In Haider We Hope

The role of a fashion designer is one usually forged in chaos and fired down by “creative differences”. But on the eve of a new Tom Ford directorship, Haider Ackermann has never felt more free.

- MURRAY CLARK

"I love living in Paris," he says, rolling his eyes and grinning. "For God's sake, I am French. In Paris you can disappear; I don't have that sense in other cities. You always meet people, bump into people. But here? That doesn't happen at all." He looks out of the window, pausing for a moment to admire the crisp September sunlight like a very happy cat. "I love to bike around early in the morning at 6am and discover new streets and new angles and new corners. It's amazing."

Paris, with its hellish traffic, doesn't seem like the most obvious place of monastic peace. But for someone like Ackermann, to go incognito is a gift. The fashion designer has a name that commands almost universal respect in an industry prone to mob mentality-grab your digital pitchforks, brothers, a creative director has choked. Not so with Ackermann. Everyone seems to like him. Even the mean ones in the fashion press corps like him. But more importantly, everyone is excited by him-now more than ever. After taking the reins of Canada Goose in May, he's just been officially appointed the successor to the Tom Ford throne. "I've been... working," Ackermann says, not-so-fresh from a NewYork-to-Paris red eye. Still, despite the lack of sleep, his face cracks into a wry, barely there smile. He cuts a warm figure that belies a Google Image search, which nets a collection of serious greyscale portraits. He is blessed with cherubic black curls and impressive angles. He smiles a lot. He leans in conspiratorially. Ackermann moves my espresso towards me, an open palm silently gesturing for me to enjoy: "Yes, quite busy lately."