There are numerous equestrian paintings, including, of course, those by the painter Alfred de Dreux—the very artist who conceived the famous “duke in a carriage” that became the Hermès logo—as well as a depiction of the King of Bavaria and a vast panoramic scene captured in Hyde Park. “You’ll notice: the horses are always in motion,” De Bazelaire points out to me. It’s true: except on the top floor, where a young Scotsman sits motionless in a room reminiscent of Émile Hermès’s office. Open by appointment only, the room reveals, in addition to this painting, stirrups from South America, a plaster cast of a sculpture of Lady Godiva, a telescoping fork, a collection of keys set against a backdrop of braided horsehair, and even a pair of shoes belonging to the son of Napoleon III and Empress Eugénie, who took refuge after the fall of the empire at Camden Place, about twenty kilometers south of London.
A jukebox and astronomical charts by a German Jesuit
Everything here is ingenious. There are double and triple meanings, a portrait that could be that of the writer Alfred de Musset (an allusion, Menehould de Bazelaire explains to me, to the Romantic period that saw the birth of Hermès), an extraordinary three-quarter-length crocodile-skin jacket, sneakers, and a spectacular jukebox from the Special Collections department. In the fitting rooms of the men’s section—or rather, the space reserved for them—astronomical illustrations by the German Jesuit Athanasius Kircher have been hung on the walls, not far from the drawings of a certain John Lewis Brown who, contrary to what his name might suggest, was indeed 100% French. Just like the signature pyrotechnician, brandishing his two flags—which are actually squares—into the London sky.
The genius of “low key”
Add to that the nearly invisible details, such as the three shades of Rouge H in the three rooms dedicated to leather goods, and you’ll get a sense of the sheer subtlety of this space—one that’s radically different from anything the luxury world has ever produced.
More than just a boutique, this house is an invitation to wander—an adventure straight out of Alice in Wonderland—with its mezzanines, corridors, and even a fully restored Victorian-era elevator. As Montel said, “We’re building here on strong cultural affinities, but also on an idea of English eclecticism and eccentricity”—the giant flowers in the fragrance area speak for themselves.
This air of whimsy carried into an evening celebration in Fulham. In a lush park, Hermès had set up stands featuring cricket, French and English cheeses, and a “real-fake” pub. On the massive mast around which the performers—dancers, actors, and “real-fake” hikers—took the stage stood, naturally, a boxwood horse. And while one had rarely seen so many Birkin and Kelly bags gathered in one place, the mood was decidedly focused on something other than a display of power or that panegyric to celebrity that has become the industry norm. At Hermès, they’re content to speak of the genius of “low-key.”
