A Feel For Fashion: Julie Ann Clauss

How essential is heritage and/or a distinctive identity in contributing to a brand’s success?  

I see this as a two-part question because heritage and identity aren't quite the same thing. 

A distinctive identity is essential to a brand's success. Great designers have a clear point of view and communicate it consistently through their work. Without that, it's difficult for a house to create an emotional connection or distinguish itself from its competitors. Heritage becomes increasingly important as a brand matures into a true legacy house. At that point, each new creative director inherits not just an archive, but a visual language and a set of house codes that define the brand. The challenge is to respect that legacy without becoming constrained by it, to build on what came before while contributing something original that keeps the house relevant for a new generation. The most successful fashion houses strike that balance. Their heritage provides continuity, while each designer adds a new chapter to the story rather than simply repeating the last one. 

What is the most significant driver of change in fashion right now?   

Social media, unfortunately. The cycle is now instantaneous.   

There seems to be more overlap between fashion/entertainment and fashion/sports than ever. Thoughts?  

Absolutely. While celebrity has always influenced fashion, we're now seeing fashion intersect with sports and entertainment in increasingly visible ways. The NBA tunnel walk is a perfect example. Fashion has always depended on people seeing new ideas, interpreting them, and making them their own. Historically, that happened in cities, where trends could spread quickly through visibility. Today, athletes, musicians, actors, and creators have become the new public stage. The relationship is mutually beneficial. Fashion gains enormous visibility through personalities with built-in global audiences, while athletes and artists benefit from brand partnerships and ambassadorships that can significantly expand their careers beyond their primary profession. The crossover with film isn't entirely new, either. Hubert de Givenchy famously designed for Audrey Hepburn, and Yves Saint Laurent created Catherine Deneuve's unforgettable wardrobe for Belle de Jour. More recently, Anthony Vaccarello has expanded that relationship even further through Saint Laurent Productions, moving beyond costume design into filmmaking itself. What has changed is the media landscape. As traditional advertising and fashion publishing have become less dominant, brands have had to find new ways to reach audiences. Increasingly, luxury houses aren't just creating collections, they're creating culture and entertainment. In many ways, they're evolving into media companies as much as fashion companies. 

How do you think fashion can spark and sustain desire with so much else going on in the world?  

Fashion has to create a sense of fantasy, even if that fantasy is simply helping you become the best version of yourself. Throughout history, fashion has offered escape, confidence, self-expression, and a way to communicate who we are without saying a word. I think desire begins with the excitement of imagining who you might become in a particular piece of clothing. I used to have a simple test: "Would I wear it?" If I thought I would happily wear something simply because it had been given to me, I worried the collection wasn't pushing far enough. The pieces that stay with you are the ones that make you think, "I have to find a way to own that." They create longing. Ultimately, I think that comes from designers with a truly distinctive point of view. Trends come and go, but a clear creative vision is what gives fashion its power to inspire desire long after the show is over. 

What is the first thing you look for when a couture garment enters the archive?  

Condition!  We ruthlessly document each piece. (The bolduc - the identification ribbon - probably comes next.) 

Has the rise of vintage changed the way we look at couture, or merely the way we buy it — or in general the way we buy? 

The rise of vintage has certainly changed the way we buy, but I also think it's changing the way we think about fashion. More people now view clothing as something with a history and a life beyond its first owner. Fashion has become less linear; the most exciting piece in your wardrobe might be 50 years old rather than from the current season. Vintage has always offered individuality, but today it also makes economic sense. In many cases, you can acquire an extraordinary handmade couture garment — something truly one-of-a-kind — for the price of, or even less than, a contemporary ready-to-wear look. That's an incredible value when you consider the level of craftsmanship involved. Perhaps the biggest shift is that people are increasingly buying for longevity rather than novelty. The best vintage pieces have already proved they can transcend seasons, and I think that's changing the way many people evaluate new purchases as well. 

What does craftsmanship mean to you, beyond the obvious notion of luxury? 

To me, craftsmanship is everything. Beyond the obvious implication of quality and longevity — which, in much of contemporary ready-to-wear, has become increasingly rare — craftsmanship represents the preservation of specialised knowledge, techniques, and savoir-faire that have been passed from one generation of artisans to the next. What I find most inspiring is that these skills aren't static; they're living traditions sustained by extraordinarily talented people. That's why I so admire the way Chanel celebrates its artisans through the Métiers d'Art collections and supports exceptional maisons such as Lesage. It recognises that embroidery, featherwork, millinery, and other métiers are not simply decorative; they are part of our cultural heritage. For me, craftsmanship isn't just what makes something luxurious; it's what gives fashion continuity, meaning, and a human connection across generations. 

Can preservation itself be seen as a form of sustainability, not through production, but through extending the cultural and physical life of a garment?  

Absolutely. In my work, sustainability isn't the primary objective — stewardship is. I work on behalf of designers, entertainers, and serious collectors to preserve their cultural legacy through the garments they created, wore, or collected. For collectors in particular, we're often safeguarding some of the most significant examples of a designer's work for future generations. One of the wonderful byproducts of that stewardship is sustainability. Every garment that is properly stored, documented, conserved, and worn for decades rather than discarded extends its physical life and reduces the need for replacement. I also think this idea applies far beyond museum collections or private archives. For most people, the single most sustainable thing they can do is simply care for the clothes they already own. Extending the life of a garment — whether it's couture or an everyday coat — is both environmentally responsible and a way of preserving the stories and craftsmanship embedded within it. 

At what point does a garment stop being fashion and become cultural heritage?  

That's a great question. I would argue that a garment can become cultural heritage the moment it walks the runway. We may not recognise it as such at the time, and it certainly won't be valued that way yet, but if it captures the spirit of a particular cultural moment, it has already become part of our collective history. The challenge is that we're living through the moment ourselves, so it's difficult to recognise its significance in real time. Looking back, we can easily identify collections that defined an era. Looking forward is much harder. But I suspect we'll eventually view landmark contemporary collections — such as Matthieu Blazy's debut for Chanel — as important cultural artefacts that tell future generations something about who we were, what we valued, and how we wanted to present ourselves. 

This interview has been lightly edited.