A Rare Interview With Thierry Dreyfus, The Lighting And Runway Designer Behind Some Of Autumn’s Biggest Shows

Mathias Wendzinski

Many of autumn/winter 2019’s most engaging shows – i.e., the ones with the most energy IRL, or for those of us watching virtually, the most clicks – had one thing in common: atmosphere. Tonnes of it. Enormous sets, neon lights, artist collabs, live music… It’s an understatement to say the days of up-and-down catwalks and metal benches are over. Now, to attend a fashion show is to be transported; at least, that’s the goal. For most designers, it’s no longer just about the clothes: It’s about creating an entire world around the brand and leaving the audience with a particular feeling. And if that leads to a few thousand Instagram posts… even better.

Few people understand how to create an atmosphere quite like Thierry Dreyfus, one of fashion’s most recognised lighting and runway show designers, and the founder of Eyesight. Don’t know his name? He’d probably be happy to hear that. Dreyfus has been staging all manner of runway productions – from Thierry Mugler’s theatrics to Helmut Lang’s stripped-back shows – for over 35 years, but he enjoys being the guy behind the scenes. Perhaps he’s averse to self-promotion and publicity because he started his career in the late ’80s, way before fashion shows were consumed on social media and certainly before they’d become marketing tools. He isn’t stuck in the past, however, nor is he jaded about Instagram’s effect on the fashion show experience. Instead, he embraces it. “Now, it needs to be designed to look beautiful and attractive on a phone,” he says, adding that fashion shows have become “more generous” since his early days.

Curious what that means? Dreyfus chatted with Vogue about his career, the importance of his team, his all-time favourite moments – and why he’ll never write a book about any of it.

How did you get into lighting and runway design for fashion shows?

When I was 20 years old, in 1980, I was working as an assistant to a lighting designer and an assistant director for theatre and opera. My generation’s [mentality] was that you don’t invent yourself right away – you don’t say, “I’m a lighting designer”, or “I’m a director”. No, you begin as the little hand on the side, and you’re so happy to be able to work and to receive orders, because then you can observe and you can analyse. So from then on, by 1983 or 1984, I began to do my own lighting. After a play I did, there was this small guy with dreadlocks who came up to me with his boyfriend and asked if I wanted to work on a fashion show. I asked if it was men’s or women’s, and they said it’s women’s, so I said okay, that will challenge me [since I’ve worked with dancers]. The designer was Patrick Kelly, who was an absolute angel. It was my first fashion show. From then on, I began to do more shows, and then I opened a company, Eyesight, and it grew from there.

Mathias Wendzinski

What exactly does it mean to be a lighting designer?

People know my name in lighting, and that the team and myself are supposed to be the best in the fashion business. But you cannot light something if you don’t know what the floor will look like, or you don’t know the general mood, you don’t know the rhythm [of the music], and how the rhythm is connected to the photography and people in the audience who are taking their own photos… But the most important thing is my team. It’s a low-key team that is hyper-creative, and we all work in a very fluid, low-stress process, which maybe sounds strange in fashion. There’s no shouting, no stress, no bad energy.

When you prepare properly, it’s not a crazy month [of fashion shows]. Our process [ensures] that when “D-day” arrives, everything is smooth. Smooth doesn’t mean things can’t change the day before – they can, so we are here for that. But there is no stress.

Mathias Wendzinski

What do you love most about your work?

I love to be on a team. Because if I design a set to send to an architect in New York or Paris, I’ll ask [my colleagues] Alex or Edward, “What do you think about it?” They might say they don’t like that colour, or why would I do it this way… It’s teamwork. And after that [is established], I get into the lighting. But the lighting comes after the design of the set and the mood.

There are elements [of the set and lighting] which are connected to the collection, but it’s more about connecting it to the brand. How can we make a brand be felt immediately? I had the privilege to work with Mr. Helmut Lang for 17 years, from his first to his last show in Paris and then in New York. That’s why we can look at a show by Helmut, and regardless of the season – without even seeing the clothes, because the clothes have been copied so much – you recognise that it’s Helmut. When I worked with Hedi Slimane when he was at Dior Homme and later at Saint Laurent, there was something that had been created there – an identity, a currency, and a sharing of emotion.

For Helmut, it was somewhat [similar] to my work with Rei Kawakubo – they don’t want to make something perfect, so you have to make it imperfect, which is even more complicated. With Mr. Slimane, it was more about frustration and rock ’n’ roll. You saw a silhouette [on the runway], you couldn’t really see the clothes, but you got a knockout of an image in your head. Boom! You want to see the collection? Come to the showroom [laughs].

Mathias Wendzinski

How do you come up with the concept for each show? Do you have a specific inspiration in mind?

I would say my objective is to think about a show as if I were in the designer’s head. When Rei Kawakubo of Comme des Garçons tells me to go left, I might propose that she go right, because she likes to be surprised. She’s an incredible woman. When it was announced that Rei would have a retrospective of her work at the Met, which I had the pleasure to help her produce, a reporter asked me, “Who designed the lights?” And I said, “Her [Rei].” “And who designed the set?” I said, “Her.” “And who designed the movement of the [guests] to stop and look at each piece?” And I said, “Her,” and Rei looked at me and said, “No!” And I said, “Come on. Do you think I would think of something exactly like this for anyone else? No.” When we work with Virgil [Abloh] it’s the same; when we work with Ronnie [Fieg] at Kith, the same. But when I do my own stuff [outside of the shows], I do my own stuff. If someone tries to tell me “go left, go right, go up, go down” – no.

When I hire someone new, I bring them to museums and give them books to read, American literature, French literature, Russian literature… They’re the roots [of creativity]. I show them what fashion was like in the ’70s, ’80s, ’90s. If you’re speaking with a Chinese or Japanese designer and you don’t know anything about the history of their country or the artists of their country, how can you react?

Mathias Wendzinski

What is your process like, and how long does it take to conceptualise a show?

For the Kith show last September, we began working with Ronnie in April. The last Comme des Garçons show with Rei [in October], we began to work on it three days before. It wasn’t the same process [for those two shows], but both totally made sense. There’s something with Rei where things have to be immediate. I would say on average, though, we start one or two months in advance. There is a legal limit, too – in Paris and Milan, you have to give your files to the police with every material you’re using, every fireproof vest, every plan, all of the timings, three or four weeks before the show. In New York, we have the TPA [Third Party Administrator] who also asks for that three weeks before. Normally, we don’t have to change anything, and we are very, very respectful of security and legality. I’ve seen shows from other people where they didn’t use any fireproof fabrics – those risks are crazy and stupid.

What is the difference between shows in the ’90s and shows today?

Generosity. When you have a show and people wait an hour-and-a-half, they’re in the cold, they can’t really see… This is not a show. This is arrogance. For Victoria Beckham [autumn/winter 2015], one of the first shows we did with her in New York, we said, “Let’s have a very thick carpet that feels super luxurious.” Because people are going to walk in from the New York street onto this carpet, and they will already feel [a sense of] luxury. That worked perfectly – we made a powder-pink carpet, and everybody was calm, everyone was happy, and they were able to concentrate on the collection.

In the ’90s, [it was more about] sharing a moment of energy and pleasure. Yes, you wanted to sell the clothes, but that was not the objective of a show. Basically, we called it “fashion”, and now you call it “the fashion industry”. The semantics of those words are super interesting to analyse. Before it was fashion – whatever. Lingerie on the runway, a black light. Or with Sonia Rykiel, we had girls on bicycles, because at that time the models were also showgirls. Today, the models are models – they’re doing what the designer and the business asks them to do. To wear the clothes correctly, to walk correctly, and on to the next one. And now you definitely have girls who you hire not only because they’re absolutely stunning and have a beautiful energy but because they have a million followers [on Instagram].

Mathias Wendzinski

How has Instagram and social media changed the way you work?

It has definitely changed a lot. When I was producing the last show for Saint Laurent, the 40th anniversary show in 2001, we shot it with old video and Super 8 film, and the way we had to orient the light and set design was different. [Now] it needs to be designed to look beautiful and attractive on a phone.

Instagram has changed not only the way we think about light but the way we think about the set and how people are seated. Ronnie came to me last season and said, “I have four different collaborations in my Kith show.” I said, “Okay – for the first time ever, the audience will move.” There was a riser with 300 or more people, and after the riser, they moved to a second set, which was an exact reproduction of the Oxford library, with thousands of real books. Next was Kith’s Greg Lauren collaboration, and then Versace. At the end, all of these sets were [designed] for people to Instagram. Today, you have 800 people in the room [to see your show], and if you don’t succeed to have a good Instagram, I think you miss your goal [as a brand]. With Instagram, you don’t have 800 people in the room – you have 800,000. So at the end of the show, Ronnie told his guests to go walk into the set, and everyone was able to go up to see the product. Because what are we doing here with all these shows? Making people dream? Correct – and making them desire something, which is a product. You have to [bring] your client inside this specific world. That’s why, with every set, I can totally develop the marketing behind the creativity.

What have been your favourite shows or moments?

Personally, it was every time I worked with Helmut, because it was to see a friend. Every time I worked with Jean Colonna, and the shows I worked on with Thierry Mugler… For the first show, we only had 25 percent of the collection, but onstage we had Diana Ross! [laughs] There was this energy.

Regarding my best memories… I would say, it’s when the team is happy and when I feel that my team is proud. They could be proud of an Unravel show or a Roberto Cavalli show – it’s not about the brand, it’s about feeling that the audience was touched and everything was fluid, and the feeling that you’ve been able to share an emotion with the audience. The Prabal Gurung show last season with the trees and all the flags… We think so much of the comfort of the audience. It’s crucial to be able to give them an experience. I don’t like this sentence, it sounds very “marketing” – but you have to make them believe in something.

What was the craziest show you ever worked on?

The most technically complicated show I did was in Milan with Philipp Plein. We had to create programming software for the show, because the models walked out on a moving platform, stopped, and were given a bag by a robot. Then their name was written on a screen by another robot. Then the model moved again for the photo, then moved again and had sunglasses offered by another robot… That was a hyper-hyper-complicated show.

Mathias Wendzinski

What do you do during the months when it isn’t show season?

It is always Fashion Week now! But in the last few years, we’ve been asked to help with the production of photo shoots, small films for Instagram, and social content. We have a team [for that], which totally makes sense because a photo shoot is simpler in terms of the production time. We know almost organically the desires and the habits and views of certain designers and houses, so for photo shoots we aren’t conceiving anything. We’re just technically producing and organising, from the plane to the hotels to the photographs, the cars, the scouting of the landscape… So that’s something we do after the shows.

What are you working on for the rest of 2019?

I’m working on a project for a gallery in New York and a hotel with Peter Marino in Paris. And we have teams in New York and Paris who are working to find new venues all year. What I like about this story you’re going to write is that I’m able to say that Eyesight is not just Thierry – it’s Alex, Edward, Marie, Jun, Angelique, Matteo. Without them, I couldn’t think of anything. It would never happen!

When I was working on the Dover Street Market shops, people kept asking me, “When are you going to do a book about your 35 years in fashion?” But that’s something I will never do. I think there is something self-promotional in that which is weird… Because what I’ve done for Mr. Slimane belongs to Mr. Slimane, not to me. What I’ve done for Walter Van Beirendonck was for him. And whoever I’ve worked with, it doesn’t belong to me, it belongs to them.