Lifestyle
Haider Ackermann Leads Tom Ford Into a New Era
One evening in late January, Haider Ackermann, the new designer at Tom Ford, was tucked into a velvet banquette at La Reserve, the discreet, tryst-worthy hotel not far from the Élysée Palace in Paris. He was doing his best impression of Tom Ford, the man.
“Hello, Haider,” Mr. Ackermann purred, his voice dropping an octave and taking on a sultry tone. He was acting out a phone call he had received. “It’s Tom.” He paused to take a breath, as if he were tasting the air. “Call me,” he said, making it sound like “come here.”
Then, his voice back to normal, he added, “Of course I did.”
That was about eight months ago. It turned out Mr. Ford, who had sold the company that bears his name to Estée Lauder in 2022, had a proposition for Mr. Ackermann. After only a year, the new owners — Lauder and Ermenegildo Zegna — had decided that Mr. Ford’s immediate successor, Peter Hawkings, was not the right man for the brand.
To replace him, they had only one name on their list, “and that name was me,” Mr. Ackermann said. Though he had recently taken a job as creative director of the outdoor company Canada Goose and was in the midst of negotiations to become the designer of a big French fashion house, Mr. Ackermann started fantasizing about Tom Ford.
“I was immediately thinking about what I should do,” he said. “What I would do.”
Now, after multiple conversations with Mr. Ford, Mr. Ackermann is on the verge of introducing a new Tom Ford collection for men and women. The goal is to do what Mr. Hawkings could not and redefine Tom Ford for the post-Tom Ford era.
Mr. Ackermann has moved the fashion show to Paris from Milan and is in the process of moving the company headquarters from London. He has teased his new look on his friend Timothée Chalamet, who wore custom Tom Ford by Haider Ackermann on the red carpet at the Golden Globes in January: a skinny, rhinestone-speckled black suit with a sky blue polka-dot silk scarf slung around his neck. But he is still trying to find “the thread between what I call sensuality and what Mr. Ford called sexuality,” he said.
“The exercise is more difficult than I thought it would be,” Mr. Ackermann said, noting that he had not made a knee-length pencil skirt, a Tom Ford signature, in his entire career. But, he went on, “the man, the woman, they are not strangers to me. I know we will get together, but it takes time.”
Especially because it turns out this particular relationship is kind of a throuple.
The Ghost in the Machine
“The complexity of this story is that the house of Tom Ford is Mr. Ford,” Mr. Ackermann said. “There’s no other ambassador than Mr. Ford.” Tom Ford is his ghost in the machine.
Plenty of designers have taken over houses that still bear the names of the designers who founded them: Dior, Chanel, Givenchy, Gucci, Saint Laurent — these were all real people. That’s where the idea of brand “DNA” originates.
But at a certain point, a brand can become so divorced from its founder that the name is just an abstraction. Once enough other designers have inherited the title, it’s hard to remember that clients were once loyal to a specific silhouette or design. That opens up the possibility for new creative directors to make the house their own.
A house like Tom Ford is somewhat different. That’s because it’s only 20 years old, and, whatever his official status, Mr. Ford still seems very much around.
Founded by Mr. Ford and his business partner, Domenico De Sole, in 2005, Tom Ford-the-brand was a kind of test case: Would Mr. Ford, who had become a celebrity by remaking Gucci and creating Gucci Group (the seed of the conglomerate that eventually became Kering) before leaving in 2004 to make movies, have enough name recognition to build a label from scratch on the mere power of his stubbly, unbuttoned-shirt appeal?
The partners started by licensing fragrance (to Lauder), then eyewear and then expanded into men’s wear (with Zegna) and women’s wear. But while the beauty line became a smash hit, and the suiting did fine, the women’s line always seemed more of a red-carpet indulgence than an actual business.
Nevertheless, just over two years ago, after Mr. Ford’s husband died and he decided to focus on filmmaking (again), Estée Lauder paid $2.8 billion to buy the house, enlisting Zegna to handle the fashion side. Mr. Hawkings, who had worked with Mr. Ford for 25 years, was named designer. He was, Mr. Ford said in an Instagram post, “the perfect creative director.”
It did not take long, however, before rumor had it that Mr. Ford was not happy with comments Mr. Hawkings had made that seemed critical. The reception of Mr. Hawkings’s first collections was mixed, and Mr. Ford, in what seemed like a very public repudiation, wore Saint Laurent to last year’s Met Gala. By July, Mr. Hawkings was out. Soon after, Mr. Ford was on the phone with Mr. Ackermann.
“Mr. Ford and I, we had always been flirting with each other professionally,” Mr. Ackermann said. When Mr. Ackermann was fired from a previous job as creative director of Berluti in a designer reshuffle, Mr. Ford “wrote me such a beautiful letter,” Mr. Ackermann said. “Karl Lagerfeld was the first, and he was the second. It was so moving.”
Haider and the Big Ts
Mr. Ackermann, 52, is something of a fashion designer’s designer. A Colombian orphan who was adopted by a French couple, he spent his childhood moving around the world with his cartographer father before his parents settled in the Netherlands. He attended the Academy of Fine Arts in Antwerp but was kicked out before graduation. (If he did not feel he had anything to say to a teacher, he said, he just did not go to class.) He started his own namesake label in 2003.
His work was characterized by an extraordinary facility with color and decadent romance; he calls his aesthetic “bohemian dreamer.” At one point, Mr. Lagerfeld was enchanted enough to suggest that Mr. Ackermann succeed him at Chanel.
He spent two years at Berluti, but after a dispute with his backer, he lost control of his label and name. Though he has since regained ownership of that name, he was off the runway for a time, save for a much lauded one-off stint as a guest designer for Jean Paul Gaultier couture and the occasional custom order from his famous friends, Mr. Chalamet (whom he has been dressing since 2017) and Tilda Swinton. He calls them “the big Ts.”
As Ms. Swinton tells it, they met in 2004. He sent her a gown for the Cannes Film Festival, but he did not show up for the fittings because he had promised his partner at the time a trip to India. Later, he said, she called and invited him for a patisserie and asked him why he had not been there, and they bonded over the idea of putting relationships over business. She has worn his designs ever since, and they speak, she said, “several times a week.”
“He’s a proper romantic and proper punk, which is the best combination,” Ms. Swinton said, describing his work as “ancient and supersonic at the same time.”
Daphne Guinness, the artist and collector, said Mr. Ackermann was “a Saint Laurent for the space age.” At this point, she calculated that she had about 40 Ackermann pieces in her wardrobe, including the first four looks of his Gaultier couture collection.
During his time away from the runway, Mr. Ackermann did a collaboration with Fila. Then Canada Goose got in touch. “It was very interesting,” he said, going from “being this very niche designer to talking to thousands of people. I had never worn a parka before. Now, I love it. But somebody told me recently that it made my legs look very short.”
Mr. Ackermann has been converted to the joys of camping instead of clubbing. He is a famously good dancer — “incredible,” Ms. Swinton said — and his favorite haunt used to be a club in Rotterdam where, he said, “I was the only boy who didn’t have a shaved hair.” His last summer vacation, however, was spent in a tent in British Columbia. It’s good for perspective.
That’s when he realized that the “massive failure” of losing his own brand “brought me to today, where I understand what I do and why I’m doing it.”
Serving the House
It also brought him to Tom Ford. Gildo Zegna, the chief executive of the Ermenegildo Zegna Group (which also owns Zegna and Thom Browne), described meeting Mr. Ackermann in Paris. “We clicked,” Mr. Zegna said. “We had two long days together, walking around, sitting in the garden, and the social part, the friendly part, was as important as the business part.”
Well, that and the fact that, Mr. Zegna said, “he had the support of Tom Ford, which was very important.”
Which raises the question of what Mr. Ford was doing pulling the strings of a brand he supposedly had nothing to do with. Though Mr. De Sole is on the board of Zegna, Mr. Ford has had no official role in the company since the sale. He declined to comment for this piece, and Mr. Zegna was quick to de-emphasize his role, even as he acknowledged that Mr. Ackermann was Mr. Ford’s idea. But it further raises the stakes for Mr. Ackermann.
“The moment that you work for a house, you have to know your place,” Mr. Ackermann said. “It’s not about you. It’s about you at the service of the house.”
“I didn’t think it was going to be easy to take the role, knowing that somebody has been kicked out in a violent way,” he continued, referring to the departure of Mr. Hawkings. “I’ve been through it. I know what rejection can feel like.”
He is very careful to use the honorific “Mr.” when he speaks of Mr. Ford. (He calls him Tom when they meet in person, he said.) Even as he added: “If people are expecting hot sex, no, you will not see it from me. I don’t have that talent, to be very provocative or very avant-garde. I have different codes. I’m not there to continue exactly the past.”
No More Hot Sex
“We had an appointment in London for lunch one time,” Mr. Ackermann said, describing a meeting with Mr. Ford when they were in the wooing stages. “I arrived earlier, and when he entered the restaurant, he didn’t see me standing in the corner, so I could just observe him. The way he entered the room — the security, the audacity he had in his posture — everyone in the room was looking. It intrigued me. Perhaps, coming from a very Catholic background, I could not be this person. But perhaps, somewhere deep inside, I would like to be this person. To have that kind of freedom.”
That, Mr. Ackermann said, is what his Tom Ford man represents. As for the woman: “I don’t believe in big words like glamour and power. The power of women is not big shoulders. The power of women is what she’s got inside her, the fragility that she eventually wants to show.”
It was two weeks before the Paris show, and he was sitting in his atelier with a vase of white calla lilies behind him. “They are a little more pure than Black Orchid,” he said, referring to one of Mr. Ford’s signature perfumes. “But I think still poisonous and dangerous.” He had decided that his connection to the brand was more about his own memories than any specific silhouette.
“Like in 2012, I went to the Met Gala,” he said. “I was really nervous. I was like, ‘Oh my God, what am I going to wear?’ I’m too shy. But Anna Wintour said: ‘You’ve got no choice. You have to come.’”
So Mr. Ackermann went to a Tom Ford shop and bought a black suit with black dots. And when he was on the Met red carpet, he bumped into Mr. Ford. “He looked at me and said, ‘Oh, you look so smart,’” Mr. Ackermann said. “I was so happy. Then I realized he was not looking at me. He was looking at his suit. So obviously, you will see black dots in the show.”
There will also be knee-length skirts, though Mr. Ackermann was still “trying to find the right line that doesn’t feel too vulgar or too much secretary. I’m challenging myself for sure.”
Mr. Zegna said he believed growth would come for women’s wear, accessories and the European business. Because of the Hawkings issue, the owners are a year behind in their strategic plan. The turnaround has to happen “fast,” he said. “We have not invested to not get returns.”
That’s partly why Mr. Ackermann moved the show to Paris: to signal an ambition to compete at the highest level. Also, he said, “I don’t think Mr. Ford had the easiest time in Paris,” a reference to the period when Mr. Ford appointed himself head of Saint Laurent, to the public criticism of Pierre Bergé and Yves Saint Laurent.
“For me, it was a way to say thank you for trusting me, giving me the honor to continue your story,” Mr. Ackermann said. “I want the world to look at Tom Ford in Paris. The name deserves it, and you deserve it.”
Only 200 people are invited to the show, including Mr. Ford and Mr. De Sole. “I wanted to have something intimate,” Mr. Ackermann said. “I believe that’s what luxury is. It shouldn’t be accessible to everything and everyone. I think the world needs less of a circus. I want it to feel rich, and I want it to feel noble, but I also want it to be quiet. To command attention without screaming.”
Mr. Ackermann has scattered the collection with Easter eggs for Mr. Ford — “things,” he said, “where he will be the only one to see it.”
“If it goes wrong, it goes wrong,” he continued. “But I have no fear. If, after the 5th of March at 7:30, Mr. Ford can say, ‘I made the right choice,’ if I make Mr. Zegna and Mr. Lauder proud, then, OK. Let’s go for it. I’m going to a secret place with the team members and my friends, and we’re going to dance the hell out of it.”
Lifestyle
This Pride month, teen flicks are recasting familiar tropes with a queer sensibility
Stacy Clausen and Joe Bird in Leviticus.
NEON
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NEON
Summer movies aimed at high-schoolers — comedies, romances, horror flicks — have been a tradition for ages. Think Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Dirty Dancing and the original Friday the 13th, which all drew hot-weather crowds back in the 1980s.
This summer, the movies are queer — not just in casting, but in method and purpose. These three teen flicks transform familiar movie styles by bringing them an LGBTQ sensibility.
A raunchy comedy: She’s the He
YouTube
You know the drill: a bonkers lose-my-virginity plan is hatched by inseparable high-school best buds who are so eager to get girls to notice them, they can hardly think straight.
So, they don’t think … straight. For reasons that could only make sense to horny 17-year-olds, Ethan and Alex decide the way to catch the attention of the school’s hottest girls is to pretend to be trans.
Filmmaker Siobhan McCarthy uses that premise to tell a sweet story about Ethan (who realizes mid-scam that she really is trans), while also mocking some of the more ridiculous transphobic notions — “bathroom scare,” anyone? — that have been politically weaponized recently.
When the whole football team decides that donning women’s attire is a small price to pay to get access to the girls’ locker room, McCarthy prompts boisterous laughs while also establishing how idiotic and unlikely this scenario would be in real life. Casting trans men — say, team captain played by Emmett Preciado — as the cis male characters allows McCarthy to further poke at conservative anxieties.
As leads Alex and Ethan, Nico Carney (a sharp trans comic whose read on toxic masculinity proves hilarious), and Misha Osherovich (sweetly affecting as Ethan discovers her true self) head a terrific, mostly trans and non-binary cast. And a similarly queer team behind the camera helps make She’s the He a raucous, touching, seriously fun charmer — think Some Like It Hot meets American Pie with a Heartstopper vibe.
The romance: Girls Like Girls
YouTube
This gentle teen love story sprang from a hit song Hayley Kiyoko released in 2015. The music video that accompanied the song pictured a budding lesbian romance and has since racked up over 160 million YouTube views. In 2023, Kiyoko penned a young adult book version, which debuted at the top of bestseller lists. Now, she’s brought all of those elements together in a movie about Coley (Maya da Costa) and Sonya (Myra Molloy), two 17-year-old girls navigating a summer romance that takes both of them by surprise.
First-time filmmaker Kiyoko seems content to honor teen romance conventions in a more or less by-the-book tale of first love that has been through enough permutations to feel vaguely workshopped. Still, she’s gotten engaging performances from her leads, as well as from a supporting cast that includes Zach Braff as a loving dad, and Levon Hawke (son of Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman) as Sonya’s jealous boyfriend.
The horror thriller: Leviticus
YouTube
First-time feature writer/director Adrian Chiarella uses horror conventions in this Australian thriller to explore the trauma caused by a particularly callous strain of homophobic cruelty. The story is centered in a small mill town where high school boys Naim (Joe Bird) and Ryan (Stacy Clausen) fall for each other, only to run afoul of the conservative teachings of their religious community.
Chiarella imagines a Christian sect that has put conversion therapy on steroids, curbing queer desire with a scare-away-the-gay ritual that conjures supernatural demons. The boys smirk as church leaders conduct the ritual, but later discover that when they’re left alone, they’re attacked by murderous entities that take the form of the person they love — each other. Soon, reaching out to — even just seeing each other in school hallways fills them with anxiety. This is, of course, the design: the church leaders want them to be scared. And it will never end.
It’s a conversion therapy metaphor as apt for gay kids as the metaphor in Jordan Peele’s thriller Get Out was for victims of racial bigotry.
Breathtakingly well-crafted, Leviticus clearly has queer teen audiences in mind — all three of these films do — but not exclusively. Yes, Leviticus fills a representation gap. It’s also freakin’ scary.


Lifestyle
L.A. Affairs: Would taking a trip with this new guy finally push us out of the ‘polite’ phase?
Sometimes compatibility unfolds over long conversations at coffee shops or even on the dance floor. Mine and Fernando’s became apparent on our seventh date, standing on a dark corner in downtown L.A. After a short flight, a day at Venice Beach and the fastest glow-up ever for a mom of three, my date opened his hands, sighed and canceled the glorious evening I’d planned. It was supposed to start with a jazz club and end with a tour of late-night sushi bars, until Fernando said, “I feel like a bummer.”
I hooked my arm through the crook of his, turning back toward the empty streets and our stuffy Airbnb.
A few weeks before, on one of our first dates, I’d told Fernando I was presenting at a conference in L.A. “You should join me,” I said, half joking.
“Really?” he asked. “You don’t know me at all.”
He was right. We were in the polite phase. We bonded over being transplants to Seattle — him from the Dominican Republic, me from Florida, but we were still figuring out the basics. I hadn’t learned yet that he never touches coffee but totally loves cake, my least favorite treat. And for me, espresso is a daily requirement.
Fernando didn’t say yes to my invitation right away. We continued to date, playing the questions game. “What’s your favorite snack?” he asked me.
“Mole tacos,” I said. “What’s your biggest flaw?”
“Follow through,” he said. “Yours?”
“I’m annoyingly persistent.”
“Perfect match,” he said.
The more we talked, the more we realized that our shortcomings, which made us look like exact opposites, came from the same root. His father had been barely present during childhood, and my father had died when I was a teenager. We both wrestled with trying to find agency inside of moments in our adult lives that felt like abandonment. Although we’d each been in therapy for years before we met, we also struggled to deal with disappointment.
“Maybe we should go on this wild trip together,” he said.
“Make-it-or-break-it style,” I said.
When we stepped through the door of our downtown L.A. Airbnb after a long, hot day walking the boardwalk, we had our first chance to manage a letdown, together.
“I think people actually live here,” he said.
“Like it’s 2015,” I said.
We’d made a commitment before we flew out to keep things light. If one of us complained, the other was supposed to say something fun. But the apartment was muggy, the surfaces covered in dust. We made exaggerated, positive comments about the vintage decor as I waited for the water to warm in a huge, clawfoot tub.
Fernando said something about getting in while the shower was still cold, so we could preserve water for the good people of California. I noted the fatherly tone — and realized I probably seemed wasteful for resisting the chilly stream during a drought.
While I bathed, he shaved. Then we switched. “I feel shy but not shy,” Fernando said, and I agreed. I wondered if this would be the first of many small, sweet moments — or if it was the only time we’d ever share this kind of intimacy.
We were finally ready for our night on the town, but we only walked six blocks before Fernando turned to me and told me that he was too tired to keep going.
“I owe you,” he said, as we walked back, but I was wiped too and relieved he said it first.
“What if we do something different and call it exciting?” I asked.
We talked about the absolute thrill of ordering takeout in a city that was 30 degrees warmer than the one where we both lived, listing every little thing that was totally amazing around us. All those closed-down garages that would open in the morning selling fabric? Gorgeous.
The dark streetlights on one side of the road that made the shadows look like a modern noir film? Fabulous.
The fact that we were about to fall asleep in the same city as dozens of celebrities we both adored? Relatively meaningless but still badass.
As we ate our to-go sushi in downtown L.A., I realized I wasn’t disappointed at all. My drive to follow through was all about the mission, and our mission had changed. Instead of wooing my new date with a super swanky night on the town, I had the opportunity to connect with him in a real way.
Our trip to L.A. had become a kind of test, way more intense than agreeing on a sofa or building an IKEA shelf. We were stuck spending time with each other without performing, in a strange city, for days.
After I presented at the conference the next morning, Fernando and I moved to a new rental in the Hollywood Hills, where we found our way to endless taco stands and two speakeasies, Good Times at Davey Wayne’s and Adults Only. The only landmark we saw was Muscle Beach, and the only quintessential L.A. thing we did was accidentally find ourselves in front of the Last Bookstore an hour before we needed to head to the airport, so we spent that hour walking around inside.
“Let’s keep traveling,” we said to each other on the way home.
Seven years and dozens of trips later, I engraved “I will travel with you” on the inside of our wedding rings. The night before our wedding, we stood together in a tiny bathroom in his sister’s house in the Dominican Republic, washing our faces. I looked at him in the mirror. He turned and looked at me. “I’m really glad you invited me to Los Angeles,” he said.
“It was a risk,” I said, “and the best trip ever.”
The city isn’t ours, but it made us who we are, together.
The author is a journalist and illustrator working on a memoir about Florida. She splits her time between her Seattle, L.A. and the Deep South. Her Instagram is @adjsbb and website is AshaDore.net.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
Lifestyle
What does freedom actually look like? : It’s Been a Minute
What freedom looks like today.
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What does freedom mean today?
Happy Juneteenth! For those not in the know, today commemorates when U.S. federal troops arrived in Galveston, Texas in 1865 to take control of the state and ensure that all enslaved people were freed – a full two and a half years after the signing of the Emancipation Proclamation. Since then, Juneteenth has been celebrated all over the country, especially in Texas and across the South, where Juneteenth parades, cookouts, festivals and pageants happen every year. Two weeks from now, the country will celebrate the Fourth of July – and its 250th anniversary. For many Black Americans, there’s always been a tension between these holidays – and their two different ideals for what it means to be free. As voting rights protections are rolled back and Black history is being scrubbed from government websites, what does freedom look like for Black Americans today?
To get into it, Brittany is joined by Dr. Kellie Carter Jackson, chair of Africana Studies at Wellesley College.
For more episodes about the quality of Black life in America, check out:
Jesse Jackson & the end of the civil rights superhero
Is the economy slowing? Ask Black women.
What to expect when you’re expecting racism
Support Public Media. Join NPR Plus.
Follow Brittany on Instagram: @bmluse
For handpicked podcast recommendations every week, subscribe to NPR’s Pod Club newsletter at npr.org/podclub.
This episode was produced by Corey Antonio Rose and Liam McBain. It was edited by Neena Pathak. We had engineering support from Josephine Nyounai. Our Supervising Producer is Cher Vincent. Our Executive Producer is Barton Girdwood. Our VP of Programming is Yolanda Sangweni.
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