Before the Casablanca show, Charaf Tajer stepped up to a podium in front of a microphone and electronic prompt screens, like a politician. Knowing Tajer’s propensity for creating fun, it momentarily felt as if this might be a spoof. But the set behind him should have been a harbinger: the fuselage of a Syrian fighter jet, garlanded with flowers. What Tajer had to say was no joke.
His impassioned speech about the reality behind the show deserves to be read as he delivered it:
“Last year, my friend Maya told me an incredible story about young people in Syria who risked everything to find joy. They were doing something that you would find ordinary: partying, except they weren’t trapped by the fear under bombardment. So, for them, partying was an act of courage and resistance. Inspired, I went to Damascus, and lived in the paradox where beauty and devastation coexist. I found there humanity, generosity, and relationship.It was a great reminder for me to celebrate life in all conditions. “
He took a breath and continued:
“So let’s not think of refugees as numbers, but as human beings, as equals, without any discrimination. Refugees carry so much from their past, their homes they lived in, the loved ones lost. But we have a simple choice today: to accept the tragedy, or use our platform to spread this important message. I'm not saying that fashion is the solution, and some people might say it’s just clothes. But the idea is to use our voices to shout and to do anything we can to create a better world. The purpose of this collection, it’s a piece of theater, inspired by courage, reflecting the pain and the beauty that I witnessed in the war zone. I stand here in front of you, and if I talk about it, maybe you will be touched by what you see and talk about it too.”
Casablanca is a burgeoning successful brand—the huge scale of the show production was testament to that. As Tajer promised, the clothes were, as always, about fun, optimism, and sexiness, this time with a dressed-up 1970s accent, and retro-sporty tennis and ski-wear later on. The Casablanca logo was everywhere, but not as usual. Tajer pointed out that he’d lopped off half of his monogram “so it becomes a heart.”
Tajer attempted to demilitarize the collection—even when showing a spiffy white officer’s uniform that looked as if which might have belonged to some regime of the past. “It’s almost like people who were in the war, but left it to join the party. So they keep their uniform but they only wear hearts and flowers and beauty as their medals, as a way of rejecting the normal uniform.”
Broaching an anti-war, pro-equality stance right now has all too obvious resonances with the plight of people in Ukraine, Iran, Afghanistan, Yemen, Sudan, Sri Lanka and too many more. Deliberately, the imagery Tajer used is anti-dystopian—that’s his playful, showy-offy, print-happy brand, after all. But post-show, talking talking through some of the symbolism behind the patterns—the checkerboard “like the tiles you see in Damascus and the middle East,” the splendid white heavily embroidered cloak “like Arab kings wear”—Tajer’s conversation turned much more personal.
“We dug into this Arabic culture. I never talked about this culture, that is also mine, in Casablanca. It is the first time.” He became emotional while describing the design on the (incredibly popular) Casablanca signature silk photo prints of the season. “This is inspired by the classic movies in the Arab world during the '60s. My dad was a big fan of Egyptian music.”
Tajer’s Moroccan background is right there in his brand name: Casablanca. Only now—after the experience of connecting with the resilient vitality of those young Syrian war-zone party people—has he resolved to fully own it. “It’s not easy to be an Arab, honestly, in France,” he said. “But it’s time. The more confident we are with Casablanca, the more we should speak about it, and to embrace this battle for peace.”
