When Kris Van Assche launched his line in 2005, he was following a well-trodden yet still unusual path: that of a Belgian designer working in Paris. Although he had already helped shape Dior Homme, his sensitivity in blending tailoring and casualwear anticipated how men would dress over the next twenty years. But what I remember most is not the collection as a whole, but a single garment that became a subtle signature: a wool V-neck sweater twisted at one point, with a four-leaf clover stitched onto the chest in place of a logo. It was a piece that felt familiar and yet new at the same time – the kind of clothing I love.
I reached out to Kris on Instagram after many years of admiring his work. Yes, that’s right: the power of social media – so often mentioned in a negative light – made it possible for two people who appreciated each other’s work to talk as if they already knew one another personally. And in the end, we managed to do it in person thanks to nss magazine.
Eugene Rabkin: How did you enter the world of fashion?
Kris Van Assche: It’s one of those things that happened to me when I was very young. At some point, I realized that clothes didn’t just grow inside the wardrobe and that someone had to put them there. I was very young and lucky to have a grandmother who was the person with good taste in the family: she made her own clothes and introduced me to patterns, cutting, fabrics, and everything else. When I was 12, I think, we made my first pair of pleated trousers together.
Eugene Rabkin: What path led you from those first trousers with your grandmother to entering the Antwerp Academy?
Kris Van Assche: Well, when I was 12, all I heard about was the loud fashion coming out of Paris: Mugler, Gaultier, and those brands that were making a lot of noise. I come from a very small Belgian town; there was no social media or internet. I could maybe get my hands on Vogue if I ordered it three weeks in advance. Then, at 15, I discovered the Antwerp Academy. That made it something concretely possible, because as a child, Paris felt like the other side of the world, whereas Antwerp – half an hour by car from where I grew up – somehow felt more realistic. So at 18, I took the entrance exams, and things went that way. I had absolutely no artistic background at all, apart from my grandmother making her own clothes. It was quite a challenge for me.
Eugene Rabkin: What was your time at the Academy like?
Kris Van Assche: It was the best time of my life. I was lucky enough to be part of a group of students where real friendships were formed. Because the Academy, like any academy, can become very competitive. We worked hard, but we also partied hard.
Eugene Rabkin: What year did you graduate, and how rigorous was the Academy?
Kris Van Assche: The Academy was tough, really hardcore. In a way, I think I didn’t learn enough technical skills, since the Academy was very focused on building your personality. But aside from that, it truly felt like already having one foot in the real world. I learned that if you don’t make things happen by yourself, they won’t just fall from the sky. That said, I think it has changed quite a lot over time. When I was a student, there wasn’t even a single working sewing machine – we had to do everything at home.
Eugene Rabkin: Tell us about your graduation collection and how your aesthetic was taking shape.
Kris Van Assche: It feels like a century ago, but it was womenswear, because I actually graduated in womenswear, and my entire career is a mistake. A lucky mistake, but a complete coincidence. It was the idea of power dressing for women: tailored jackets, white poplin shirts, and ties. I was 22, and I have absolutely no regrets.
Eugene Rabkin: What did you do immediately after graduating?
Kris Van Assche: I graduated in ’98. One of the jury members was Suzy Menkes, who at the time was the most important fashion journalist. For three full days, I felt at the center of the world. Then the fourth day came, and I realized I had to find a job. So I applied for internships and ended up at Yves Saint Laurent, but in menswear, where a certain Hedi Slimane – still not so well known at the time – was doing his first stint. I was afraid menswear might be a bit boring for me, but I was happy to be in Paris, and I wanted to find a real job. Hedi hadn’t done his first show yet. I had no idea it would turn out to be such an incredible experience. It wasn’t even a proper men’s fashion week yet, more like a few fashion days.
Eugene Rabkin: What was it like to be part of the launch of Dior Homme from the inside?
Kris Van Assche: It was the best place I could have been. I was incredibly lucky. How many opportunities do you get, as an assistant, to experience a launch like that at such a level? This wasn’t about launching a small label – it was about launching the menswear division at Dior, which didn’t exist before. You had to create a new silhouette, but you also had to figure out what the stores would look like, what the hangers would be like, what the packaging would be, what the linings would be, and what the buttons would be like. Everything had to be designed from scratch. Usually, when you enter one of those big maisons, everything already exists, but Hedi was very hands-on, and for me, it was the best learning process imaginable. That said, I have no memories of my personal life from 2000 to 2004, as if nothing else happened. Was it hard? Yes. But you really learn this way.
Eugene Rabkin: Do you think that kind of deliberate friction – not trying to please everyone – has disappeared from fashion today?
Kris Van Assche: Yes. But there’s a big difference between launching a brand when you practically have no customers to lose and taking over a brand that makes 10 billion dollars. That’s a lot of customers to lose, and you can’t really compare the two situations. Still, it was a very radical and fantastic moment in fashion. Then I left, and in 2005, I did my first show for my own brand. My mother thought I was crazy to leave such an amazing job.
Eugene Rabkin: What pushed you to leave Dior Homme and launch your own brand?
Kris Van Assche: I had worked for six years on Hedi’s vision. I was working day and night, and it was the best learning process imaginable. But I hadn’t gone to the Antwerp Academy to learn how to support someone else’s vision. For six years, I had a fairly clear idea of what I wanted to do differently. It was literally like jumping into a black hole. I had a minimum amount of financial support but almost no money, and it didn’t even scare me. I don’t know how, it’s strange, but I jumped. And it felt just as natural to launch my eponymous brand with menswear, because I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my vision.
Eugene Rabkin: What was the aesthetic vision of Kris Van Assche?
Kris Van Assche: At the time, I loved tailoring, but it felt like a closed world. Meanwhile, the cool guys I met in clubs were wearing baggy jeans and sneakers. Luxury hadn’t started borrowing from that world yet. When I launched my brand, I felt it had to be the best of both worlds. My iconic look, if I may say so, was a tailored three-piece suit paired with baggy trousers and white sneakers. It generated a lot of buzz in the press. The idea was to have 15 clients, 15 stores buying the collection – that was what we hoped for – but we ended up with 45 in the very first season. That’s when all the problems began, because we didn’t have the money to produce all those pieces. It’s the problem of success: the more you sell, the more you have to finance production upfront before you get paid back. I thought that if I ran my brand for two years, I’d be happy, and instead, we stayed there for 11 years. We must have done something right.
Eugene Rabkin: How did the opportunity to return to Dior Homme as creative director come about?
Kris Van Assche: When I left my role as an assistant to launch my own brand, I had accepted the idea that the luxury world wasn’t for me. I would become a small, independent Belgian designer living in Paris. Two years later, the president of LVMH called me to ask if I would take over as creative director of Dior Homme. It was completely unexpected.
Eugene Rabkin: Why did you ultimately decide to close your brand in 2015?
Kris Van Assche: It was the hardest decision I’ve ever made. When I launched Kris Van Assche, I never thought we would last more than two years. But once you reach your eleventh year, it’s not something you can end without consequences. The team we worked with was made up of loyal people. At first, I liked the idea that my brand was young and low-budget. We almost had to sneak around during Fashion Week, always finding solutions for a venue or for the music. The low budget kept me grounded, while at Dior, there were much larger budgets and far more possibilities.
At first, I enjoyed that contrast, but after all those years, it became a problem. I had grown accustomed to quality, to beautiful materials, to the best manufacturers, the best shoes. When I realized that my low budget was really starting to limit my creativity, I no longer enjoyed it. People always thought I had more freedom in my own brand than at Dior, but creative freedom comes with a certain price. If you don’t have the money to develop things or to work with the people you want, that can seriously limit your creativity. Still, my experience was fantastic. If you want to work with a certain fabric, you can. If you want to collaborate with a specific embroidery specialist, you do it. If you want A$AP Rocky in a campaign, you do it.
Eugene Rabkin: What drew you to Berluti in 2018?
Kris Van Assche: In 2018, I moved from Dior to Berluti after 11 years at Dior. It was right after the whole Louis Vuitton x Supreme affair. And I felt we were living through a confusing moment between high and low, street and luxury. I was already a bit confused at that point. Even though I had never really been interested in the brand, I felt the challenge was real: they wanted it to become the most luxurious menswear brand within the group, and that’s what attracted me.
Eugene Rabkin: How did you approach the modernization of Berluti?
Kris Van Assche: Well, when you work at Dior, the archives are so vast that even after 11 years, I had probably only seen about 10% of them. There is no such thing as a blank page when you work at Dior. If you can’t find inspiration, you walk through the archives, open the first drawer you come across, and you’ll see something that sparks an idea. There are a billion collections you can make with those archives. When I arrived at Berluti, I asked to see the archives, and they placed on my desk the very first shoe ever made by the brand. And that was it, nothing else. It was a huge shock. The true DNA of the brand is sartorial and technical craftsmanship. It’s something that is truly hardcore to modernize. Let me know if you manage to do it.
Eugene Rabkin: What do you see as the biggest changes in fashion over the course of your career?
Kris Van Assche: I think what has changed is what’s at stake. When I launched my brand, there wasn’t much to lose; when Dior Homme was launched, it was a startup – there was nothing to lose. And that gave me a lot of freedom. Now, in the past five years, all these Maisons have gone from maybe 500 million a year to 10 billion a year. That means there’s so much to lose that, obviously, young designers don’t get the chance to take on those roles, because no one wants to put an inexperienced designer at the head of a 10-billion-dollar company. That has been the biggest change, and it also affects how we view young emerging designers. Now there’s this perfectionist system in which everything has to be fully organized and marketized, everything has to be instantly perfect.
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