Sézane isn’t Parisian style

I want to begin my reflections on Sézane by explaining what a simulacrum is, according to Jean Baudrillard (1991), and what je ne sais quoi means.

In his theory, Baudrillard (1991) explores the relationship between reality, symbols, and society. He argues that, in contemporary societies, simulation has replaced reality; in other words, we live in an era of simulacra – copies without an original – where the distinction between the real and the artificial has dissolved. It’s as if we were living in a state of hyperreality, where reality itself has been replaced by its sign, and simulation precedes and defines what is real.

This idea becomes especially clear when we look at trends like old money, which promote dressing like the wealthy heirs of legendary families. In reality, people from such families don’t wear white tailored trousers from Zara, a cotton shirt from H&M and a Ralph Lauren logo belt. However, this trend creates the illusion that simply wearing these clothes allows you to simulate being the heir to an old and wealthy family. In this case, appearance becomes more defining than reality itself in shaping our perception of what is real. Within this trend, old money is defined not by what it actually is, but by what it looks like.

We can conclude that major fashion companies that set trends, such as Zara, H&M, and others, ultimately shape our perception of reality. In this case, these companies define what it means to be rich and to belong to an old, prestigious family, implying that simply wearing certain clothes is enough to simulate that status. However, they overlook the fact that being old money is not something that can be bought. A legacy that includes property, investments, heritage, influence, and relationships built over centuries – through business dealings and intermarriage – is not something middle or working class can purchase at Zara or H&M.

With that in mind, I’ll now talk about je ne sais quoi, or JNSQ for short.

JNSQ is a French expression used to describe something so wonderful that it defies explanation. It's for those moments when we see something but can't quite put it into words. For example, we might see someone who dresses impeccably – original, creative, effortlessly drawing our attention – and say: Elle a un certain je ne sais quoi (She has a certain JNSQ). This idea of JNSQ is often associated with Parisian style, used to describe both a lifestyle and the way Parisians dress. Take, for instance, a book released in 2013: The Parisian: Inès de la Fressange’s Guide to Style – which, to my surprise, is still in print today. But first, let me say something: Inès de la Fressange is a fabulous, incredibly stylish woman. I love her and her book. There! Now, moving on...

The book is a guide where Inès teaches you how to embody the JNSQ mindset. She talks about fashion, shares spots that real Parisians frequent, and even reveals what she cooks for friends when they drop by during the week. Essentially, her book says: If you dress like this and adopt these habits, you'll be a true Parisian, just like me! But is becoming a JNSQ Parisian really that simple?

The world has changed a lot since I first read Inès' guide. We've moved from analog communication to a world dominated by digital networks. Today, advertising operates in a completely different way than when Inès wrote her book. Brands have access to our data through a vast web of information that we share – both willingly and unwittingly – on digital platforms like Google, Meta, TikTok, and Microsoft. This data is processed algorithmically and later sold to interested companies. It’s not a direct or individualized process – Sézane, for example, doesn’t specifically request data on a single consumer. Instead, through sponsored posts and big data analysis, the brand can track consumer trends, identify potential target audiences, and, most importantly, refine its sales conversion strategies. They know a lot about us, but we don't know much about them, like how they decide to use our data.

Along with these strategies comes content marketing, mainly driven by digital influencers. We’re bombarded with content that suggests by consuming certain products, we’re adopting the lifestyle the influencer showcases on their platforms. One example is Sézane’s curated content: every week, the brand posts Instagram carousel featuring influencers framed as people like us or this could be any of us – seemingly ordinary girls, the girl next door, wearing the brand. The goal is to link the consumption of these products with the influencers' lifestyle. A clear pattern emerges: they’re mostly young, slim, white women, photographed in European cities. While there are occasional efforts to introduce diversity, this narrow profile dominates, overlooking the global reality of their consumer base and even the diversity of Paris itself.

Sézane sells us a simulacrum of Paris – which, I repeat, is a city inhabited only by young, slim, white people, ignoring the fact that ¼ of the Parisian population is made up of people who come from or are descended from North Africa. Through its content marketing, the brand suggests that all we need to do is consume its products every month to become true Parisians. But isn't that just a simulacrum? In fact, aren’t we buying into the idea that consuming Sézane means being Parisian, when being Parisian involves a specific geographical and cultural context?

That said, let me make one thing clear: Sézane doesn’t sell Parisian style; it sells us the idea that by consuming its products, we can simulate being Parisian. The irony is that La Redoute, the second-largest seller of women’s clothing in France, is more authentically Parisian than Sézane. More French people shop at La Redoute, but the brand doesn’t market itself as embodying Parisian style. Want to buy clothes that French women actually buy? Then shop at La Redoute.

In fact, there are many similar pieces between Sézane and La Redoute. There's a blouse from La Redoute (which I own in two colors) called Signature EUGENIE, similar to Sézane's Rym and Claudio models. Made in Europe, 100% cotton, it costs a quarter of the price – and it's what real Parisians wear. A Parisian doesn’t need to buy Sézane to look Parisian; she defines what being Parisian means – and she shops at La Redoute more than Sézane.

That’s my rant. Since December 2024, I’ve placed six orders with Sézane. SIX. The festive collection, the collaboration with MDLO, my husband got me a voucher for Christmas, Archives Act I, Valentine's Day, and Archives Act II. And now, this Sunday, they’ve dropped a new collection? I’ve had enough.

*BAUDRILLARD, Jean. Simulacres et simulation. Paris: Éditions Galilée, 1981.