional pride.

LB: “Le temps long means giving the soul time to surface. And leaving time for chance to intervene,” you confided to Sylvie Lécailler in the [Galliera] exhibition’s catalogue. While you defend a long-term vision for your art, why do you think people are so attracted to your work today?

PR: I’ve always stayed on the margin of fashion, never letting myself get caught up in its whirlwind. I’ve stayed next to the river. And this distance has enabled me to practice this craft and produce images that are both timeless and contemporary, if that’s not too pretentious to say.

LB: “We are all little employees of the sun,” you write. Photography is “an endless childhood”, the sun never going out, it’s an infinite energy” Would you say that your job is to draw light?

PR: I use my little flash like a paintbrush. I believe it’s the light of the heart that enlightens the world. On the other hand, shadows are sometimes the softest and most mysterious of lights.

LB: “I use the word asceticism for Paolo, achieved through intense concentration on his devices, on rays of light, on backgrounds and surfaces,” writes Erri de Lucca in the preface to Lettres sur la lumière (“Letters on light”). How do you navigate the age of artificial intelligence and instantaneous social networking while defending that perspective?

PR: New media are revolutionising photography; every era has its revolutions. But I don’t think that tomorrow will be better or worse. I don’t let myself be overwhelmed by all the new developments. I still develop my films by hand. Technical changes don’t upset my work, nor do they affect me — I continue on my old path. I’m not saying it’s the best one; it’s mine.

LB: How do you think artificial intelligence will impact image creation? For fashion or otherwise?

PR: Photography doesn’t come from a logical language, or from intelligence, but from a feeling. No machine or system can replace it. The more we think, the less we see.

For me, photography doesn’t mean framing an object from external reality to confine it in the camera, but rather awakening something within oneself and bringing it to light. The important thing is to abandon oneself to oneself, to one’s dreams, memories, and emotions. And to look no further than within yourself. You don’t take a photograph, you give it.

LB: You’ve been using Polaroids for over 30 years. You were even nicknamed Paolo-roid. Has the digitalisation of photography changed your profession today? What do you refuse to digitise? Why or why not?

PR: I’m indifferent to floating images. I sometimes take photos with my iPhone, when I don’t have one of my cameras with me. If I want to use one, I need to print it first to give it body. Otherwise, it loses its taste and flavour.

A photograph is a picture of your grandmother in your wallet, on your desk, on the wall. It’s a presence. I love family albums, travel albums, and we continue this tradition. My mother used to say that if a photo didn’t have a date written on the back, it was worthless. Besides, I read books and don’t use tablets. When there are no more books, we’ll know we’ve become a people of barbarians, and I hope that day never comes.

LB: What do you most dislike today?

PR: People who take photos of themselves in front of paintings instead of looking at them. Selfies are to photography what shopping lists are to literature.

LB: How did you manage to reconcile your way of working with the requirements of the brands you shoot for? Is it possible to defend your vision in a world where luxury brands are getting bigger, more expensive, and more demanding in terms of “visibility”?

PR: What we’re seeing today is a standardisation of fashion photography and photography in general. That’s why I love working with Rei Kawakubo. With her, there’s no commercial logic.

LB: “Different photographic cultures are levelling out, and young European photographers are much more familiar with a certain kind of American photography, such as Saul Leiter or William Eggleston,” you write. How do you view fashion photography today? Who are the young photographers who give you hope for this profession?

PR: With a few exceptions, there’s a race to the bottom. I won’t name names. The problem is that pretending to be [something] is often more important than talent or actual knowledge. It’s in discovering and studying the masters that I draw my references. It’s not a question of appropriating a work, but of measuring yourself against those you admire. You can’t just invent yourself as a photographer.

LB: “It was 1982 or 1983, when Kirsten [Owen] came to me and illuminated me with her presence. She has always been my angel of light, falling from the sky into my studio”, you explain in “Letters on Light”. Then there were Guinevere [Van Seenus], Saskia [De Brauw], Natalia [Vodianova] and Audrey [Marnay]. Why are these models so important to your work?

PR: These women allowed me to develop what interests me most: the psychological aspect. Thanks to them, I was able to approach something other than reality. They allowed me to touch, even fleetingly, the mystery of beauty. They have special qualities. It’s not a question of being photogenic, it’s a question of presence. I remember Avedon saying, when he had no presence in front of him: “There’s nobody at home”. There are many girls and boys with beautiful eyes. What counts is having a glance, a character.

LB: What does a good fashion photographer need to understand about fashion, about clothes? What doesn’t he really need to understand?

PR: It’s not important for him to take cutting courses, or to know perfectly how to assemble a sleeve. What’s important is that he’s familiar with each designer’s style and type of model. Photography is an exchange, an encounter. Fashion photography is never a simple reproduction of reality, but always an invention, a creation. You need to know the spirit of fashion as well as the technique. It’s about being an interpreter.

LB: “My little torch gives me exactly this feeling: that it is the light of my mind, my eyes, my heart that will shine on the things of the world”, you write. What would you like to convey?

I’m touched when I see that some of my photos touch people, and young people. I’m not projecting anything. I’m happy when I convey an emotion.

This interview has been edited for clarity and concision.

According to LVMH’s head of image and sustainability Antoine Arnault, luxury is “sustainable by nature.”

It’s a common message within the industry, where high prices and claims of artisanal manufacturing are often used as proof points for ethical and environmentally responsible operations.

And yet just this week, a Milan court placed an LVMH unit under external supervision after an inquiry alleged that subcontractors in its supply chain had exploited workers. In April, the same court found evidence of sweatshop conditions in Armani’s Italian supply chain. Suppliers to around a dozen more fashion brands are currently under investigation in Italy, Reuters has reported. Meanwhile, earlier in the year, an investigation by Bloomberg called out exploitation in LVMH-owned Loro Piana’s vicuña supply chain. (Armani has said it has always had controls in place to minimise abuses, while LVMH has denied the claims relating to Loro Piana. The French luxury group did not respond to a request for comment on the Italian court’s decision).

Such findings are shocking, but hardly surprising. Though luxury brands like to position fashion’s environmental and social ills as a mass-market problem, the incidents are just the latest in a string of reports challenging the carefully cultivated perception that luxury goods are synonymous with ethical practices.

The reality is that many luxury players operate more like fast fashion than they care to admit. For years now, “exclusive” goods have been produced and sold by the millions in a shift towards high-margin mass production that has come with increased pressure on manufactures and greater risks of labour exploitation.

Rethinking Luxury’s Ethics

Even as luxury players increasingly weave sustainability claims into their image-building, most are continuing to operate in much the same way they always have: leaning on prestige and heritage to side-step demands for more transparency and accountability.

But the world around them is changing. Global regulations are tightening, with policymakers moving to make brands more accountable for human rights and environmental abuses in their supply chains. Investors are also demanding more, with sustainability-focused funds pushing businesses to address their environmental and social impact. Consumers might not always shop their values, but they also don’t want to spend $10,000 on a handbag that could be linked to sweatshop conditions.

As a baseline, luxury brands must adhere to strict guidelines on labour standards and human rights, enhance the efficacy of social audits, assure living wages, pursue rigorous third-party certifications to back up any sustainability claims, and foster transparent communication with stakeholders.

But more than this, to live up to claims that luxury is “sustainable by nature,” brands should leverage their substantial economic and cultural clout to move beyond mere compliance and ensure their operations have a positive impact on people’s lives.

That may seem like a tall order in an industry where transparency and progress on labour standards have lagged for decades, but there are signs of movement.

Take Chloé, which made history in 2021 as the first luxury brand to become a B Corp, a certification that verifies companies meet high environmental and social standards. Qualifying was just one step in a broader strategy that saw the company working on its supply chains in a bid to drive positive social impact through sourcing, while also reducing the brand’s environmental footprint. (Full disclosure: I consulted on the strategy).

Among other initiatives, Chloé adopted a policy of “social procurement,” seeking to leverage its purchasing power to create new opportunities and deliver social benefits. In 2020, the company launched a partnership with the World Fair Trade Organization, a community of social enterprises committed to ethical business practices. Unlike sporadic “capsule” collections, Chloé's approach is systematic, guided by concrete long-term targets. By the end of next year, the company is aiming for 30 percent of its products to be sourced under its fair trade and social impact framework.

By contrast, far too many of luxury’s sustainability initiatives remain stuck in pilot mode or forgotten within a season.

I still believe the sector has the power to set a positive example for the fashion industry, but doing so requires true leadership and a deep commitment to ethical conduct throughout the value chain. It necessitates setting high benchmarks for ethical conduct and sustainability and living up to them, not just marketing them.

Caterina Occhio is a sustainability advisor to the UN and luxury companies. She is a former EU and UN development aid manager and sits on the board of the World Fair Trade Organisation in Europe.

The views expressed in Op-Ed pieces are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Business of Fashion.

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Anabel Maldonado knows what she likes. A certain e-commerce site she shops at regularly, however, does not.

“I feel like I should just never see gingham or checks or floral print or denim jackets and things that I’ve never shown interest in,” she said. “Instead, I’m having to literally go and filter 20 brands that I like and a bunch of colours that I like … I’m trying to whittle down and curate on my own.”

In her view, that’s not how it should be. Maldonado is the founder and chief executive of Psykhe, a “personalisation-as-a-service” platform for retailers that tries to understand shoppers’ tastes and recommend products using artificial intelligence and psychographic profiles built from their behaviour. A customer who browses Rick Owens is more likely to exhibit what Maldonado calls “high openness, high neuroticism” than one perusing Tory Burch, so if they were to go explore fragrances later, the algorithm would understand there’s a greater chance they’d be drawn to dusky oud than sunny florals and surface those scents in real-time.

The start-up, which said its customers include Altuzarra, Farm Rio, Pacifica Beauty and Kirna Zabete, is trying a novel approach to a problem that’s plagued retailers since the advent of e-commerce: Without the benefit of a sales associate who can read a shopper and interact with them face-to-face, how do you help them find products they’ll like? That need becomes more pronounced as the retailer grows. Unconstrained by physical limitations like clothing racks and square footage, they can carry a vast inventory that offers shoppers endless options. But it also becomes overwhelming to sift through and diminishes any sense of curation, turning them into generic digital warehouses competing on price.

The problems inherent in this situation have entered the spotlight lately as retailers such as Farfetch and Matchesfashion have crumbled in recent months. Experts say their lack of curation was a primary cause, while the curation offered by retailers like Mytheresa, Moda Operandi and Ssense is a key factor in their survival.

A potential solution could be algorithmic personalisation, where the assortment a user sees is tailored to their individual tastes. The concept has been wildly successful in other industries. Spotify’s song-recommendation engine helped it become music’s dominant streaming service. TikTok’s rapid rise is due largely to its ability to hook users with its “For You” feed.

“You should be able to have a store that’s completely tailored to you — your taste, your size, your events, your lifestyle, the brands you like,” said Natalie Massenet, the luxury e-commerce pioneer who founded Net-a-Porter.

That store doesn’t yet exist. At many retailers, personalisation amounts to a carousel at the bottom of the page suggesting products that are visually similar to what a customer recently looked at or other items from brands they’ve searched. Even those ahead of the curve, such as Zalando, which asks shoppers their brand and size preferences to tailor its product recommendations and suggests items to go with past purchases, aren’t yet personalising at a level equivalent to something like Spotify.

The concept isn’t easy to implement in fashion, which deals with physical goods, not digital content. Still, it arguably presents a major opportunity — if it can be done right.

Knowing What Shoppers Want

Understanding what customers want and giving it to them is a simple idea but difficult to execute. To create its recommendations, Spotify starts to learn the relationships between songs by looking at which ones users frequently put in playlists together, it told the Wall Street Journal. It adds in metadata, such as the song’s release date and label, and runs audio analysis to rank characteristics such as danceability, acousticness, loudness, tempo, energy and mode, like whether it’s in a major or minor key. It examines the song’s lyrics, too, as well as adjectives used to describe the track in blog posts and articles online.

Spotify uses the information to build a multi-dimensional map of all the tracks in its library. Those positioned closer together are more closely related and thus probably appeal to the same listeners.

The technique isn’t unique to Spotify, but in fashion the method is tough to replicate. Part of what makes Spotify work is its huge song library, which has something for everyone. The fashion equivalent of songs would be inventory. But to maintain an inventory that size would be prohibitively expensive. It would also require cataloguing each product at the same level of granularity.

“Where I think it’s really hard is having all the data that you need to match the merchandise against the multi-dimensional space … of what the customer’s hyper-personalised preference would be,” said Holger Harreis, a senior partner at McKinsey and co-leader of its global data initiatives.

One company with its own version of the approach is Lyst, which acts like a search engine for fashion products offered by more than 17,000 retail partners. The company carries no inventory itself but charges a commission on sales through its site. It said it topped $600 million in gross merchandise value in its 2024 fiscal year. Because it effectively exists to help shoppers find what they want, it invests heavily in personalisation.

“At Lyst, we record and track absolutely everything that happens on our site,” said Anton Jefcoate, Lyst’s chief technology officer.

Each day it captures about 14.5 million data points, such as the amount of time a shopper spends on a page, how many times they scroll, the products they click on, what they put in their wishlist, the sizes they select and the colours they choose. Some are weighted more than others. Putting a product in a wishlist carries more value than scrolling, for instance.

The company gets product data from its partners but also uses a number of AI models to extract their characteristics. Similar to Spotify, it combines all this data into a kind of map, where each user and item is given a location in the form of a vector.

“It’s basically comparing your user vector against the vector of all the things in the database to find the closest match for a series of products,” said Jefcoate.

When shoppers browse Lyst, the products they see are tailored according to what Lyst understands about their tastes. The company conducted around 10 personalisation experiments in the past year and at best was able to boost conversion rates about 20 percent, according to Jefcoate.

Personalisation and Personalities

Whether this form of hyper-personalisation can work as well for every type of retailer or fully solve e-commerce’s curation conundrum is an open question. Massenet pointed out that shoppers look to higher authorities like editors and influencers for their cues on what to wear. Part of what makes some retailers successful isn’t just that they let shoppers easily find what they want but they also provide an educated opinion and a point of view. Otherwise you can wind up another nondescript outlet.

“You really need top-down curation with luxury products and fashion,” Massenet said.

Retailers also need to be mindful of how rigid their algorithms are. Psykhe’s Maldonado noted that surprise and novelty are important parts of shopping. If an algorithm is optimised strictly for conversion, its recommendations can be as stultifying and uninteresting as ones that aren’t relevant at all. In fact, Lyst has found weaving popular products into the results users see, even if they wouldn’t have appeared otherwise, to be effective.

“What customers really want — or at least what the numbers to tell us customers really want — is to have an element of personalisation in their product feeds but also be nudged and guided in the direction of other related but fresh start points,” Jefcoate said. “It’s not just about getting hyper-personalised. It’s about working out what the combination of ingredients is that really resonates with the customer.”

There may never be one Spotify of fashion. Not every Spotify user thinks its song recommendations are always on the mark anyway. But retailers are unlikely to go wrong by understanding what their customers want and trying to serve it to them. McKinsey’s Harreis said in his experience greater personalisation can increase conversion rates and reduce returns, which helps with profitability and has the added benefit of reducing the company’s carbon footprint.

Retailers just have to remember that sometimes what shoppers want is some guidance, too.