LUXOMANIA, Confessions of a salesgirl in the secret world of luxury.

MEMORIES

I worked in advertising for ten years before becoming totally disillusioned with the environment. Bored with client meetings where everyone spoke just to be heard, exhausted from always looking for new ideas, doing, redoing, then undoing layouts until the wee hours of the morning, frustrated with my creative director who, dressed in Dolce & Gabbana from head to toe and skin fried from too many UVs, kept saying to me all day long: "Do you know what I mean?" Just thinking about that world still makes me nauseous today, and everything relating to it infuriates me. I spent countless hours on advertising campaigns for all sorts of perfumes, miraculous anti-wrinkle creams, shimmering lipsticks and energizing shampoos. I went through the entire encyclopedia of cosmetics.

My creative director, who lived in New York, travelled only first class and the Air France staff always celebrated his birthday on board. It became his second home. In Paris, Hotel Costes was his pied-à-terre. We often had work meetings in his suite, took advantage of room service or the pool when he came from a massage session, wrapped in his robe, his toes painted in metallic blue nail polish. Money flowed and the agency spared no expense. But then the crisis hit and clients became increasingly rare. Travelling on the Concorde quickly gave way to long-haul flights. No more Cannes Lions Festival of Creativity, endless expense accounts, bonuses, gifts... No more room service, nothing at all. The company went bankrupt.