Hedi Slimane can’t drive. He’d like to learn how, but he can’t find the time. While in Paris, he keeps a car and driver on call around the clock, in case he decides to go out searching for models in the early-morning hours. The car is a Jaguar. The driver wears Dior. “It would be a bit strange for him to show up in a funny suit,” Slimane said.
Slimane is distinguished from most other designers by his practice of casting unknowns or nonprofessionals for his shows. Like everyone else in the trade, he calls them “boys.” He spots them on the street or in clubs—a process that Slimane calls “boy safari.” He won’t really say what the right attributes are, and they can vary from show to show, but generally he prefers his boys tall, lean, slightly androgynous, and English. Usually, he has an assistant make the approach, but if he is alone he will do it himself. He then summons all the candidates to a photography studio and whittles them down to three or four dozen, whom he invites to Paris for fittings. Casting is a year-round job.
One day last September, Slimane was riding around Covent Garden, in London, when a lanky boy caught his eye. The boy was twirling around a lamppost, as people sometimes do in the movies. Slimane had the driver stop the car. He got out and asked the boy if he’d ever modelled and, when the answer was no, whether he’d be interested in trying. The boy’s name was Chris Ulyatt. He was eighteen years old, and it was his first day ever in London. He was from Stratford-Upon-Avon. “I just recognized a type of character,” Slimane told me later. “He was very precisely it.” Ulyatt was wary at first, fearing that this was just “some London bloke,” but he took Slimane’s card. The next day, while Slimane was riding through another neighborhood, he saw Ulyatt again, walking in the street—a coincidence that struck even Slimane, who is not an especially spiritual man, as providential. Ulyatt took the job.