For the timeless and the effortless
In the Cab With
Marc Ascoli
A Conversation on Intuition, Timing, Talent, and Desire
January 20 2026, by Bart Kooi
Known for his instinctive sense of beauty and his ability to build strong, enduring visual identities, Ascoli stands as one of the most influential image-makers of our time. His constant curiosity and his grasp of the contemporary led him to discover photographers like Nick Knight, Craig McDean, and David Sims long before they became central figures in fashion imagery. He redefined the visual language of AnOther Magazine and took the helm of Harper’s Bazaar Italia, shaping its relaunch with the same innate vision that has defined his career.
In this week’s In the Cab With: Marc Ascoli, he reflects: “You can’t approach talent with a Cartesian mindset. It’s not part of a logical universe.”
Paris at that time had a particular energy, a kind of charm and refinement. There was this nocturnal spirit, it really fascinated me. I was thrilled to be part of that universe.
I was studying law, but it was in clubs like Le Palace and in the bars on Rue Saint-Anne that I discovered the world I wanted to belong to and where I found my vocation. People wanted to have fun. In that extraordinary, eccentric, and free-spirited atmosphere, I realized that it was possible to become the creator of your own life. It completely opened me up.
That environment sparked the energy behind my desire to work in fashion. It was also there that I began to meet people from the fashion world like Antonio Lopez, Jerry Hall, and Pat Cleveland.
You also met Martine [Sitbon, Ascoli’s life partner, fashion designer, and former head designer for Chloé]. What role did Martine play in your early creative development?
I was really just a young man from Neuilly, but I did have a certain sense of style. Martine immediately noticed my style and recognized my potential and energy. She saw it because she was trained at the famous fashion school Studio Berçot. But above all, Martine has a true sense of fashion. This very particular instinct; this immediate, intuitive understanding.
She recognized — probably right away — things that I hadn’t even realized about myself yet. Her support gave me the credibility. Martine was the one who introduced me to the people I ended up working with for many years. From there, my collaborations developed very naturally.
On Bella Freud’s Fashion Neurosis podcast, Nick Knight referred to you as his “fashion school.” Would you say Martine played the same role for you?
Well, I mean yes, but there was a whole world around her. Martine — she was, and still is, very generous. She loved taking me to see films I’d never seen before, she introduced me to so many references. It was extraordinary. She was also the one who gave me my first Avedon book.
I read that seeing this [Richard] Avedon book gave you a kind of Eureka moment, that you realized “the energy and sensuality of women and clothes you’d always been drawn to could be expressed through fashion photography.” What was it about that book that made it such a Eureka moment for you?
It was the looks. Specifically these photos of Penelope Tree, they took you to the Gone Sixties. When I flipped through the pages there was this one image, and I don’t know why, but it was like a Eureka moment. I thought, “This really is a whole universe.” I was doing PR, as I did for Martine and later Yohji [Yamamoto], but from that moment on I completely focused on the image of these designers.
It wasn’t courage — or maybe, actually, it was. Back then, I was quite audacious and very enthusiastic. Things were also less hierarchical at the time. Today, when you start a project, there’s a producer, a casting director, a stylist; it’s very structured. Back then, it was just me speaking directly with Yohji. It was easier to dive in back then, it wasn’t a structured industry yet.
I looked at his collection and said, “We can do something extraordinary with your clothes, which I find really top-level.” His collection was incredibly inspiring. It wasn’t just courage that pushed me, but also my energy, the feeling that nothing could stop me.
Looking back, I realize I truly had a kind of conviction. It was just really exciting, there was the start of a particular energy in Paris. First, these powerful, bold designers were emerging, and then the Japanese designers arrived—more sophisticated, minimal in color, and deeply poetic.
He wasn’t a big name yet. He was very approachable; he became the master over the years. I was the one who initiated the art direction for Yohji’s fashion shows and catalogues, a role I held for about ten years. Simultaneously, Yohji gave me a platform.
I used to go to Japan twice a year. We’d plan to meet at the very end of the morning, but he never arrived on time. I’d wait, hang around the company, observe. When he did arrive, there were times he absolutely didn’t want to talk about work. The most important thing for him was that I absorbed his style. We’d go out, have dinner fairly early, drink beers, eat amazing dishes. Gradually, we became really close, I felt completely safe.
I think, career-wise, he supported me a lot. He totally trusted me, he gave me carte blanche.
It happened very naturally for me. I was collaborating with Yohji, who famously said, “I dress people who don't exist.” It started with countless phone calls between the two of us, and then I began organizing everything for him with that same energy. I handled bookings, model castings, and gradually moved into thinking about photographers and overseeing the images.
At first, it was just the women's collection, and later the men's collection came along; I was constantly busy. I approached it with intensity and curiosity, learning as I went and shaping the role of a fashion art director as it emerged—creating a career in a field that didn't even exist yet. At the same time, I was also working for Martine, which added another layer of experience.
So the role developed organically over time?
I don’t like the word “organic,” but everything happened quite naturally. It’s because I was given the opportunities to do the things I loved. When a new opportunity came along, I took it. There weren’t any big moments of self-doubt or questioning myself.
Also, there wasn’t any compartmentalization back then, this this or that. While I was working for Yohji and Martine, I was also working with Franca Sozzani. I worked for magazines, Lei and Per Lui, doing styling and introducing photographers. I had different activities, wearing different hats at the same time. I was living out my fantasies, and just kept moving forward.
You come from a background where people had very different, more conventional, clearly defined jobs — being a doctor, a lawyer, things like that. Didn’t you ever feel insecure while navigating something so open and boundless?
On the contrary. If anything, I was more afraid of ending up in an office and working my whole life in a place where there was no room for dreams, for beauty, for refinement. I just dived in and told myself, “Why not?”
I’ve always had confidence in work. I live with the dictionary, did you know? I use it to look up words and really understand their meaning. The word work is really interesting — it means to “put in effort to achieve a certain result”. I’m deeply convinced that if you put in the effort, you’ll achieve a certain result and succeed. You make a mistake? You correct it and keep going. That approach has developed a certain resilience in me.
I was lucky to meet many photographers, stylists, hairdressers, and makeup artists who basically taught me the same thing. When you work with these great geniuses, you realize how strong they are. Jil Sander is one of them — she’s truly a strong woman. I worked with her for twelve years.
I like long collaborations; I find them very interesting. Nowadays, there are fewer of these longstanding partnerships. Developing a deep relationship and allowing something to grow has become much more difficult today.
Do you think that’s especially true in an industry where it’s so often about the new?
There’s a lot of pressure: the pressure to always be new, unique, and original. The pressure to create things that stand out quickly and drive people to buy clothes. It creates a lot of confusion.
But it’s not only about the new; it’s also about talent. I’m not afraid of people who have talent — I’m afraid of those who don’t. I’m afraid of people who have no talent yet hold false certainties; those people are dangerous. Dangerous in the sense that they lack the right references, they are arrogant, and they are determined to prove that they are right. People who do have talent are the opposite: they are full of knowledge, they are humble, and they want to collaborate.
And when I say talent — careful, in the dictionary it says — I know it by heart: “an aptitude, a particular ability, a special skill, a natural disposition.” You see, it’s a gift. “A remarkable quality that you notice in an intellectual, artistic, or literary field.”
In 2018, you were appointed creative director of AnOther Magazine. How did your early experiences in London shape your creative path, and ultimately lead to taking on this role?
At the start of my career in the 1980s, when Yohji hired me as an art director, I was travelling regularly to London. The city’s vibrant photographic scene sparked my research into image-making and photographers, and introduced me to photographers such as Max Vadukul and Nick Knight as well as to graphic designer Peter Saville. London expanded my imagination through its music, fashion, and arts.
Over time, I built a strong reputation there, which is why Jefferson Hack reached out to me in 2017 to bring a bold creative shift to AnOther Magazine. I felt ready to take on the role of creative director, a position I held for four years. I was thrilled, as I have a deep connection with British culture and love the blend of chic and rebellion that defines the magazine.
I approached Bazaar as a brand. Bazaar Italia had not existed for several decades. I launched it from scratch, starting with the very first issue. It felt important to me to make a nod to the past. Alexey Brodovitch and Diana Vreeland, these were the people that left a mark on me, personally.
Driven by my convictions and a strong desire to create something modern and sophisticated, I worked on my first cover with Paolo Roversi. He trusted me immediately and allowed me to establish a sharp style, true to the DNA of Bazaar, from the very start. Today, people are much more interested in le patrimoine, the heritage [of a brand].
Would you say that art direction is also about finding the right people?
It is, as well as about trusting them. I still position myself within the core principles of art direction: when I work with a photographer, I trust the photographer. I trust the graphic designer, I trust a team capable of creating an original image.
You know what’s amazing about this profession? It’s about having a sense of timing. We don’t always know how, but we just know when something is right. Why do we love this photographer’s images and get tired of another’s? It’s because these people have a sense of timing. It’s all about timing.
I think it’s about timing, but also about being able to transcend time. Your earlier work is still relevant today: it’s also very much about a certain taste.
But taste—taste is something you can tell me I have or don’t have. Me, I just have my taste.
I probably have an eye for beauty, but I constantly update myself by observing what’s happening around me. I have a strong sense of timing — what people want now and what they no longer want at all. It’s a matter of feeling.
I believe in feelings, in intuition. But you have to work on your intuition, on your ability to perceive what’s in front of you. At the beginning, it’s difficult. It’s not like, “Bam, I have taste.” It doesn’t just happen. No — I believe in preparation.
Maybe it’s like the law studies I did: you have to prepare your case; you need a lot of groundwork. When I give masterclasses at schools like IFM [Institut français de la mode], I always tell that you have to study and analyze the subject—fundamentally. Like I did when I worked on Harper’s Bazaar Italia, AnOther Magazine, and Armani Beauty. After that, luck comes.
I believe in luck in such a way that it’s something you provoke; it’s your desire. The desire to do something exceptional, the desire to lead an extraordinary life. I had that desire.
It’s complicated. You can’t approach it with a Cartesian mindset; you have to step into another dimension. It’s not part of a logical universe. There’s no logic to it — it’s something else entirely. Over the years, you develop a sixth sense.
Someone has to have the conviction that they can do it, too. That’s part of the work. You have to be resilient. You miss out on one opportunity, you move to the next, then a third. If you keep pushing, eventually things will start to fall into place.
You are currently in the process of curating your retrospective book. What’s the “red thread” for you when selecting the images?
I can tell you that, in general, there’s a certain attitude. You recognize an attitude through my work.
If you look at my body of work, you’ll see similarities in colors, attitudes, even in castings and the choice of photographers; they’re all more or less connected, they respond to each other. There’s also a sense of photography, of the history of photography. There’s a sense of quality in the images. Of course, it’s up to someone else to decide whether they like this style or not — that is subjective. [adds] How did you describe my work again?
That it transcends time.
Can you explain why?
Because if you look at a picture, it’s not about one specific tangible aspect. It’s about a feeling. That feeling transcends time.
Above all, it’s about the character, the personality. I look for people who have a certain expressive quality. You sense it in the way they look, in the ideas or vision they carry. I also bring a cinematic sensibility into my images. I love the cinematic side of my work, whether it’s portraits or scenes that feel like they could come from a film. I like images that resemble movie scenes, combined with the natural sense of fashion that some people have.
I would love to organize exhibitions presenting the book: with sound, giving talks, and sharing the experiences I’ve had working with photographers. I want to have conversations with these photographers about how we create an image, what the magical moments are. That’s what really interests me. There’s an element of transmission in my book. That’s my goal, and that’s my answer to you•
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
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