A shared passion for objects, know-how, and craftsmanship underpins the inventive work of Charlotte Macaux Perelman and Alexis Fabry, artistic directors of the Hermès home universe, which includes Hermès Home, Hermès Horizons, Saint-Louis, and Puiforcat. At Milan Design Week 2025, the pair presented their latest collection in an installation examining the auras of objects, which at their best create an intangible sense of timelessness. Below, they delve more deeply into their particular inspiration and processes.

Skye Parrott: Can you share a little bit about your artistic approach?

 

Charlotte Macaux Perelman: In Milan, we always take a pause in our work to ask ourselves: What do we want to express this year — in continuity, of course, with the past? Last year, we spoke of materiality. This year, instead, we're speaking about the emotional presence of objects beyond their physical shape: their aura. This includes color and form, and also how they exude emotions. It is an abstract concept which also refers to the scenography itself.

 

Alexis Fabry: In the past, we’ve often seized the opportunity in Milan to speak to the materiality of quality: Hermès has a craftsmanship tradition; we use these raw materials. Whereas, this year, we want to concentrate on what the object itself exudes, what it communicates, in order to be able to last. It is this material quality we're referring to — it is a material quality which goes beyond classic.

 

SP: How do you balance the DNA and heritage of Hermès with the contemporary preferences and values of today's customers?

 

CMP: The DNA of the brand is unconsciously present. For us, it's most important that an object is right for this period of time; it's never a question of fashion. It's really interesting that you've asked this question because, this year, we actually give a kind of answer. What is it that makes an object last? For us, it's the object’s material qualities, but it's also the intention behind it: the ethics, the ethics of the artisanal work. These are aspects which can be measured. What is really difficult to measure is what makes an object last for 30 years, or for 50 years? That quality is its aura. You can't calculate the aura of an object. It's something that escapes us — this glow, that is something abstract. It's not quantifiable.

 

SP: What are the benefits of being part of the Hermès universe, which come only with this specific brand — because it's a very particular brand?

 

AF: Because we have one foot inside and one foot outside of the company, we have an interesting point of view — there are two things we see: What is specific to Hermès is that there is this absolute faith in the importance of content, that the objects be well-made with good intentions.

 

CMP: Everyone within Hermès — everyone, even if they're not involved in the actual making of the object — wants to make sure that everything is exactly as it should be.

 

AF: The other is that Hermès, as a family, has been programmed to do things differently. They don't want to do things as everyone else does them. They often want to do the opposite. I believe this is absolutely great. They do things differently, not just in image terms. They do this very profoundly.

 

CMP: There's no one who believes so much in objects as Hermès — the object must be perfect. It must be loaded with good qualities.

 

SP: Which Hermès pieces do you have in your home?

 

CMP: That's an excellent question. For me, it is Álvaro Siza’s creation: the Karumi bench. It is a technical craftsmanship piece, because you have the craftsmanship part of the bamboo, then you have the technology and the research. This really altered Siza’s design. At Hermès, we are very loyal to the transcription of a design — of a sketch of what the architect or the designer does. This gives us a lot of energy.

 

AF: I have loads of Hermès objects at home, perhaps too many. We also have an office outside of Hermès, where I have the Équilibre d’Hermès by Jasper Morrison table and chair with the armrests. Morrison was obsessed with ergonomics, and the result is extraordinary. The wood has been treated in such a way that it’s very agreeable to the touch. It's also visually very balanced. It is a search for perfection, which is a quality that is absolutely typical of Morrison.

 

CMP: When you live with pieces of furniture, you enter into a routine, so you mustn't become bored by them. It can’t be too designed. It should be based in its period, but we hope that it will be able to survive beyond that period because it also has the right distance and the right design. That's the value of a piece; it’s something you really appreciate.

 

SP: For this collection, you worked with both master glassmakers and artists, who created the carpets. What does this collaborative process look like — in terms of bringing their craftsmanship expertise and your vision together?

 

CMP: For glass, we thought it was going to be easy. There is know-how in Europe — in Germany, in Italy, in France — so we thought we had a supply chain. Instead, it turned out to be very difficult because there's a loss of know-how. We actually asked our creative team to design a whole series of different objects, and we asked Tomás Alonso to design something from industrial glass. Each glass know-how is different; it differs by country, so we had to work to find the right craftsman with the specific skills we were looking for. It took three or four years, and we really give credit to these teams because all these people do have this faith in the importance of content and of the original quality.

 

SP: We think of Hermès as a brand without compromise, but this process brings up the question: Is it sometimes necessary to compromise based on what materials can achieve?

 

CMP: The compromise is to respect what the craftsman can actually do. For example: There was a year we made enamel plates, each one had slight differences — the colors were never exactly the same. At Hermès, there is always a search for what is perfect, so this was difficult to accept. We had to work with the fact that each material has its own qualities; it is not perfect. Each object is unique. It’s the same with the glass jugs. They're all slightly different.

        Within the Hermès organization, each piece must be irreproachable, but there is also an enormous respect for the material itself and for the craftsmen. It’s a question, therefore, of also being able to bridge these realities. We had to accept the fact that items have slight differences, one from the other, based on materials. There is always this quest for perfection, and time is never an obstacle. We are capable of taking our time because, in order for an object to be the best, it must be made without worrying about time. That is what makes Hermès different. Time is an ally. 

On a very stormy Wednesday, I touched down in Nice, France. I had read somewhere that, in the Côte d’Azur, the sun shines nearly 330 days a year; of course, I decided to pop up on one of the cloud-covered 35. Luckily, I was headed somewhere with a mythic stature immune to the elements — that, perhaps, stood even taller because of them.

        Ultima Le Grand Jardin, a 13th-century marvel, nestled inside a forest of oak, pine, olive, and eucalyptus, resides half a mile off the coast of Cannes, on the ancient island of Île Sainte-Marguerite. Meticulously restored according to archival sketches, and reopened in 2022, the secluded estate (I arrived by speedboat) stood in perfect medieval relief against a stone gray sky. Its remarkable garden — bounding across a hectare and a half and housing nearly 200 plant species — was lapping up the day’s rain, and in return, generously scenting the air.

        The hotel’s beaming head chef, Alessandro Bergamo, was a big fan of the garden too, handpicking vegetables, fruits, and herbs right from its beds before each meal. The Italian born, Daniel Boulud-trained prodigy was palpably attuned to his surroundings, sharing tableside that his process was methodical but also impressionistic, drawing on myriad cultural, creative, and serendipitous associations. The result is virtuosic dishes, such as a slyly eloquent carrot soup essenced with local orange and vanilla.

        The next day, after a deep sleep in my cozy corner of this oasis, I was shown a new, luminous side to Le Grand Jardin, when the sun made a surprise, all-day appearance. Despite being won over by the merits of unruly weather, I had to agree with Edith Wharton’s statement about the region: “The light here is not of the ordinary world.” Every inch of my vantage came alive anew. I took a long, luxurious walk around the property, peering out from the balcony at that cyan sea, peeking around and inside the villa’s seven buildings — the Governor’s House, Fortress Tower, pool suites, cottages, and guest house — each with its own smoldering Gallic character. And at the perimeter, I walked the tree-lined path along the warm water.

        Buoyantly revived by Île Sainte-Marguerite’s magic — and especially by a next-level, orange-blossom massage from the incredible Angeliki — I had no difficulty imagining why the likes of Louis XIV, Man Ray, and Lee Miller had traipsed around this hidden French gem. 

 

Held during the long days and short nights of June, the 24 Hours of Le Mans is the world’s oldest active endurance race. It was immortalized by the late, great Steve McQueen in the film Le Mans, but not even the “King of Cool” could save this doomed project: Because they started shooting the movie without a script, not a word of dialogue was spoken for the first 37 minutes, relegating the overpriced box-office failure to cult-classic status.

        The difference between an endurance race and a more traditional fixed-distance race (like F1) is that an endurance race is about how much ground you can cover over a period of time, while a fixed-distance race is about how quickly you can complete the set distance or number of laps. Endurance races are not just about speed, they’re also about durability. During the 24 Hours of Le Mans, teams have, well, 24 hours to cover as much ground as possible. That means you drive all afternoon, all evening, all night, all the next morning, and all of the next afternoon. Each team is made up of three drivers, and each driver is required to take a break every six hours (they often change before this limit).

        An F1 race covers about 190 miles (44 to 78 laps). Drivers are in the car, racing, for about 90 minutes. During Le Mans, each team of drivers covers approximately 3,200 miles (380 laps) at an average speed of 145 mph. That’s like driving from New York to California in less than a day — or Rome to Moscow and then almost back to Rome.

        I have been casually obsessed with La Mans for a long time. It’s likely because I am actively obsessed with what it means to me to be tough — mostly (obviously) because I’m not.  
        Arriving at La Mans, I found a wild spectacle of pomp and fury. There were live concerts, 68 restaurants, and more than 800,000 square feet of temporary structures built to support the event and its crowds. It was a circus for car guys and their car families (literally as well as figuratively: I counted at least five fairground attractions). At 92 euros for a general admission ticket, it's still relatively accessible, though there is also a full “gold” experience, priced around 7,000 euros, which includes access to the paddocks, a super fun Porsche Hot Lap, and a helicopter ride over the track. Rolex is a sponsor of Le Mans and Zidane was there, along with the French military and its new drone program. The event is a monster. It costs a gajillion dollars to organize, but I didn't really care about any of that. No more than I cared about who won the race. 
        Because this event is not about the race for me. The race was conceived as a test of durability, a measure of toughness.

 

This photo was taken in the hills of Portugal’s Douro Valley — an ancient, undulating landscape dramatically split by the languid flow of its namesake river. After a day spent visiting the region’s vineyards, I pulled over on a hilltop road to take in the view of the winding waterway below. Suddenly, a troop of mismatched goats, sheep, and shepherd dogs rounded a bend and ambled past, sporadically grazing on patched vegetation. It was a scene that has likely played out thousands of times in the history of this countryside, but in that moment it served as a subtle yet evocative reminder of the raw, spontaneous beauty we can encounter when venturing off the beaten path. 

Better Together. The debate as to whether it’s possible to “have it all” is both deeply personal and ever evolving. Le Chéile, a new New York-based social club for travel enthusiasts, has recently added its take to the dialogue by combining curated worldwide experiences with city-based social events, underscored by a dedication to community building. To the point: Chéile (pronounced Kay-Lah) means "community" in Gaelic. I had the pleasure of attending the club’s launch party last weekend, arriving at the celebratory event at the TWA Hotel via a seven-minute helicopter ride from the Manhattan lounge of air-charter company Blade to JFK Airport. My version of having it all certainly includes skipping immobile expressway traffic, so Le Chéile just might be onto something. –Elysha Beckerman 

 

In the Mix. On a recent visit to Standby, Detroit’s den of lauded libations, I sipped a cocktail that’s haunted me since. An effusive inquiry to the bar asking for the recipe later, I’m happy to say I (and you) can now mix it up at home — if not always as expertly. –John Chuldenko

 

Good Grief. Were it not for its title, you might not know Grief Camp was about grief — especially if you aren't familiar with grief camps, which combine counseling, education, and summer camp activities for kids and adolescents who've experienced loss. The story primarily follows six campers and a camper-turned-counselor in their cabin. There are no therapy sessions, no games. We never even learn exactly what these young people have gone through (save for two sisters). Instead, we see the intimate "in-between" moments. Thanks to playwright Eliya Smith's witty, insightful dialogue and a talented cast, these characters felt unexpectedly real; I wanted to know more about each of them. But that's the thing about grief: You always want to know more, but you just have to let it play. Grief Camp is at New York’s Atlantic Theater Company until May 11. –Jackie Risser