"I think, above all, I just don't like perfection."
Hello, could you introduce yourself?
My name is Thomas, I'm 24, I live in Paris and I'm the founder of Cesure. I started making clothes about four years ago, originally just out of curiosity and alongside my studies. I very quickly became passionate about it, and it's now my full-time job. I moved to Paris a year ago to launch Cesure, after several years of experimenting, testing and trying things out in Rennes under another name.
Amid the bustle of everyday life, what still manages to take your breath away or stop your watch?
We often let ourselves get carried along by a kind of inertia: we stop paying attention to what surrounds us, to the details. Yet it is precisely those details that catch my eye. However much of a hurry I'm in, I can slow down, or even stop altogether, if I spot a perfectly cut garment in a shop window, an architectural detail on a façade, an intriguing historical object, a forgotten piece of graffiti on a stretch of wall, an old poster for an exhibition long since over…
What is your relationship with "Beauty" in your daily life?
Beauty is everywhere in my daily life. It's obviously in my work, in the clothes I make, and it shows in natural materials that drape perfectly, in buttons made of natural mother-of-pearl or exotic woods from the last century that you can't find anywhere today, in loose cuts that never restrict, but cuts that are still "just right"… Beyond the clothes themselves, I attach great importance to Beauty in the place where the pieces are made: the studio is covered with around a hundred images, photographs, drawings, swatches, prototypes, archive pieces… You can barely see the walls anymore, but it helps me stay true to a single guiding line for whichever collections I'm working on. Going further still, Beauty follows me all the way home: every object I use has to be perfect — the metal safety razor from the 1950s, the hand-carved incense holder, the old editions of books with yellowed pages, my watch, a vintage French-made model from the 1940s… What makes an object beautiful in my eyes, beyond its looks, is its story, its unique purpose, its durability. That's what I try to convey in my collections.
If you could steal just one image, one scent or one sound in the world and keep it all to yourself, what would it be?
If I had to steal a single image and keep it for myself, I think it would be a view of my grandparents' vast English-style garden in the Manche, in Normandy. It's one of the most beautiful places I know: you can barely move through it, there are so many plants, shrubs and all kinds of trees, in a perfectly controlled disorder! For the scent and the sound, I think my answer would be the same: the smell of a garden in bloom under the morning dew, and the sound of birds.
Do you ever find beauty where others see only disorder or the ordinary?
I often find beauty where others see only disorder — very often, in fact. Especially when it comes to interiors: I HATE pared-back, minimalist spaces. I want piles of books here and there, a messy bookcase, frames and posters on every wall. I find that magnificent. I also find Beauty in worn things, whether it's a ruined building, a creaking staircase, a faded, stained garment, a sculpture weathered by the years… Even my bookcase isn't sorted. I don't like that, and I think, above all, I just don't like perfection.
