THE ATELIER
The uniforms of the European hussars were impossible for me to ignore. There was something incredibly extravagant about them. And extravagance is always difficult for me to leave alone. So I started playing with everything that wasn’t supposed to belong together and suddenly the woman in my sketches wasn’t stepping out of history anymore. She was stepping into Westucci. That was when the collection began to make sense. Le Hussards Modernes is about taking something disciplined, masculine, steeped in history and allowing a woman to claim it. She can wear lace with a military jacket. She can carry a trunk bag into battle. She can be romantic, provocative and formidable all at once. And perhaps that contradiction is the most Westucci thing about her.
The jacket opens on the corset rather than closing over it, so the gold reads twice — once in the frogging, once in the lace beneath.
The back carries the drawing. Embroidery runs the length of the spine and opens across the hem, which is where a hussar’s jacket has always been decorated.
A trunk rather than a handbag — hard-sided, cornered in brass, built to be set down and opened rather than carried loose.
Where Look One opened, this one closes. The frogging runs the full front and the softness moves downward — into the cuffs, and into the tulle at the hem.
From behind the silhouette changes entirely. The jacket stops at the waist and the tulle takes over, so the look reads as a gown from the back and as trousers from the front.
The same trunk in brown leather rather than red — the case that carries the collection, shown here against the frogging it was drawn beside.
The shortest of the three and the most armoured. What the first two put into a trouser leg, this one puts into a boot — the line runs from the shorts straight into patent, and the gold picks up again at the top of each.
From behind the jacket is almost plain until the hem, where the embroidery opens out — and the bullion falls from the shoulder rather than sitting on it.
The third trunk, and the hardest of them. Lacquered black bound in gold rather than cornered in brass — the straps run right around the case instead of stopping at the edges.
I can spend hours looking at an old portrait, studying the embroidery of a military jacket, and an extravagant lace cuff. I never want to recreate the past, but I love taking the details that stay with me and imagining them differently.
Le Siècle d’Or began there. I paired disciplined black tailoring with delicate white lace, elaborate gold braiding with undone blouses, dramatic skirts with bare legs and sweeping trousers. Then came the W buckle and little Bellissima trunks — bringing those echoes of another century firmly into the House.
Westucci is about taking the things worth remembering and giving them another life.
That is Le Siècle d’Or — The Golden Age. Not one we are looking back on, but one we are creating.
Black and gold against white, and nothing else. The jacket carries all the ceremony; the blouse and skirt answer it in ruffles rather than in ornament.
The spine is where the eighteenth century put its embroidery, and it is where this one puts its laurel — worked in gold from collar to waist.
The trunk again, in the collection’s own colours — black lacquer, gold at every corner, the crest set in the centre of the face.
The same jacket, taken long. Where the first look stopped at the hip, this one runs the gold down the outside of the trouser and keeps going.
From behind the two looks are the same idea at two lengths — the cording identical, the line beneath it entirely changed.
Shown against the frogging it was drawn beside, which is the point of it — the case and the coat are the same two materials.
The gown of the three. The jacket is unchanged — it is the skirt that carries the century, tiered in tulle and cut away at the front so the boot shows through.
From behind it is a train. The jacket keeps one motif down the spine and gives everything else to the tulle, which falls in tiers to the floor and beyond it.
The trunk once more, worn rather than shown — carried against the coat so the two golds sit side by side.
When I began thinking about La Belle Marine, I kept returning to old naval uniforms — the stripes, deep navy, polished gold buttons and beautiful formality of clothes created for another world. But I didn’t want to recreate them. I wanted to take that disciplined, masculine language and see what would happen when it belonged to a woman.
So I began pulling it apart. The uniform became fitted. Stripes followed the body. Then came the playful details: an anchor became a handbag, and the little Westucci trunk found its way into the story.
That is what La Belle Marine became for me — taking something from another time, keeping what made it beautiful, and giving it to the woman of today. She doesn’t wear the uniform but makes it hers.
Naval dress taken off the ship and put into evening. The stripe does the talking above the waist; below it, the navy is left plain so the gold at the hem can be seen from across a room.
From behind the garment reads as one line from nape to floor. The gold trim runs the whole outer seam rather than stopping at the knee, which is what gives the walk its movement.
The same trunk the other collections carry, in this one’s colours — navy leather, gold at every corner, the crest centred on the face. Shown close, against the stripe, so the two can be judged together.
The stripe turns vertical, and the whole look changes with it. Where Look One ran the stripe across the body and kept the leg plain, this one runs it down the leg and leaves the gold to travel the seam.
From behind the lacing does the work. It runs both seams from hip to hem and ends in tassels that swing free of the cloth, so the trouser reads as two panels held together rather than one sewn leg.
Not the trunk this time. The bag is cut to the shape of an anchor and finished like a reliquary — navy leather studded in gold, a raised cross at the crown, the W set into the fluke below it.
The stripe goes horizontal again and becomes a gown. What holds it together is the navy sash — tied at the waist in a bow, with tails long enough to move independently of the dress.
From behind the stripe does all the shaping. It narrows through the waist and widens again below the knee, so the silhouette is drawn by the pattern rather than by a seam.
The trunk returns here, in the collection’s navy with gold at every corner. Shown close against the stripe and the lace, so the hard object and the soft cloth can be judged against one another.