It is now Ackermann’s responsibility to synthesize that yearning for a new generation.
“I don’t want to imitate his legacy, because nostalgia is not for me,” he says of Ford. Many have already mined Ford’s design vernacular, few with the original gusto. “I need to make it breathe in a certain way, in a new way,” Ackermann says.
In an industry landscape where runway shows are ambitious cinematic productions and collections oftentimes feel like they are pandering to the internet for virality, Ackermann wants his Tom Ford to make the argument for discretion. “The voices are loud outside,” he says. “I just want it to be this discreet, silent, but silence doesn’t mean boring. Silence sometimes has more force than loudness,” he continues. “Discretion is elegance, and that’s what we need.”
Ackermann says he likes to sit at bars or bistros and watch people passing in front of him. “It’s my theater,” he says.
If Tom Ford as envisioned by the man himself felt like the most glamorous of nights out, Ackermann considers his iteration of the brand the liminal space that follows.
“It has always been about the night, and trust me, I had my wild days,” he says, but he is getting older, “and the morning after always fascinates me more than the event itself,” he says.
Following the show, photographer Sebastián Faena met Ackermann and his entourage for a portrait sitting. With the help of a few martinis and flutes of champagne, the raucous lineup of friends, muses, and confidantes sat still long enough to take the portrait accompanying this story.
“I am the original waif!” Moss jokingly said as she and Kristen McMenamy battled for the spotlight. McMenamy stood, front and center, to a grunt from Moss. Moss took her place next to Ackermann, who swept her off her feet, leaving one of her stilettos behind. “You’ll end up in the gutter!” McMenamy joked—she meant the fold of the magazine. (But did she?)
