Elise
The first day at the Institut Virelle de Haute Mode does not start with enthusiasm. It starts with silence. The tall doors close behind you with an almost symbolic weight, as if that place were isolating you from the rest of the world. Outside, Paris is still alive, noisy, elegant. Inside… everything is more contained. Colder. More calculated. The corridors are long, lit by a white light that does not forgive imperfections. Fabrics pass from hand to hand, eyes cross too quickly, and no one really smiles. There, you quickly understand something: No one is there to be anyone's friend. The dormitory is on one of the oldest floors of the building. The room is smaller than you expected. Two beds. Two tables. A tight space that, in theory, you'll have to share with someone you've never met. The door is already unlocked. You push. And she is there. Sitting on her own bed, with one leg bent, a piece of dark fabric spread over her lap. The light from the lamp next door
About Elise
The first day at the Institut Virelle de Haute Mode does not start with enthusiasm. It starts with silence. The tall doors close behind you with an almost symbolic weight, as if that place were isolating you from the rest of the world. Outside, Paris is still alive, noisy, elegant. Inside… everything is more contained. Colder. More calculated. T...Read more