‘

When we finished shooting Succession I sobbed’

the famous banana cover for The Velvet Underground & Nico album and came up with the Rolling Stones’ lips logo. But when Nicholas was six Craig decided to train to be an actor. Nicholas would tag along to his father’s auditions, and this soon became a father-son project, with Nicholas auditioning as well and becoming the more successful of the two. He ended up playing a teenage superhero in the 2005 film Sky High and became a Disney favourite, starring in 2009’s Princess Protection Program alongside Selena Gomez and Demi Lovato. But when the Disney Channel offered him his own show, he turned it down, because quick teen fame was not his goal. Back then, acting for Braun was mainly just a way to be with his dad in New York and, most important, to get out of school: “I hated school. I was so bored and I wasn’t, like, the best at making friends. It just didn’t come easily to me, being an insecure young guy,” he says with effort, still pained at the memory. It didn’t help that he was always tall, making him stand out awkwardly (his mother is 6ft 3in and his father is 6ft 1in). He half-heartedly went to college, but dropped out, knowing now that acting was where his heart was. Now, he says, he’s doing exactly the thing he should be doing. Because like Greg, Braun is not as vague as he initially seems. “Greg has a kind of faux naiveté, and I think I do that too,” he agrees. But whereas with Greg this is a trick to get more of what he wants — namely, money and power — with Braun it feels more like someone so stunned by his good fortune that he is dealing with it by underplaying everything. Just a week before we meet he got back from Sundance, where his next film, Cat Person, premiered. He plays the pathetic-slashcreepy male lead, Robert, in the film adapted from Kristen Roupenian’s 2017 viral New Yorker short story.

“Honestly, he’s not that different from general guys in their thirties, someone who has never found love and doesn’t quite know how do it. So I didn’t play him as a creep, but someone who is desperate to find a connection,” he says. Braun has also just sold a series to HBO, which he is writing, about an indie band in the early 2000s. On top of that, this summer he will direct and star in a film that he has written and is planning to head to London to be in a play. As a side project he writes songs, one of which — ‘Antibodies (Do You Have The)’ — went viral during lockdown. It’s quite annoying that you’re doing all this and are still only 34, I say.

“It’s not happening quick enough for me,” he says, and there’s a sudden flash of Greg’s secret inner steel.

A new book and exhibition hails the profound impact of traditional Indian dress and textiles on European and American fashion, from the eighteenth century to today

WORDS CHRIS ANDERSON

If you happened to catch the firstever Dubai Fashion Week in March, taking place at locations around the city, you might already know a thing or two about the influence of Indian dress and textiles on the West. The moment came when Amato Couture — a Dubai-based label launched 25 years ago by designer Furne One — took to the catwalk, unveiling an AW23 collection inspired by classic Indian costumery. On show were turbans, capes, sarongs, hooded robes and silks, all in vibrant colours, dotted with beads and sequins, and models traversing a runway lined with Oriental carpets. Crossovers between East and West, such as this, do not go unnoticed, particularly by those with a keen eye for fashion, such as Hamish Bowles, Vogue ’s global editor-at-large, and editor-in-chief of The World of Interiors . Running until June, as the first exhibition to be hosted by the newly-opened Nita Mukesh Ambani Cultural Centre, a stunning, modern three-storeyed structure in Mumbai, is India in Fashion: The Impact of Indian Dress and Textiles on the Fashionable Imagination , curated by Bowles. He has also edited an accompanying book of the same name, published by Rizzoli, taking his observations to the world.

The exhibition sets out Bowles’ intentions: to trace the widespread impact and influence of India’s sartorial traditions in textiles, jewellery and surface ornamentation on global fashion, spanning the 18th-21st centuries. “India’s impact on Western fashion has been a complicated and layered history of admiration, appropriation, exploitation, and celebration,” explains Bowles in the introduction to his book. “Its textile traditions were imitated at the court of Louis XVI and by the couturiers of Jazz Age Paris, as well as the haute couture designers of the mid-20th century. India’s fashion community has impacted them all.”

Described as a first-of-its-kind exhibition, the show mirrors prominent designers from India itself, from Abu Jani Sandeep Khosla to Tarun Tahiliani, with the work of their global counterparts, including Christian Dior, Cristóbal Balenciaga, Gabrielle ‘Coco’ Chanel, and Yves Saint Laurent. Bowles has even pinpointed when the West’s fascination with Indian clothing began. “At the turn of the 17th century, merchants of the East India companies of the Netherlands, Britain and France began to import Indian-made textiles to Europe,” he explains. “The British in particular, realising they couldn’t compete with the Dutch in terms of spices, looked to dyes and textiles instead.”

India was a global leader at the time in terms of manufactured textiles, so supply was plentiful. Intricate, labourintensive chintz fabrics, with their foliate motifs and exquisite artistry, were of particular interest to begin with, with muslins woven in delicate patterns, threaded with gold or silver to reflect candlelight, also becoming popular. “Indian chintzes were used for household furnishings, such as bed and wall hangings, and for men’s garments, including waistcoats and banyans — an informal, lightly-structured robe worn at home,” Bowles adds. British aristocracy and royalty became huge fans of banyans and chintzes, with imported Indian Kashmir shawls fashioned into dresses. To keep up with demand, and avoid import costs, Western manufacturers even began to take advantage of the emerging Industrial Revolution, making the necessary machinery to mass-produce imitations.

During the 19th and early-20th centuries, Eastern dress forms, such as the kimono and sari, were increasingly looked to by European and American designers to liberate women from corsetry, and impress with their bright colours. As luxury fashion houses began to emerge, so too did their interests in loose-fitting Indian clothing. World events also seemed to keep India in the public eye — Indian royalty, temporarily displaced by two world wars, travelled west, flitting between London, Paris and Hollywood, and associating with dignitaries and celebrities, so were a constant fixture in the press, and their lavish, decorated clothing became an inspiration. The emerging possibility of global travel also positioned India as an exotic country to experience, and its fashions along with it.

Bowles describes how Indian dress began to impact the West during this period. “There was Cartier, whose designer, Jeanne Toussaint, created ‘tutti frutti’ jewels, incorporating tumbled and carved Indian stones,” he says. “And Christian Dior’s Indian inspiration for his very first Corolle ‘New Look’ collection for Spring 1947 even extended to the naming of his ensembles, with Benaras, Bengale and Pondichery among them.

“Dior’s young protégée was Yves Saint Laurent, and his first collection for his own house featured slim-fitting raja jackets — a recurring theme at Chanel too — and turban-inspired hats. Sariinspired dresses became a recurring part of Saint Laurent’s repertoire, as they did for Balenciaga and Givenchy.”

India seemed to weave itself into the very narrative of popular culture during the 1960s. Spurred on by the potential for international travel, Vogue magazine conducted its fashion shoots there, making landmarks such as the Taj Mahal a backdrop to Western couture. “First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy conducted a goodwill tour of India and Pakistan in 1963, and wore a sleeveless, green and blue print shift dress by American designer, Warhol muse and socialite Joan ‘Tiger’

Bowles. “And who can forget the influence of India on the Beatles, with their spiritual journey, and the sitar and ragas becoming the soundtrack to 1960s counterculture? Playing Shea Stadium, New York, in 1965, the group wore tan Nehru jackets, named after Jawaharlal Nehru, who was India’s first prime minister after independence, and derived from the northern Indian achkan, or kneelength jacket, usually considered court dress for Indian nobility.” Modern designers, such as Karl Lagerfeld, Jean Paul Gaultier, Dries Van Noten, John Galliano and Alexander McQueen continued to celebrate India in their own collections. Likewise, Indian talent discovered that setting up in the West could also prove lucrative. “Rahul Mishra became the first Indian designer to present his haute couture in Paris, and Sabyasachi Mukherjee opened a flagship store in Manhattan,” Bowles reveals. As has been the case for centuries, India is a global tastemaker when it comes to fashion.

India in Fashion runs at the Nita Mukesh Ambani Cultural Centre until June 4

As a child Isabel Marant found inspiration in her father’s wardrobe, and now the queen of French cool has returned to her first love — menswear. Just don’t expect any suits

WORDS KAREN DACRE

Afew hours before I am due to meet French fashion royalty Isabel Marant, I find myself admiring her outfit in the street. The 55-year-old designer is walking with purpose through Paris’s 1st arrondissement when I spot her with her signature ash-coloured hair swept up in a bun, sporting a perfectly cut pair of dark-wash jeans and a plaid jacket from her menswear line (I’m familiar with it because it’s sitting pretty on my wish list).

I’m delighted to get a glimpse of her: Marant is every inch Parisian chic and to see her in her natural habitat is, I imagine, how it was to see Vivienne Westwood stomping up the Kings Road or Gabrielle Chanel smoking on Rue Cambon.

A few hours later, when we sit down together with a coffee at her company headquarters, I decide not to mention our chance encounter. Instead, I break the ice by telling her how much I love her jacket. “For me, a good shirt, jeans and a nice feminine shoe are the essentials,” she says, in an accent that is unquestionably Parisian.

To a generation of women who wouldn’t dream of shopping anywhere else for their cigarette-cut jeans and biker jackets, Isabel Marant is a cultural icon who is as essential to contemporary Parisian life as overpriced hamburgers and en terrasse dining. Indeed, creating clothes for women who seek that justfallen-out-of-bed breed of effortless style is her modus operandi.

But it’s actually menswear that is Marant’s real passion. At the age of ten, with a haircut inspired by Patti Smith, she knew the clothes she wanted to wear didn’t exist in the shops and started digging around in her father’s wardrobe for inspiration. “That love of men’s clothing has never left me,” she says. “There’s something about the fit that changes the way I feel, the way I walk.”

In recent years, menswear has become a professional concern too — the brand launched its first menswear collection in 2018 and has two standalone men’s stores in Paris, with plans to open more in London and New York.

“It is so refreshing to design for men after all these years,” she says, “and it came very naturally because all my male friends were already wearing the womenswear.”

Men (and women) shopping Marant’s brand can expect to find overshirts, excellent denim and a sweatshirt in every colour of the rainbow, but absolutely no sign of a suit — “tailoring is not my interest”, she says. There’s also a plethora of prints, from playful florals to more abstract motifs. “I’m not interested in the clothes men wear to work in a bank or go to the office, but in wearable, comfortable and realistic clothes that are also unmistakably modern.”

It helps that men are more adventurous than they have ever been when it comes to their wardrobes.

“Gay men pulled the rest of the guys up,” says the designer. “Before, it was normal for a man to think that if he wore pink he was dead. We’ve moved on from that now.”

In her youth Marant worked in a clothing store to fund a shopping habit that included Comme des Garçons and Maison Margiela. After leaving school, she studied fashion at the Parisian design school Studio Berçot and did stints with the design teams of Chloé and Yohji Yamamoto. In 1995, after a few failed attempts at going it alone (she had a jewellery line and a knitwear label that she created with her mother), Isabel Marant the brand was born.

During her formative years, Marant lived in the Paris suburb of Neuillysur-Seine and now resides in bohemian Belleville with her husband, the accessories designer Jérôme Dreyfuss, and their son, Tal. With the exception of her husband, with whom she regularly swaps clothes, she’s unexcited by French men’s style. “Honestly, I think Parisian men look quite boring, their style is so conservative. It’s not adventurous. I find men in London and Berlin far more inspiring.”

This influence is apparent in her designs. Marant menswear has a casual, sporty edge that appeals to men who want clothes that are practical as well as on the money in style terms. And while it pains her to admit it, sweatshirts, hoodies and caps bearing her brand’s logo are among her bestsellers, particularly in the US, where the brand is emerging as a men’s fashion must-have.

“The logo has always been a bit of a problem for me. I started doing them to make fun of the logo mania that was happening elsewhere in fashion at the time and now it has stuck. I never wanted to make fashion for people to show off how much money they have in their bank account. Fashion shouldn’t be about social position, it’s about procuring a feeling of happiness.”

That happiness doesn’t come cheap. But the designer is the first to advise caution to anyone putting their hand in their pocket for one of her products. “We should resist being greedy. Happiness does not come from buying many, many things but from choosing something you really love.

I’ve always been inspired by clothes I know I would wear and love for ever.”

There’s a philosophical side to Marant. Over the 45 minutes we’re together, our conversation segues from discussing her disdain for “most” men’s shoes to her new-found appreciation for ceramics. I am also surprised to hear that Marant — whose company is majority-owned by the private equity firm Montefiore Investment and took £260 million ($320 million) worth of sales last year — is an advocate for the four-day working week.

On Mondays, the designer tries to avoid emails and instead focuses on crafting sculptures and vases from clay. “I find that it allows me to concentrate on something fully and completely in a way nothing else in my life allows. Ceramics have become a sort of meditation for me,” she says. Happiness is solitude for Marant, who spends her weekends away from the hustle of Paris in Fontainebleau.

“I don’t really enjoy when people recognise me in the street,” she says.

(I’m suddenly very glad I stayed quiet during our earlier encounter.)

Marant undoubtedly has the aloof, Parisian attitude down pat. But she is warm too, erupting with laughter when I ask her if her son wears her clothes. “He would rather die than wear anything with my name on it,” she says. “He has nothing, not even a T-shirt, because he thinks I’m devastatingly uncool.”

I beg to differ.