The big names in French luxury are famous the world over. But Paris is also home to dozens of hidden treasures—artisans working without fanfare in small companies that have long crafted exquisite products, sometimes for generations.

P A R I S . Those five letters, evenly spaced and subtly printed beneath a company’s name, have for decades been among the most powerful marketing tools in the world. For consumers from New York to New Zealand, “Made in Paris” implies not only consummate style but also quality craftsmanship in clothing, jewelry, leather goods, silverware and a host of other products. During World War II, Woolworth heiress Barbara Hutton was reputedly so starved for Parisian flair that she hopped on the first postwar commercial flight to the city and headed straight for her favorite boutiques.
    “Paris has always been the capital of luxury and art de vivre,” says Hélène Desprez, the impassioned director of Signé Paris, an association of some 50 small businesses perpetuating the French capital’s glittering reputation. “This city is famous for unique and exceptional products, yet few people are familiar with the highly skilled artisans who craft them. Many of them possess a rare savoir-faire that has been passed down from generation to generation.” Desprez worries that these “national treasures,” as she calls them, may soon disappear.
    Already, industrialization, globalization and changing lifestyles have put some of them on the endangered species list. Consider La Forme, one of only two remaining formiers-sculpteurs in Paris. Owner Laurent Ré, who works in his small atelier near the Place Vendôme carving blocks for fabulous hats made by the world’s top fashion designers, remembers a time when there were at least a dozen competitors in his quartier alone. “In the early 1960s, six of us worked in this shop,” he recalls. “Now I work alone.”
    “The big luxury companies—Louis Vuitton, Hermès, Christofle, Baccarat—can operate on a global basis without any problem,” says Jean-Louis Jamet, president of both Signé Paris and the central Paris section of the Chamber of Commerce and Industry. “Signé Paris was created in 1997 to help the smaller businesses.”
    A joint initiative sponsored by Paris’s Chamber of Commerce, City Hall and Chambre des Métiers, Signé Paris seeks out creative talents that produce their goods in France and are committed to passing along their skills to future generations. Members include jewelers and tailors, silversmiths and billiard makers, ironsmiths and bookbinders.... “Although very different, their concerns and problems are often the same,” says Jamet. “We’re here to assist them with export issues, media relations and networking. We also make them more aware of the many business services available through the Chamber of Commerce—we want them to realize that they are not alone.”
    Desprez admits that limited resources (she works alone) have limited their ambitions, and that for the time being the focus is on providing members with greater visibility. “Marketing is a real challenge for small companies,” she explains. “In the past, clients simply came to them, and in fact many still do. But most of these high-end artisans must now rely on an international clientele, and that is something you have to cultivate.” Janrys, one of the last remaining ébénistes in France capable of faithfully reproducing intricate 18th-century furniture, is typical. “We know that marketing is important and we do what we can,” says owner Yolanda Amata. “But every minute that my husband spends attending trade shows or on other promotions is time taken away from his furniture making, and that is our livelihood.”
     To help remedy the situation, Desprez has set up a Signé Paris Web site (signe-paris.com) and is in the process of posting brief descriptions and photos of member companies with links to their sites—if they have one. “You have to understand, many of these artisans don’t even have a shop window let alone a media kit or a Web site!” She also organizes various high-profile events. Last year, she asked members to create a Paris monument using their particular craft and then organized a display of their works at the Viaduc des Arts. The public—and the press—delighted in discovering such extraordinary creations as a crocodile handbag in the shape of the Louvre Pyramid dreamed up by leather maker Formes et Jeux, and a shagreen (stingray-skin) replica of the Vendôme column created by L’Atelier du Bracelet, known for its exquisite watchbands.
    To encourage networking, Desprez organizes monthly dinners where members can meet and exchange information. Pierre-Antoine Gailly, president and CEO of the Moulin Rouge, attends regularly and gladly makes his business and management expertise available to other members. “I joined Signé Paris after it became part of my responsibility as a vice-president of the Chamber of Commerce,” he explains. “Our membership may seem like something of a stretch, but the Moulin Rouge has been a fixture of Parisian art de vivre since 1889, and several of our suppliers are members. The more I learned about Signé Paris companies, the more I became passionate about what they do and wanted to help in whatever way I could.”
    Desprez undauntedly looks forward to the day when Signé Paris can also be instrumental in establishing new educational programs and in changing laws regulating how Paris businesses are sold or bequeathed—issues that come up time and again in discussions with these companies. “About a third of our members already offer training programs,” she explains. “Obviously, they know that passing along their savoir-faire is key to the future of their métiers.”
    Christiane and Philippe Andrieux, co-owners of the Maison du Vitrail, remember that when they studied stained-glass making at Paris’s Ecole des Métiers d’Art back in the early 1970s, they were the only two students in France to receive national degrees in their field. “The industry was in a major slump,” recalls Philippe. “The end of the postwar reconstruction boom coupled with the oil crisis was devastating—there were only about 20 ateliers left in France, down from some 250 a decade earlier.”
    The young couple nevertheless launched their own company a year or so after graduation and almost immediately began taking on apprentices. A few years later they co-wrote a book explaining how to make and restore stained glass. “That was considered heresy,” laughs Philippe. “Back then, glassmakers were very secretive—they felt we’d betrayed the industry.” Undeterred, they continued to push for training programs on local, national and European levels, and their efforts have resulted in the establishment of several degree programs. “I spend as much time on that as I do running my business,” he says. “If young people don’t learn this craft, it will die out.”
    The other major risk to these companies’ survival is inheritance issues. Mellerio dits Meller, the posh jeweler on the rue de la Paix, has been a family business for 14 generations, and current CEO François Mellerio hopes that he won’t be the last of the line. “Studies have shown that family businesses tend to function better than others, yet hefty inheritance taxes are making it increasingly difficult to pass a business along to your children,” he laments. “The result is that some of Paris’s best companies are being sold to foreign investors, whose interests and priorities are sometimes very different.”
    Raymond Massaro has a different kind of problem—he has no children. So after more than 50 years of handcrafting shoes for wealthy individuals and haute-couture houses, he decided to work out a deal with long-time client Chanel. “They bought my business last year, but I can continue working here as long as I like,” he explains. “At least now I have the peace of mind of knowing that when I retire or if something happens to me, my life’s work will go on.”

Furniture maker Henri Amata can be forgiven for occasionally indulging in a bit of nostalgia. After all, he has spent most of his life working on the rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine, Paris’s furniture-making hub since the 15th century, when Louis XI exempted artisans here from the authority of the powerful guilds.
    As Paris grew, so did business, and by the late 17th century, there were some 500 workshops in this district, which extends from the Place de la Bastille to the Place de la Nation. Among them were some of the greatest names in French cabinetmaking; the exquisitely crafted furnishings they turned out for royal palaces and lavish residences are now in museums throughout the world.
    Ironically, the faubourg has also traditionally been a hotbed for revolutionaries, and in 1789, their political triumphs led to their own economic ruin as clients lost their fortunes, their heads or both. The industry managed to survive, however, and in 1850 still represented about a third of all local artisans. During the century that followed, business flourished, with workers skillfully adapting to new styles, technologies and consumer habits.
    Amata’s uncle Benoît, a furniture maker from Italy, moved to the Faubourg Saint-Antoine in 1914. “After the death of my father, who was also a furniture maker, I decided to go to work for my uncle,” relates Amata. That was in 1947, and the 18-year-old was soon absorbed into the Italian community concentrated near the Place de la Nation.
    Amata’s uncle eventually retired and moved away, and within a few years Amata and his wife, Yolande, decided to launch their own business. “We opened Janrys in May ’68—not exactly what you would call good timing!” he laughs. Janrys nonetheless managed to become one of the most prominent furniture makers in Paris, producing impeccable copies of 17th- and 18th-century French furniture, considered the pinnacle of the art form. Yet while Amata is pleased to have done well, he regrets the good old days—just 20 years ago, really—when the entire courtyard behind his shop was occupied by other members of his profession. “Now we’re the only ones left,” he says, “except for a fellow who does restoration work.”
    Janrys’s main showroom is on the street, with another off the courtyard, near the workshops. One of these is piled high with wooden planks and sheets of veneer cut from exotic woods. “Rents here are really much too high to be using this space for storage,” he admits good-naturedly. “But if we moved to the suburbs, we’d lose our clients.” Next door, two of his four employees are busy making hand-carved paneling and bookcases for a client’s library. “You can’t stay in business today making only furniture,” he explains. “So we do some very high-end custom cabinetry as well. We also do restoration work, which represents about 15 percent of our business.”
    Across the courtyard is yet another room, this one full of menacing-looking saws and blades. Amata, who sacrificed a fingertip to his craft, considers himself lucky. One of his long-time employees lost seven fingers during his years on the job—which goes a long way toward explaining why Yolande wouldn’t let their son, Jean-Philippe, take up his father’s métier.
    Amata long ago mastered every stage of furniture making, but marquetry has remained his passion. He is currently working on a copy of the 18th-century “Table des Muses,” now displayed in the Trianon at Versailles. The inlaid tabletop, a graceful depiction of two young women with an astrolabe surrounded by decorative flourishes, required 20 different kinds of wood delicately cut into some 100 pieces. To achieve the necessary chromatic nuances for such complex designs, Amata either tints the veneers or dips them into hot sand, creating subtle shading effects. As impressive as this table is, Amata has executed other pieces requiring as many as 100 different kinds of wood. “The most beautiful woman in the world could walk in while I’m doing this work,” he jokes, “and I simply wouldn’t have time for her!”
    With prices ranging from about $2,000 for an inlaid nightstand to $100,000 for a Louis XIV desk, Janrys increasingly relies on an international clientele. Architects and decorators throughout the world know their way to the rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine, but it is now more important than ever to cultivate new clients. Jean-Philippe, who along with his mother takes care of management and sales, is in the process of setting up a Web site, which should help somewhat. “There is still a big market for this style of furniture,” observes Amata. “But the problem is that a lot of people today don’t know the difference between quality copies like ours and cheap knock-offs made in China.”
    Now 75, he still has no successor in mind—a subject that sets his wife off on a tirade against France’s new 35-hour work week and what she sees as the declining work ethic. “My husband still works 80 hours a week!” she exclaims. “And in our building, I’m known as ‘Madame Closed Shutters’ because I’m never home. We love our life even if it’s demanding, but most people today just don’t want to work as much as we do.”
Janrys, 89/91 rue du Fg Saint-Antoine, 11^e. Tel. 33/1-43-43-11-96; Fax 33/1-43-43-00-28; janrys.com.

Raymond Massaro has had his hands on the most beautiful and famous feet in the world. And from the looks of the new thigh-high velvet boots he’s crafting for Chanel, he’s had his hands on a lot more than feet. He will not comment, though, beyond a sly smile and bemused twinkle in his eye.
    Discretion is of course de rigueur for those who cater to haute couture and the world’s glitterati. Massaro will, however, admit that during his 56-year career, he has handcrafted shoes for the likes of Marlene Dietrich, the Duchess of Windsor, Claudia Schiffer, Morocco’s King Hassan and fashion houses from Vionnet to Alaïa. One can only imagine what other famous feet have climbed the stairs to this dusty second-floor atelier on the rue de la Paix.
    It’s the same cluster of rooms where Massaro’s relatives, immigrant shoemakers from Italy, set up shop in 1894. Today the front rooms are crammed with row upon row of models displayed on lasts. There is every type of fabric, color and style imaginable, from demure pumps to outrageously high platform sandals. Tucked in among them are the designs that have made Massaro famous: the “ballerine” created for Madame Grès in 1955, the slingback pump with contrasting toe fashioned for Chanel in 1957, the Pope’s red mules and a pair of impossibly high pumps with heels carved into the shape of a woman’s derrière and legs. Massaro designed them for Alaïa in 1992 and still chuckles when he shows them off.
    He talks about his long career with the detached calm of someone who has seen it all. “Things were very different when I started in 1947,” he says. “Fashions changed less quickly, and women dressed up more and wanted a pair of shoes to match every outfit. Usually, they were made out of the same fabric as the dress.” Those were the days when Barbara Hutton would order a hundred pairs at once, and Mona Bismarck would order three identical pairs for the same soirée. “She used to say that valets just weren’t what they used to be, so she needed several pairs in case one was soiled during the course of the evening,” recalls Massaro.
     That was before May ’68 and women’s lib put the nix on elegance—especially the ostentatious kind. But rather than go into ready-to-wear, Massaro instead cultivated his haute-couture clientele—his partnership with Chanel notably became one of the most successful in fashion history. “My father used to have 300 customers, and I now have about 3,000,” he reveals. “But I still make fewer shoes than he did.”
    Although society and fashion have changed considerably during the past half century, the techniques used in the Massaro workshop are still much the same. Here, 10 employees sculpt lasts in the shape of clients’ feet (“left and right feet are never the same”), then cut patterns, assemble the upper shoe, then the sole. It takes at least 10 years of training and 40 hours of work to make a pair of Massaro shoes, which start at €2,000 a pair.
    Comfort is of course an integral part of the design process, and Massaro confides that the secret to great heels is not so much the height but the proper arch. But he insists that his most valuable savoir-faire comes into play well before he even begins to design a shoe. “I dress a woman’s head, not her feet,” he likes to say. “What’s most important is to understand why she wants a particular pair of shoes. A heavyset woman once came to me asking for heels that I thought would be too high for her. ‘Look,’ she said, and she sat down and lifted her skirt, showing off very attractive crossed legs. I immediately understood that she wanted these shoes to seduce.”
    Massaro’s talents have won him considerable fame and so many accolades and awards that one is tempted to ask what he considers his greatest accomplishment. His answer is immediate: “I have earned my father’s name,” he beams.
Massaro, 2 rue de la Paix, 1^er. Tel. 33/1-42-61-00-29; Fax 33/1-42-61-19-55.

It certainly looks incongruous, displayed among the glittering silver and jewels in the tony Mellerio dits Meller shop on the rue de la Paix. Yet owner François Mellerio is probably more attached to this beat-up wooden trunk than he is to any of the sparkling rings, diadems or other treasures in his famous jewelry store.
    A card set atop the old trunk explains that it once belonged to Jean-Marie Mellerio, who while still a teenager decided to hang out in front of the gates to Versailles and peddle his jewelry to passing nobles. According to company archives, the enterprising young man caught the attention of Marie-Antoinette, who granted him permission to sell his goods on the palace grounds. It was a major breakthrough for the Mellerios, but it certainly wasn’t the beginning of their story.
    For that, you have to go back another two hundred years or so, to 1613 to be exact. At the time, a young Italian chimney sweep working at the Louvre palace overheard talk of a plot to assassinate young King Louis XIII. The incident was reported, and a grateful Marie de Médicis put Paris’s Lombard community—from which the chimney sweep hailed—under her protection. They were granted permission “to carry and sell cut crystal, hardware and other small merchandise,” a privilege that would be renewed by every French king until 1781.
    Jean-Marie’s access to Versailles would prove decisive for the family business. He soon cultivated a regal clientele and by 1789—yes, the year of the French Revolution—was able to open a shop on the Left Bank. The timing wasn’t especially auspicious, but it didn’t seem to set back the Mellerios for long. Soon they were taking orders from Empress Joséphine, and in 1815 became the first business to set up shop on the new rue de la Paix, just off the Place Vendôme (the statue of Louis XIV—and the column that replaced it after it was destroyed by revolutionaries—together form the company logo).
    The 19th century was a golden one for Mellerio dits Meller (literally “the Mellerios known as the Mellers”—like many Italian immigrants, they had Frenchified their name). The politics of the period made for excellent business, but the resourceful Mellerios managed to keep busy even during the 1848 revolution, when they opened branches in Baden-Baden and Madrid.
    “A company as old as ours is no stranger to change,” smiles François Mellerio, 60, the appropriately handsome and elegant gentleman who now heads the last family-owned jewelry business in France. “In the 18th century, for example, it was customary for men to give their mistresses ‘une poire pour la soif,’ meaning a jewel they could sell if they fell on hard times. Obviously, things have changed. My father used to say that women going into the workplace was the ruin of our industry!”
    Indeed, lifestyles have probably evolved more during François Mellerio’s lifetime than during the nearly four centuries separating him from the chimney sweep. “People live very differently today, and they have a lot more choices when it comes to spending and investing their money,” he says. While the company still makes the kind of opulent and brilliantly crafted jewelry sets that have earned it space in museums from the Louvre to the Met, much of their business is now engagement rings. And in addition to the ornate sterling silver pieces that were once showered upon every newlywed from a wealthy family, they now make silverplate objects designed for those seeking the ultimate in tasteful gift giving. The cocktail shaker graced with a deer head, for example, is the perfect hostess gift for those long hunting weekends in the country.
    Mellerio has also diversified its line to include sports trophies (including that massive cup we see hoisted at the closing of the French Open), swords for Académie Française members and objets d’art. Among the works showcasing the breadth of their savoir-faire are the Horses and Musicians series. Each figure is set in rock crystal and made entirely of precious stones, metals and jewels—and requires some 400 hours of labor. Some of the work is done with lasers, a technique that would have been unthinkable just a decade ago.
    Perhaps most indicative of this venerable company’s talent for keeping abreast—if not ahead—of the times is its new series of watches. In this most competitive of markets, Mellerio has come up with a distinctive egg-shaped face that comes in styles ranging from sporty to black-tie. Has the shape been patented? “Of course,” replies Mellerio politely, remembering that few people can imagine what it means to be the 14th generation to carry on a successful business.
Mellerio dits Meller, 9 rue de la Paix, 2^e. Tel. 33/1-42-61-57-53; mellerio.fr.

A discreet brass plaque at the street entrance is the only sign indicating Lorenzo Ré’s workshop. Inside the large double doors, a small staircase leads to a modest reception area; just beyond is one of those secret Paris places that are disappearing faster than you can say c’est dommage.
    Bathed in aquatic light filtered through a pitched glass roof, Ré stands at his well-worn work table, carving blocks for fabulous hats that will grace the heads of models, mothers of the bride and society ladies—and turn the heads of all who see them. This humble workshop, with its worn wood floors, bare plaster walls and film of fine sawdust, seems an unlikely birthplace for such extravagant millinery. And the unassuming Ré is the last person you would imagine dreaming up such fantastic creations.
    His prolific imagination in fact generates some 150 different models for each couture collection. Dior, Givenchy, Saint-Laurent and others purchase Ré’s blocks and produce the hats themselves, selecting their own fabric, trim and so on. Their business accounts for about 80 percent of his activity; the other 20 percent comes from executing couturiers’ own designs.
    One of these is British milliner extraordinaire Phillip Treacy. Their collaboration has resulted in Brancusi-like forms that are works of art in themselves. Many, in fact, were exhibited at the 2001 Venice Biennale. “I produced one design for him that weighed 80 kilos!” says Ré in his lilting Italian accent. Amazingly, such massive blocks are the basis for Treacy’s light-as-air, evanescent confections.
    Ré works mostly with linden, a soft wood that withstands heat and humidity and lends itself to sculpting. Thick planks with the bark still attached are stored in his back room, where he saws them into rough blocks. “It’s getting harder and harder to find linden, because it’s not a tree that’s grown to be harvested,” he says. “But Versailles lost about 700 in the big storm of 1999, so now I have plenty!”
    To appreciate Ré’s craft, it is helpful to know that most hats are now produced industrially using two aluminum molds. “A sheet of felt or woven straw is placed between them, and they are pressed together. That takes about two minutes,” he explains. “It’s fast and cheap, but there are a lot of limitations. You can’t use many of the better fabrics—good felt, for example, will be crushed and become shiny. And you can’t make complicated shapes.”
    The process involving wooden hat blocks is very different, with wet fabric molded over the block and left to dry for at least two or three hours. To demonstrate how he achieves complex shapes, Ré pulls out a block for a judge’s hat, a model that is wider at the top of the crown than at the bottom. “If the block were in one piece, you wouldn’t be able to remove it once the fabric had dried,” he says. “As you see, this one is made of pieces that fit together like a puzzle; once you remove the piece in the middle, you can take out the others without damaging the hat.”
    Ré began studying sculpture at age 12, and displayed alongside his forms is an intricately carved replica of an Indian palace. “I did that when I was about 14,” he says shyly. “I copied it from a postcard.” How long does it take to become a formier? “Oh, you can do the easy shapes after about two years,” he replies. “I’m still learning to do the complicated ones!” His biggest challenge to date was a model that required five different interlocking blocks. “That one took me two weeks.”
    As for Ré’s tremendous creativity, he says he finds ideas everywhere—in the wrinkle of a shirtsleeve, the shape of a flower or fruit. All his designs—along with those by his uncle and other family members who worked here before him—are collected in 10 small notebooks unceremoniously stored in the back room among the woodpile. He flips to sketches from the 1960s, the golden age of millinery. “Back then, a single couturier would order 50 copies of the same block. Today, they order at most two or three.”
    Ré points out that when he joined the atelier in 1966, there were six other artisans. Then in the 1970s, hats began to decline in popularity. “For the past 20 years, I’ve worked alone,” he says a bit wistfully. “And I still haven’t found anyone who can take over when I retire.”
La Forme, 15 rue Paul-Lelong, 2^e. Tel. 33/1-42-60-05-06; Fax 33/1-42-60-44-01.

Christian Chassagnon was just looking for a business, but what he found was a passion. “A couple of years ago, I decided to buy my own company,” he explains. “I had been in tourism, but the company I worked for changed hands several times, and I was tired of the upheaval. I began looking for something in my field but then stumbled on this place and couldn’t pass it by.”
    If Chassagnon has any regrets, they certainly don’t show. He moves excitedly around his showroom, gesturing to the display cases holding the handles, knobs, locks, espagnolette bolts and other hardware that decorate some of the world’s best-dressed windows and doors. A veritable kid in a candy store, he pulls open drawer after drawer of intricately sculpted door handles. There is every style imaginable: Gothic, all the Louis, Empire, Art Nouveau, Art Deco, Chinese, Moorish.... “We have about 3,000 different models,” he says. “Rémy Garnier was founded in 1831, and this is our historical legacy.”
    Whatever style customers eventually select, Rémy Garnier can make coordinated hardware for every door and window in their house—or château or palace—from the porte cochère to les toilettes. Unlike standard hardware, these pieces are cast in bronze, using the same techniques employed for making statues and other works of art. But that is only the beginning of the process. Cast pieces are then turned over to engravers, who use small chasing hammers and dozens of different punches to create delicate patterns. It can take two hours to complete a single three-inch hinge cover—which begins to explain why door handles sell for €100 to €300 apiece.
    While the engravers tap tap tap in one room, other employees handcraft and assemble locks, fit various pieces together so they function smoothly, dip bronze items into baths of gold, silver or nickel.... “There are seven different jobs here, and not all of them require a lot of training,” explains Chassagnon. “But several of my 35 employees are incredibly skilled artisans. I have one fellow who has been doing work for Versailles for 40 years—curators call him when they have a question about the château’s history.”
    These men and women are justifiably proud of their work, all the more so in that they realize that theirs is a disappearing craft—only about three other companies in France are capable of turning out similar quality. Will Rémy Garnier continue to be one of the rare survivors? Chassagnon says that for now, his business is healthy, with an annual turnover of €4.5 million in 2002, about two-thirds of it generated by foreign sales. “We did two palaces in Morocco last year, but normally only about half our business is from outside of France. Here, we do mostly restoration work. No one in France, except foreigners, is building new châteaux or palaces.”
    Although Rémy Garnier has always taken a “let the customers come to us” attitude, Chassagnon is now participating in trade shows and thinking of other ways to promote his company. “It may sound strange, but my biggest concern these days is positioning this business for its future 20 or 30 years from now. Several of my best people will be retired by then, and I have to start now if I want to have employees with the level of training and experience required to take their place.”
    More broadly, Chassagnon sees the impending wave of baby-boomer retirements as a decisive event for all artisanal companies. Rémy Garnier, he promises, will be ready.
Rémy Garnier, 30 bis blvd de la Bastille, 12^e. Tel. 33/1-43-43-84-85; Fax 33/1-43-46-13-76; garnier-remy.com.

The sumptuous bouquets in Guillet’s shop window are so perfect they don’t look real. Actually, they’re not real, but their ability to leave one guessing has made this company thrive for more than a century.
    “Starting the business was my great-grandfather’s idea,” recounts CEO Marcelle Guillet. “He lived in Nantes and made flowers for the church.” He died fairly young, however, and his widow moved to Paris to learn how to make silk flowers at Les Violettes, a school run by nuns. Once she started working, things went so well she soon had to hire two people to help her. “Then my grandfather got the idea of launching a business making artificial flowers for churches in Latin America,” says Guillet. “His boss liked the idea so much that he lent him the money to get started.”
    Success was almost immediate, and by 1914 the burgeoning company had some 100 workers on the payroll. In the years since, Guillet’s blooms have added color and grace to private homes, luxury boutique windows, stage and film sets, and haute-couture gowns. Photos in the company archives show Charles de Gaulle smelling one of the 30,000 Guillet roses scented with Caron’s Fleur de Rocaille that had been dropped from a helicopter at the Grenoble Olympic Games. A shopping center in Ryad boasts an entire French garden—complete with manicured lawns and hedges—crafted by Guillet, and a recent ad for Cacherel’s Eau d’Eden featured a model decked out in 5,000 of the company’s pale pink roses.
    “Here, the word ‘impossible’ doesn’t exist,” asserts the energetic Guillet. And you believe her. “Recently, a client wanted us to make flowers out of human hair,” she says. “We did, but then we had quite a time trying to find something that would hold them firmly together. We finally thought of using clear nail polish, and it worked!”
    The company’s most precious assets are its 2,000 wrought steel dies, some dating from the 19th century. Resembling cookie cutters, each is in the shape of a different petal or leaf. “Since 1970, I’ve added only about 20,” says Guillet. “All the rest were made by my father and grandfather or were bought from other companies.”
    All together, she can make some 1,500 different flowers, using much the same techniques her great-grandmother did. Once the fabric—silk, organza, cotton, velvet, chiffon—is treated and dried, dies are used to cut the petals. Then they are sent to a young woman in a paint-spattered white coat who carefully tints them by hand, sometimes dipping each one into several color baths to obtain just the right gradations. Afterward, they are placed in custom-designed bronze presses, which imprint veins and give shape to the petal, before being passed along to the fleuristes rosières, who hand-curl the edges and then glue them together into flowers.
    Guillet is especially known for her mastery of color. “A flower will never be quite right if you get that wrong,” she says. Typical of her perfectionism was the recent afternoon she spent going back and forth with the colorist, discussing the nuances of every petal of a prototype flower and having it done and redone until all was perfect.
    Guillet is now a €2 million business, with exports accounting for 15 to 20 percent of turnover. Thirty-six employees work in two different Paris locations, and although some bouquet work is subcontracted, everything else is still fait maison.
    “About 60 percent of our business comes from decor—bouquets sold in retail stores, work for films, plays, special events and so on,” says Guillet. “The other 40 percent comes from fashion.” Developing the latter was her idea. “Diversifying has made this a much more stable business,” she says. “Plus, my father had accomplished so much in decor, and I really wanted to do something he would admire. Before he died, I had the incredible pleasure of seeing that I had truly astonished him.”
    Years of working with the likes of Lanvin, Ungaro, Guy Laroche, Rykiel, Rochas and Lacroix have apparently kept Guillet’s edge razor sharp. Lately she’s been dreaming up ravishing brooches in such unlikely materials as fur, feathers, leather and plastic, and will encourage you to wear them not only on your lapel but also in your hair, on a handbag or at the base of the plunging back of an evening gown. For her part, she is rarely seen without one. “I’ve been told that my flowers live through me, and that I live through them,” she says, blue eyes sparkling. “I think it’s probably true.” s
Guillet, 1 bis avenue Daumesnil, 12^e. Tel. 33/1-43-40-80-00; Fax 33/1-43-40-88-60; guillet-fleurs.fr.