Carine Roitfeld Values What’s on the Inside—That’s Why She Wears Really Nice Underwear
In honor of her partnership with Vestiaire Collective, the legendary stylist opens the doors to her Parisian closet.
When Carine Roitfeld became editor-in-chief of Vogue Paris (now Vogue France), she decided to stop wearing jeans. It was 2001 and, according to the renowned stylist, all of the young women in the office embraced the casual early-2000s ensemble of knitwear, denim, and boots. She needed something different, so she fashioned a recognizable getup of a knee-length skirt, a tight T-shirt or sweater, and a jacket, often with a nipped waist—an easy-to-draw silhouette, she laughs. Pockets? Always. Sunglasses? Sometimes. Bags ruin an outfit. And everything was all black, with the occasional appearance of khaki. Oh, and don’t forget the heels. “I think I was the only one wearing a skirt for those 10 years [I worked] at Vogue,” she says. “It became my uniform.”
The fashion consultant and editor-in-chief of the eponymous CR Fashion Book still largely wears the same thing every day. Each element has a reason, namely power. The heels are straightforward. “You feel more powerful if you can talk to people looking in their eyes,” she explains. Standing at five feet four inches, Roitfeld found that a four-inch heel put her closer to the eye level of photographer Mario Testino, six feet three inches, and other towering specimens she worked with.
“After a while, when you're in high heels and a tight skirt, you totally change your way of sitting, your way of walking,” Roitfeld explains. She likens the vibe to “a Saint Laurent woman,” whether that be Yves’s original ethos or Anthony Vaccarello’s sexified 2024 version—the silhouette tracks, no? “It’s a bit like a military outfit,” she says, dissecting her look.”When you are conscious of your body like that, I think you're fearless, and you have more power.”
The Paris native knows exactly what she wants from each piece as well. The skirt comes from Rick Owens; she has about ten of them in black, plus a few grey, khaki, and evening options. The T-shirt is funkier. Think concert merch or vintage graphic tees. She likes them “very old, very destroyed. Sometimes, I have to burn them myself.” The jackets vary slightly more, but the same ethos applies. “My wardrobe is not very exciting because I have a lot of the same looks,” she muses. One woman’s trash is another’s Tom Ford croc-effect jacket.
Her closet is smaller than most would guess, a testament to the lessons learned from her career. Friend and colleague Azzedine Alaïa taught her to take care of her clothes—anything he lent was to be returned in the same silk paper—or else. Karl Lagerfeld taught her to always dress up—no Uggs or sweatpants in sight. Her many jobs taught her to edit. “I'm the queen of editing,” she says, espousing a principle that applies to her wardrobe and fashion stories. In both, the right amount of wrong is paramount. “You have to find a strange color of shoes or a totally destroyed T-shirt with a very classic Chanel suit, you know?” Classic at first glance, but surprisingly punk once you dig a little deeper. “What makes it not classic is the idea of proportion. Maybe big shoulders or very in at the waist, you know? I don’t like perfection,” says the 69-year-old who still cuts her own hair.
Roitfeld came to prominence in fashion in the ‘90s—its best era, she says. An era of revolution. Martin Margiela, Helmut Lang, and, of course, Tom Ford, all of whom are known for subverting glamour in their own unique ways, subtly molded her aesthetic. The items they gave her are considered vintage today and are in good company in her well-curated wardrobe. A champion of the resale system, Roitfeld has now partnered with Vestiaire Collective, the leading global platform for pre-loved luxury fashion (you can shop her vintage edit here.) “I'm not a shopping girl. I'm not coming back with bags of clothes every day,” she says. “No. This is finished. You have to care about your clothes. I travel with a carry-on. You can fit a lot of pieces in your carry-on, and I don't need more.”
Over the weekend, I caught her between the Hermès and Comme des Garçons fashion shows. True to form, she’s wearing a Saint Laurent skirt, a Tom Ford black T-shirt, a Balenciaga jacket with oversized shoulders, and Givenchy heels, all of which are black. She hasn’t changed all day. This might not seem novel, but it is for front-row attendees of major Paris fashion shows, who today typically swap out the latest samples for each show. Roitfeld’s vintage-heavy uniform persists from prior decades, though subtle things have changed.
First, she has stopped wearing bras. “I feel more comfortable, and I think it's more sexy.” The heels have dropped to a kitten height—Paris’s cobblestones don’t play. She, of course, notes the punk spirit of an ultra-pointed toe and low heel contrasted with a ladylike skirt. Jeans are technically back in rotation—but with stipulations. She owns one pair of absolutely destroyed decades-old Levi’s and only permits them out in the summertime and never within the confines of Paris.