You are Julien Lièvre, thirty-three, and eleven days ago you became Creative Director of the Paris fashion house that carries your family's name. The runway date is fixed, twenty-six weeks away, and the board wants something the house has never delivered at once: strong reviews and clothes that sell. Before the atelier can quote a single sample, you must give the studio the season's creative thesis.
The situation
It is 8 September. Maison Lièvre is a Paris ready-to-wear and accessories house with €88 million in revenue at an 11% operating margin. A private-equity fund now owns 60% of it and has installed a chief executive whose reading of recent seasons is blunt: the critics love the house, the tills do not. The board has approved a collection budget of €2.4 million for the forty-two looks that will walk on 2 March at Paris Fashion Week.
Last season, under your predecessor, the collection won a rave from the most-read runway review. It also sold through at only 38% of full price, against the 65–70% the segment considers healthy, and 42% of the line ended up marked down. Your targets: at least 62% full-price sell-through, at least three placements in the top tier of the fashion press, and keeping four department-store accounts that make up 22% of wholesale revenue and have warned they will cut their orders if this collection does not sell.
Two new internal readings start low: brand heat, the house's editorial pull and perceived novelty, at 20 out of 100; and creative governance, whether the studio's choices can be explained after the fact, at 15. The atelier has also warned that the compressed calendar will add about 18% to sample costs, some €430,000, landing mid-season whatever you decide. Your Head of Design wants a sharper break with the house's codes; the commercial team wants the bestsellers the buyers already trust.