Givenchy's Riccardo Tisci: the goth Samaritan

Riccardo Tisci is sitting at a table in the parquet-floored showrooms of Givenchy in Paris, contemplating his upcoming 10-year anniversary. "It seems like yesterday," says the designer, a swarthy 40-year-old who is today sporting a slight peppering of stubble and short, cropped hair.

Emotionally, maybe, but times have changed. In 2005, Givenchy was on the verge of bankruptcy, and the atelier reeling from successive design appointments that had seen John Galliano, Alexander McQueen and Julien Macdonald enter and exit the building within years of each other. "I had to cross the street to use the public photocopier because there wasn't a working one in the Givenchy studio. We didn't have the money."

No one expected much then of LVMH's signing, a streetwise Italian in jeans and sneakers who had studied at Central St Martins in London and staged only two collections under his own label, in Milan. "They called me 'goth'," says Tisci, speaking quickly in a strongly accented English that is nuanced with Londonisms and regularly defers to people as "baby".

"Tom Ford was doing sexy and glam, and I was doing goth. I was very dark. And the press killed me." He pauses. "It's OK," says, flicking the tip of an American Spirit into a nearby ashtray. "The same people that hated me then . . . After six years, they came."

Tisci's quiet direction, determined work ethic and intuitive brilliance have since transformed Givenchy, re-energising the fabled couture house founded by Hubert de Givenchy in 1952, and turning it into a profitable business (exact figures are frustratingly buried within the LVMH group's aggregated financial statements).

Today, his influence reaches from the Holly­wood red carpet - Cate Blanchett, Rooney Mara and Rihanna are all devotees of his darkly sensuous gowns - to the street: Givenchy printed sweats featuring totems of popular culture have become mandatory uniform among the louche-luxe weekend set.

In 2008, he launched a highly successful menswear line. In 2012, he stopped showing couture. In September, he enshrined Kim Kardashian's status as a fashion idol when he designed the reality star's wedding dress. Elsewhere, his recent collaborations with Nike, a take on the Air Force 1 trainers he has worn since childhood, have offered kids a slice of Tisci cool with a bit more bounce for their buck.

This democratic, provocative, disarming, often moody refocus of a label once synonymous with refined elegance and a rarefied clientele, has been fundamental to Tisci's vision. He makes no apology for it. Furthermore, he argues, his Givenchy reflects the same sensibility of its patrician founder.

"Givenchy was one of the chicest of the luxury labels," says Tisci. "But Hubert had a dark side. I discovered that when I went down to the archives. In the 1950s you couldn't express that darkness, but you could see the severity of the design and I was attracted to it. We brought the street to the label, and made Givenchy more honest and real."

. . .

Walk into a Givenchy store today, as one can, in Chongqing, China, or Kuwait, or most recently Las Vegas, and you will find £400 polo shirts with £250 chain-ring earrings and £4,000 butterfly-printed silk chiffon dresses next to £500 sneakers: Tisci's high-low fashion has been key to the brand's alchemy.

"The reality is that you have to make everyday clothes," he continues. Sure, the clothes are expensive but they are made with a genuine commitment to accessibility, with women like his sisters in mind. "My sister works in a factory and makes €1,800 a month. She would save up for the trainers and the sweatshirt," he insists. The brand sells 40 per cent clothes to 60 per cent bags and shoes, but Tisci is wary of pushing the brand simply to sell accessories. "I don't believe in the business model: 'make the dream and sell perfume'. That is a formula, but it's not what I want to do."

Tisci's public profile has grown exponentially with the brand. "Ten years ago, I couldn't talk. I was so shy. Fashion was a way to find my own language," he says of his metamorphosis from stammering ingenu to cultural Zelig, with Madonna on speed dial and supermodel friends on each arm. "I'm proud of what I've done."

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And, increasingly, Tisci is using his newfound voice for more personal missions, challenging our perception of beauty, championing diversity on his catwalks and supporting philanthropic projects. It was he who first cast the black model Joan Smalls. He also discovered the "outsize" Dutch model Lara Stone, and the Chinese model Ming Xi (she reportedly has "Mr Tisci" tattooed on her leg in gratitude). He has cast albino models and, most controversially, the transsexual model Lea T in his campaigns.

"I got so much shit for casting a transsexual," he says of the decision to cast his former assistant and friend as the face of the house in 2010. "Lea had been thrown out by her family. By giving her the campaign we at least gave her the money to afford her operation. For seven months I got letters, and abuse . . . But things did change. Lea went on Oprah Winfrey, she was on television all over the world, and people fell in love with her. And, now, a transsexual has been on the cover of Time magazine."

"'Normal' is a strange word," he continues. "For me, the word 'different' doesn't exist. We are all the same."

. . .

Last month, Tisci was honoured at the singer Alicia Keys' Black Ball, a fundraiser for her charity Keep a Child Alive (KCA), which has thus far raised $22.6m towards the protection, education and support of those children affected by HIV and Aids. The evening, attended by key figures in Tisci's gang, including Marina Abramovic, Madonna, Smalls and Kanye West, raised $2.3m. Tisci also supports the Aids fundraisers Amfar and Sidaction, and contributes towards a missionary project in India that sponsors children's education.

Fashion and philanthropy can make queasy bedfellows, but Tisci's motivation is simple: "I fight to keep inside what society tries to put outside." He knows of what he speaks. An only son, with eight older sisters, Tisci was born into a working-class family in Cermenate, just south of Como, that saw its meagre income disappear after his father's death. "I was four, and I went to work aged nine." But, unlike his sisters, he was "lucky" enough to continue his schooling. Encouraged by his mother, the indomitable Elmiranda, now 86, he left Italy at 17 to take up a full scholarship at Central St Martins. He signed the Givenchy contract with LVMH, in 2005, so that he could save the family home.

Tisci has an instinctive empathy with people on the fringes of society. "I know what it's like to be a leftover from society, it's disgusting. As a child, we could only have a hot shower on Friday night," he says. Food was in short supply. He was bullied by schoolmates for wearing his sister's hand-me-downs.

In spite of the privations, Elmiranda taught the Tisci clan never to judge. Her counsel of tolerance is deeply felt. "My mother doesn't know how to read or write but she's very intelligent. She always taught me: if you do something bad, remember it forever; if you do something good, forget it."

Tisci's life today is one of immense privilege, but his experiences and deep religious beliefs have continued to texture his collections, and his loyalty to his friends and family. That said, he's no monk. A quick scroll through his Instagram (@riccardotisci17 "celebrating love and life"), reveal a man with lusty appetites: his 40th birthday party this August, with Justin Bieber, Jessica Chastain, Kate Moss, Naomi Campbell, and on, looked like a fabulous bacchanal.

"I've got an amazing private life," he says, with a wolfish grin. "I love clubbing. I love life. I'm not scared to mix with real life: I'm not one of those fashion people: fashion, home, fashion, home." As for his own sexuality, or relationships, he prefers to stay silent. His "amazing private life" has remained just that.

He lights another cigarette, and the conversation shifts back to his upcoming anniversary and his plans for the house. Tisci now wants to build Givenchy, "like Ralph Lauren or Armani", into a fully integrated brand, with books, a magazine, art collaborations, music and new product lines. "I want to make Givenchy a lifestyle," he says. "Because I can see the versatility of the label - from the kids in the clubs to the women in the dresses. When I signed with Givenchy, I said, 'I'm not going to leave here until the company is where it should be: a lifestyle brand'. I would love to make Givenchy furniture, and a line for children. People didn't understand that at the beginning: they thought that every season should be a trend. I don't want to be a trend designer. I want an identity."

It's a curious paradox that the man responsible for being so innovative in taking the couture house to the street now sees the industry drawing from the past. "I think the high street interference is coming to an end," he says. "We're going back to the way of the couture houses of the 1950s, when clients would go to a specific designer," says Tisci. "It might be Chanel, or Saint Laurent, or Givenchy . . . it doesn't matter, but it's more tribal."

And this being the tribe of Tisci, it won't matter if you're a raver in Givenchy trainers, an actress in sequins, a professional in the classic "Bettina" blouse, or a transsexual in a Tyrolean-inspired dirndl from Tisci's raunchy new spring/summer 2015 collection, everyone's welcome.

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