Rules of Style by Rick Owens
I'm not good at subtlety. If you're not going to be discreet and quiet, then just go all the way and have the balls to shave off your eyebrows, bleach your hair, and put on some big bracelets.
Working out is modern couture. No outfit is going to make you look or feel as good as having a fit body. Buy less clothing and go to the gym instead.
I've lived in Paris for six years, and I'm sorry to say that the Ugly American syndrome still exists. Sometimes you just want to say "Stop destroying the landscape with your outfit." Still, from a design standpoint, I'm tempted to redo the fanny pack. I look at it as a challenge—it's something to react against.
When a suit gets middle-of-the-road it kind of loses me—it has to be sharp and classic and almost forties.
Hair and shoes say it all. Everything in between is forgivable as long as you keep it simple. Trying to talk with your clothes is passive-aggressive.
There's something a little too chatterboxy about color. Right now I want black, for its sharpness and punctuation.
Jean-Michel Frank, the thirties interior and furniture designer, supposedly had 40 identical double-breasted gray flannel suits. He knew himself and is a wonderful example of restraint and extravagance.
I hate rings and bracelets on men. I'm not a fan of man bags, or girl bags either—or even sunglasses. I don't like fussy accessories. Isn't it more chic to be free? Every jacket I make has interior pockets big enough to store a book and a sandwich and a passport.
With layering, sometimes the more the better. When you layer a lot of black you're like a walking Louise Nevelson sculpture, and that's pretty attractive. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable is also one of the most attractive things you can do.
It's funny—whenever someone talks about rules, I just want to break them. I recoil from the whole idea of rules.