I spent years working with a Parisian office full of women, where even a casual dress code couldn't hide their impeccable style. They always looked effortless, while behind the scenes, I’d be sweating every morning to match their chic. On my last day, they burst into tears. "Wait, you guys actually liked me?” I asked. Winning over the French can be hard. Mastering their workplace culture was a mystery, but I stumbled through it anyway. I often found myself scooting closer to them in meetings, drawn in by the captivating scent of their perfume-infused crisp white shirts.
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Those crispy shirts led me to discover Sézane about ten years ago. The brand had a boutique-like feel, known for its French girl aesthetic and limited edition European-made garments. The site had only a few items, but I liked the cute, undeniably French chore jackets and button-ups. Initially, Sézane released “capsules” infrequently, the brand seemed under the radar.
But now, they are impossible to escape. One of my favorite writers,
, mentioned it last week in her newsletter:Sezane is just everywhere. I had dinner with a friend in marketing a few months ago, and we talked about the new store on Fillmore Street, and how the brand must be spending big bucks on marketing.
When influencers heavily promote a brand, it's funny how this sense of collective anticipatory grief sets in. Well, that was nice while it lasted. This reaction seems a bit extreme, considering brands need this exposure—influencer marketing is cheaper and often more effective than ads.
But as consumers, we've rightfully reached a fatigue point. When everyone claims to give their HONEST review of a brand, but all those reviews have the exact same destination: an affiliate link you should click to buy, it's clear what's going on. We've played this game too many times, and people are quicker than ever to recognize when it feels cheap and disheartening.
Lately with Sézane, it really feels like everyone on earth is puckering up to kiss that derrière. The gifting program is overwhelming huge—I even spot their clothes on microinfluencers with tiny followings. Whenever I see this happening on such a massive level, I wonder what the heck is happening behind the scenes. Are the clothes that magical? Especially for a brand that presents itself as small and sustainable, like a shy French girl in a café.
What do the influencers receiving gifted items from Sézane have to say behind closed doors? Here’s some feedback from an influencer who has worked with the brand in the last year:
I bought from Sezane for years from their NYC store. One day they reached out to me to work with them. I have a 50k Sustainable Style IG.
They don’t send me anything but I do get a stipend every month to spend on the app. The great part about working with Sezane (compared to other companies) is they haven’t required anything of me.
I asked if they had a preference for what I bought or what they wanted in return and they left it up to me. It has been the best experience I’ve had working with a company. They are expanding in the US and I imagine this is a big part of their marketing strategy.
And from an anonymous Tiktok creator:
I'm a smaller creator on TikTok (just hit 30k), and they just reached out to me and added me to their PR list. I get $600 dollars a month which seems WILD to me. I can't even imagine how large their budget is for influencer marketing.
When a small brand starts to transform into a “social media brand,” it naturally turns many people off. My initial reaction was annoyance, feeling it cheapens the product. An annual allowance of $7,200 in clothes just for being a pretty princess? At first, there's a twinge of jealousy—thinking, “Ugh, annoying influencers get stuff for free while the rest of us plebs get to pay,” or “They make cool things uncool because now everyone has them."
But those are my shallow, surface-level thoughts. My instincts push me to dig deeper. An influencer liking something I like? It’s not the end of the world. While brands seem to need influencer marketing today, and it often feels wrong for valid reasons, what really tugs at me is an intuition about what’s truly beneath the surface of this mass gifting.
The influencers and creators in Sézane’s gifting program appear pretty happy, which I guess is good. But what I'm really curious about is how it actually affects everyone else.
To decide which pieces to try and see what is truly great, I started by seeking Sézane customer reviews from those who actually pay for these clothes. This led me to Facebook groups like Sézane IRL and Sézane Addicts USA-Canada—a search that might have inadvertently alerted therapists in my area.
I was already familiar with a common complaint that Sézane’s marketing imagery is hard to decode. Their website photos are notorious for using filters and limited angles, which is super common these days among online brands.
A few months ago, I met someone who was constantly frustrated by this and making frequent returns. She eventually launched the straightforward website Unvarnished Clothing, where you can see a lot of different bodies and angles of Sézane clothing. She told me, “I had a lot of negative experiences with influencer peddling or just generally feeling gaslit by the brand, and this was my solution.”
Similarly, the FB group Sézane IRL provides real-life views of the clothes on all different bodies. However, I quickly got sidetracked from my original mission of figuring out what to test and buy. Instead of focusing on how the clothes looked, I began to notice the psychological marketing tactics used on these Sézanettes (yes, that's what they're called).
Scarcity is what I’m talking about. About 10 years ago when I first knew the brand, they released products around 10 times a year. Their capsules were limited-edition and marketed as "sustainable," and they would sell out quickly. To get your hands on an item, you had to set an alarm for the French time zone, which often meant waking up at 2-3 a.m. if you were in North America.
These drops have gradually increased over the years, from 10 times a year to once a month, then bi-weekly, weekly, and now twice a week. Women still have to wake up in the middle of the night for a chance to snag these clothes.
The constant alerts for “archives” and “restocks” can be overwhelming. These product drops capitalize on the fear of missing out, creating urgency and a chaotic shopping experience.
You never know what will be available, and notifications with specific restock times just crank up the urgency. If you want something from a previous release, you'd better add it to your wishlist and keep refreshing the site, praying that “someone” takes it out of their basket.
Newcomers get frustrated with how quickly items sell out, turning it into a race against the clock. On the app, expect sweaty palms and a frenzy. My nerves started to feel like it was Sézane war time: "Released from the cart! FIRE NOW!"
I found multiple stories of people having to "break up" with Sézane over this so-called psychological abuse. Women shared experiences of being deeply loyal to Sézane—getting engaged in Sézane, married in Sézane, and even giving birth in Sézane! (Okay, that last one is a joke.)
They eventually began to wake up to the more aggressive marketing tactics. The constant restocks, endless alerts, and ads reminding them of the brand everywhere were too much. They noticed a shift in declining quality, unresponsive customer service, and received dirty, used, or scuffed clothes and shoes. Overall, the feeling is that Sézane has become fast fashion. These original Sézanettes reminisce about the days when their boxes came with a handwritten note and the smell of L'eau Sézane, their signature scent.
Should we expect a company to halt its dreams and growth just to keep spraying every purchase with a spritz of perfume? That’s probably unrealistic.
However, the ease with which influencers access these clothes, compared to the hurdles faced by actual buyers, highlights a clear glitch in the system. There's an abundance of clothes for promoters, who effortlessly showcase their hauls on social media, while regular customers scramble to acquire pieces from limited edition drops.
This glaring disparity raises suspicions that the brand is manipulating the supply. Either way, it’s clear they prioritize influencer marketing for rapid growth over customer satisfaction.
And when you dig into Sézane’s financials, these issues actually start to make a lot more sense.
From this glossy.co article:
The declining quality, overwhelmed customer service, and constant drops of “limited edition” “sustainable” clothing feel like textbook results of prioritizing profit. Not very long ago, General Atlantic secured a 45% stake in the company. Since then, it appears that product drops have increased, more Sézane pieces are now made in China, and the number of polyester garments is growing.
And who is this mysterious investor, General Atlantic? A private equity firm with significant stakes in SHEIN, one of the worst fast fashion companies in the world, set to go public soon. Sézane's investor also owns stake in ByteDance, better known as TikTok—where Sézane’s influencers are highly active with those honest reviews.
In 2022, Sézane also added Tethys as an investor. Tethys is an investment fund owned by Françoise Bettencourt Meyers, the granddaughter and heiress of the founder of global beauty giant L'Oréal, and she happens to be the richest woman billionaire in the world.
Sézane is clearly under a lot of pressure from investors to quickly generate profits and possibly go public, and it’s working pretty well for them. On paper, this might look like a success story for those who prioritize growth and profit above all else.
Yes, it is hard to survive as a brand in today's insane market and economy. We don’t know what challenges they really face. However, I don’t prioritize sympathizing with brands, investors and founders—I prefer to focus on the effect this has on the world at large. For instance, consider the indigenous woman Sézane invited to join a photoshoot in Mexico, offering her $10 and then never paying her.
Or, consider someone who stays up all night losing sleep to buy a bag, eagerly awaits its delivery, and then finds trash inside.
And can you try and imagine what type of exhausting and overwhelming work conditions could cause this mistake?
A company can be B-Corp certified and present itself as a sustainable, slow fashion brand, but if most of its actions start telling a different story, who should we believe? The company growing at an insane pace, cheered on in the spotlight, or the countless voiceless players affected behind the scenes?
While it’s true that companies often have a lot on their plate, we need to reminded that marketing is one helluva drug:
You know, I didn't even plan on writing this. I originally wanted to write something simple! and fun! during a visit to Sézane’s l’Appartement in Nolita after a nearby yoga class. I was drenched in sweat and looked completely haggard. No one would make eye contact with me. That snooty attitude surprised me, especially after seeing how busted and scratched their leather display bags looked. Nevertheless, my intention was to focus on the clothes and keep it light and breezy.
I'll never get back the time I wasted trying to decide which Sézane items to buy despite some declining quality. What a bummer. I do really think they have some quality pieces and attractive clothes. Many customers are still super happy, and shopping there doesn't mean you're destined to end up with poor choices.
I've just left you with something else—something I find far more interesting and important than nitpicking over the fabric composition of a silk shirt.
I realized that Sézane reminds me of a French coworker who came to live in our office stateside for a month. We’d chat in the kitchen, and her English was perfectly clear. A hot guy would walk in to grab his lunch, and suddenly her French accent would get very thick. She’d say something like, "Oh, ow you say, ze… REFREIGERATOUR?!" Then she'd gaze deep into my eyes, silently warning, "Reveal my secret and you're dead."
I ended up telling that guy she was faking it. What can I say? I guess my fatal flaw is that sometimes I just can't keep my mouth shut.
🍒Total Rec
P.S. I’m out next week! You might notice I’m on an abbreviated summer schedule, publishing 3x a month til late September. Hope you’re enjoying whatever season you’re in, too.
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I feel like the American analogy for Sezane is Reformation…claims of sustainability, they are EVERYWHERE, hard to tell how the clothes actually fit. And interestingly: No reviews on site either! Wonder how that strategy plays out for brands—I tend to prefer Madewell because pretty much every item has enough reviews to give you a sense of fit/quality/etc. Might be worth its own investigation!
Love this deep dive. I always think it’s funny that the marketing is based on it being the ultimate Paris girl brand – when I live in Paris and don’t know a single person who wears it. It’s never mentioned in the fashion press there and is definitely not seen as a fashion-y brand, it’s seen as very yummy mummy at the school gates, quite suburban. The people who queue at the store are pretty much all British and American tourists.
I don’t even recall seeing French influencers I follow wearing it in paid posts (when I see British ones all the time), which just confirms to me that the strategy is very much to market it as quintessentially French to non-French people. This is in contrast to, for example, Rouje, which does the same thing in foreign markets and very heavily, but also does this in France and is bought and worn by girls in Paris (there’s a store by my flat and it’s always film of French girls) and seen on French influencers.
But the gifting to UK journalists (not just influencers) must be pretty generous because if you believe UK press everyone in Paris is wearing it.