"It took me getting into a lot of fights before I was diagnosed with PTSD. I have something called ‘hypervigilance.’ I get really nervous around people. Especially people from the Middle East." "What were some traumatic things that happened to you?" "I was in a vehicle when a mortar round exploded in front of us, and we fell into the crater and got trapped. There was a burning oil rig near us, so it was like being in a microwave. And we couldn’t get out. And I also saw a lot of hanky shit. Mostly from our side. Everyone was really revved up from 9/11. We did a lot of bad things. I saw decapitations, and that was our guys doing it." "What happened?" "We were supposed to bring POW’s back to the base. But instead we gave them a cigarette to calm them down, and told them to get on their knees. One of our guys was 240 lbs, and he’d taken this shovel we’d been issued, and he’d sharpened one of the sides until it was like an axe, and he could take off somebody’s head with two hits." "How many times did you see that happen?" "Three."
Behind a nondescript door marked 313 on the third floor of Lanvin’s corporate offices at 16 Rue Boissy d’Anglas in Paris is a well-kept secret: the office of Jeanne Lanvin, impeccably preserved almost as she left it in 1946 when she died. At one end of the room is a large, L-shaped ebony desk, a small side table of Scandal and Arpège perfume bottles and examples of the original Lanvin packaging from the Twenties. At the other is a three-way mirror set on rolling castors to maximize the light and angles while Lanvin did fittings, which were held in her office until the end of her career.
The space is usually closed to all but its curators, but in honor of its 125th anniversary, the house is offering a rare glimpse into its founder’s workspace, with archivist Laure Harivel hosting small tours this week for a select few. For More