By the time other children were playing hide-and-seek in their grandparents’ backyard and barn, I was going to my grandfather Ludovic and hiding under his work table until he came and took out the cloths from the wardrobe. He invited me with a shake of his head to bring my stool and get as close as possible to his tailor table, "to help him keep the fabric straight". Now I know it was just a pretext to see the joy in my eyes when I was feeling the fabric with my fingers and watch him transform it in the perfect suit.

He stretched out the cloth on the table, always measuring it twice with the red tailor's meter standing permanently at his neck, drawing a contour with a piece of chalk, scissoring, crossing and cutting. He rubbed the fabric with a cloth above it, not to spoil his texture, then started the Singer, checked his bulb and thread, and started the work. The machine was singing, my grandfather Ludovic smiled, and I was drawing with the chunk on the remaining material, dreaming patterns. Then the profound satisfaction of my grandfather when his client tried his suit and one could see the happiness and deep pride in his eyes.

I grew up understanding the simplicity of elegance right from her heart. Sir Ludovic means the metamorphosis of a chosen material and its perfection in a unique ludovic – out of respect for a vocational craft with deep roots.