I think women should be seductive, not triste. There's enough

Hear the words of Azzedine Alaïa, the great craftsman of beauty, who declared: “I think women should be seductive, not triste. There’s enough sadness in life now without making women look sad, too.” These words, though they speak of fashion, carry within them a deeper current of wisdom. They are not merely about cloth or design, but about the spirit that clothing should awaken—about choosing radiance over sorrow, vitality over despair.

From the beginning of ages, humankind has sought to clothe itself not only for protection but for meaning. Garments were woven as symbols of strength, of joy, of ritual. The ancients knew that to adorn the body was to honor the soul, and that what we wear shapes the spirit of both the wearer and the beholder. Alaïa, like a sage tailor of the soul, reminds us that in a world already heavy with burdens, to add more sadness through expression and design is to betray the purpose of beauty.

Consider the story of Cleopatra, the queen of Egypt. When Rome’s power loomed like a storm, she clothed herself not in mourning but in splendor. Her robes were dazzling, her presence radiant; she transformed her very being into an act of resistance, declaring through beauty that she would not be conquered in spirit, even if her armies failed. Her seductive strength, her refusal to embody sorrow, became her weapon. Just as Alaïa suggests, she chose allure and vitality over the dull weight of triste.

To be seductive in Alaïa’s words is not merely to entice or allure—it is to embody life itself. It is to walk with a presence that awakens joy, confidence, and power in those who behold it. To choose beauty over sadness is to resist despair. For when the world is filled with suffering, every gesture of elegance, every note of laughter, every act of radiance becomes an act of defiance. The cloak of sorrow is heavy enough; we must not wrap women in it by design.

Yet his words are also a caution: society too often drapes women in images of fragility, melancholy, or burden. Alaïa speaks against this, declaring that women must be honored as forces of vitality, not reduced to symbols of despair. His vision elevates them, affirming that the role of fashion—and by extension, of art—is not to mirror the sadness of the world, but to offer something stronger, brighter, more life-giving.

The lesson for us is this: do not clothe yourself in sadness, whether with fabric, with words, or with demeanor. Choose instead to wear the garments of strength, of confidence, of light. In your work, in your relationships, in your daily presentation of self, refuse to let despair define you. Even when life is cruel, let your spirit shine as if to say: “There is already enough sorrow—I will not add to it. I will bring beauty instead.”

Practically, this means cultivating joy and radiance in the smallest choices. Wear colors that uplift you, speak words that inspire, walk with the posture of one who knows their worth. Do not hide behind mourning when life calls you to rise. Seek not only to ease your own burden, but to lift the hearts of those around you with the way you move through the world. For to embody strength and seduction—in Alaïa’s sense—is to be a living remedy against despair.

Thus, Azzedine Alaïa’s words stand as a timeless reminder: the world is heavy with grief, but each of us can choose to shine instead of shadow, to be radiant instead of triste. And when women, the eternal bearers of life and renewal, refuse to embody sorrow, they become flames of hope, guiding all humanity toward joy.