Memento mori.

She's known as Marion Cotillard, French actress countlessly rewarded, but in front of Mert and Marcus' lens she becomes someone whose identity is blurry. Lying down on a bed, curls falling over her shoulders, she's a seductress... or the remainings of a seductress who wanders ghostly over the Earth as a memory, instead. She no longer exists in men's hands but stuck in their minds as a never-satisfied desire. Time has not alterated her beauty, but has turned her from a woman to a mirage.

While the Dior pieces she's wrapped up in enhance the lines of her body, she ennobles those... which somehow proves that the connection between clothes and the person who wears them does exist ; luxury clothing amounts to nothing if nobody can do it justice, as much as it cannot do polish-free women a favour.

As well as the brand she cherishes, that femme fatale has turned out timeless, whether it is in the heart or the memory of the men she enthralled. But she has already gone in a universe far away from her admirers, hence why she is more covetable than ever : she brings the myth of the unapproachable entity to life ; she epitomizes the dream that will never come true. Her motto : being speculated about but basically unknown. As eyes are the windows to the soul, she never looks straight into the camera. Slightly dramatic, thoroughly theatrical, otherworldly on top of all : she's a woman in all her glory.

J'ai eu le courage de regarder en arrière

Les cadavres de mes jours
Marquent ma route et je les pleure
Les uns pourrissent dans les églises italiennes
Ou bien dans de petits bois de citronniers
Qui fleurissent et fructifient
En même temps et en toute saison
D'autres jours ont pleuré avant de mourir dans des tavernes
Où d'ardents bouquets rouaient
Aux yeux d'une mulâtresse qui inventait la poésie
Et les roses de l'électricité s'ouvrent encore
Dans le jardin de ma mémoire.
- Apollinaire

Source : scanned by Thefrenchy @ tFS