MONSIEUR LE FRANÇAIS
Nicolas Busnel, Founder and Designer
PORTRAIT OF A FREE MAN
As ideas swirl between drags of a cigarette, as the smoke-filled air grows hazier still with the appearance of feline silhouettes, a glass of Sancerre meant to nourish the imagination releases its bouquet, while a sheet of paper lies ready to receive the assured strokes of Monsieur le Français. Unbound by convention or decorum, his mechanical pencil constructs a garter belt that captures desires in turmoil here, sketches a strap of lace running from nape to waist there:
“Whenever I draw, I do so without worrying about any framework, without a care in the world. Afterwards, we work out whether it is technically feasible. It can sometimes be difficult to grasp, but whatever the risk or the price to pay, I have always chosen to do what I wanted.”
Whether tracing the curve of a lower back or accentuating the swell of the breasts, capturing hearts with a catsuit that sets fantasies free or bringing bodies closer with fanciful handcuffs, Monsieur le Français unveils his creations in the hope of stirring the eye as much as the touch. Even if this open invitation to pleasure and exhilaration may strike a sensitive chord for some, his sketches will always reach beyond the mere pursuit of debauchery.
The son of a rebel, Monsieur le Français is less interested in reducing femininity to its power of seduction than in allowing women to embrace who they are with the incandescent force of a declaration:
“I want my clothes to have an emotional impact. They are made for women who do not fit the Barbie doll mould, women who are free and independent, women who cannot be constrained. They are armour that allows women to assert themselves, serving the art of living their femininity. Every design embodies a state of mind. In fact, it is difficult to choose a Maison Close piece at random.”
Monsieur le Français imprints lingerie with nostalgia for an era that will forever remain unknown to him. The Roaring Twenties and their sultry excess, that vintage signature and its striptease artists, the roguish charm and the Paname of brothels, their society artists from Cocteau to Bernhardt, and the many women elevated to vibrant icons in the posters of Alfons Mucha. The geometry and precision of Art Deco become the framework for an old-school structure, a design philosophy that rejects approximation and excess, as Maison Close embraces lingerie built upon sharp, precise and clean-cut lines.
Yet it was in a more recent era that Monsieur le Français found his most captivating muse. With her deep voice, her Mugler and Saint Laurent suits, her instinct for beauty and elegance, his aunt instilled in him a few striking ideals - a distinctive flair he now immortalises in black and white, at once elegiac and mesmerising:
“Photography is like a window in a wall. It invites us to dream of a slightly distorted reality. That is the phantasmagorical language I pursue through my collections.”
A freedom of gesture and speech that the founder has made his guiding principle, endlessly challenging propriety and remaining true to ways for which he has often been criticised: too unruly, not structured enough. And while he has since corrected the latter, even dispensing with diplomatic niceties, he remains sparing with words when the time comes to discuss at length, in company, the business he created:
“I don’t like repeating myself. Sometimes I wish people could understand me without my having to speak.”
He will always favour the dreamer’s substance over revered career paths.
And so the boy with his head in the clouds, who could never learn by heart, would rather work from the heart, becoming an artisan of the senses who playfully tests the boundaries of decency:
“I like to play with surprise and transparency. I like revealing what we used to hide, creating erotic lingerie connected to a playful, joyful sexuality. Maison Close embodies that France which is inseparable from sensory pleasure.”
This quintessentially French appreciation of the good life invariably draws him towards a few challenges for the senses. Monsieur le Français makes no attempt to shy away from the clichés that cast him as the perfect Frenchman. One of those who let time drift by over a cup of coffee on a café terrace, who savour, indulge and cultivate the joyful art of making everything more complicated:
“It makes us fascinating - and utterly unbearable, too.”
Monsieur le Français readily embraces that touch of arrogance so often associated with the Hexagon, yet his adventurous childhood also resonates throughout his international ventures. It instilled in him ways of thinking that extend far beyond his roots on the Côte d’Azur, shaped by other latitudes and meridians. Beginning with the first of many journeys, one that carried him across the whole of Eastern Europe to the far reaches of Bulgaria:
“My parents were hippies who raised us the hard way. We would set off by car and camp wherever we could. By the age of fourteen, I had seen twenty-six countries. And I add to those all the places I regularly travel to today.”
First came the windows that quickly showcased Maison Close in the heart of London, followed by a boutique set on one of SoHo’s bustling corners in New York. Then came a particular fondness for cosmopolitan Hong Kong, along with the certainty that Monsieur le Français is never more at home than when absorbing every inclination this world has to offer.
PORTRAIT OF A FREE MAN
As ideas swirl between drags of a cigarette, as the smoke-filled air grows hazier still with the appearance of feline silhouettes, a glass of Sancerre meant to nourish the imagination releases its bouquet, while a sheet of paper lies ready to receive the assured strokes of Monsieur le Français. Unbound by convention or decorum, his mechanical pencil constructs a garter belt that captures desires in turmoil here, sketches a strap of lace running from nape to waist there:
“Whenever I draw, I do so without worrying about any framework, without a care in the world. Afterwards, we work out whether it is technically feasible. It can sometimes be difficult to grasp, but whatever the risk or the price to pay, I have always chosen to do what I wanted.”
Whether tracing the curve of a lower back or accentuating the swell of the breasts, capturing hearts with a catsuit that sets fantasies free or bringing bodies closer with fanciful handcuffs, Monsieur le Français unveils his creations in the hope of stirring the eye as much as the touch. Even if this open invitation to pleasure and exhilaration may strike a sensitive chord for some, his sketches will always reach beyond the mere pursuit of debauchery.
The son of a rebel, Monsieur le Français is less interested in reducing femininity to its power of seduction than in allowing women to embrace who they are with the incandescent force of a declaration:
“I want my clothes to have an emotional impact. They are made for women who do not fit the Barbie doll mould, women who are free and independent, women who cannot be constrained. They are armour that allows women to assert themselves and serves the art of living one’s femininity. Every design embodies a state of mind - in fact, it is difficult to choose a Maison Close piece at random.”
Monsieur le Français imprints lingerie with nostalgia for an era that will forever remain unknown to him. The Roaring Twenties and their sultry excess, that vintage signature and its striptease artists, the roguish charm and the Paname of brothels, their society artists from Cocteau to Bernhardt, and the many women elevated to vibrant icons in the posters of Alfons Mucha. The geometry and precision of Art Deco become the framework for an old-school structure, a design philosophy that rejects approximation and excess, as Maison Close embraces lingerie built upon sharp, precise and clean-cut lines.
Yet it was in a more recent era that Monsieur le Français found his most captivating muse. With her deep voice, her Mugler and Saint Laurent suits, her instinct for beauty and elegance, his aunt instilled in him a few striking ideals - a distinctive flair he now immortalises in black and white, at once elegiac and mesmerising:
“Photography is like a window in a wall. It invites us to dream of a slightly distorted reality. That is the phantasmagorical language I pursue through my collections.”
A freedom of gesture and speech that the founder has made his guiding principle, endlessly challenging propriety and remaining true to ways for which he has often been criticised: too unruly, not structured enough. And while he has since corrected the latter, even dispensing with diplomatic niceties, he remains sparing with words when the time comes to discuss at length, in company, the business he created:
“I don’t like repeating myself. Sometimes I wish people could understand me without my having to speak.”
He will always favour the substance of the dreamer over revered career paths.
And so the boy with his head in the clouds, who could never learn by heart, would rather work from the heart, becoming an artisan of the senses who playfully tests the boundaries of decency:
“I like to play with surprise and transparency. I like revealing what we used to hide, creating erotic lingerie connected to a playful, joyful sexuality. Maison Close embodies that France which is inseparable from sensory pleasure.”
This quintessentially French appreciation of the good life invariably draws him towards new experiences for the senses. Monsieur le Français makes no attempt to shy away from the clichés that cast him as the perfect Frenchman. One of those who let time drift by over a cup of coffee on a café terrace, who savour, indulge and cultivate the joyful art of making everything more complicated:
“It makes us fascinating - and utterly unbearable, too.”
Monsieur le Français readily embraces that touch of arrogance so often associated with the Hexagon, yet his adventurous childhood also resonates throughout his international ventures. It instilled in him ways of thinking that extend far beyond his roots on the Côte d’Azur, shaped by other latitudes and meridians. Beginning with the first of many journeys, one that carried him across the whole of Eastern Europe to the far reaches of Bulgaria:
“My parents were hippies who raised us the hard way. We would set off by car and camp wherever we could. By the age of fourteen, I had already seen twenty-six countries. And I add to those all the places I regularly travel to today.”
First came the windows that quickly showcased Maison Close in the heart of London, followed by a boutique set on one of SoHo’s bustling corners in New York. Then came a particular fondness for cosmopolitan Hong Kong, along with the certainty that Monsieur le Français is never more at home than when absorbing every inclination this world has to offer.
And as proof, the artisan-entrepreneur is the product of a family lineage that emigrated from Poland and Italy. Though the details of this heritage, forged amid the turmoil of history, have retreated into the folds of memory, he knows that the origins of his nickname lie with his grandmothers, who came from other lands:
“For them, having to integrate was a particular challenge, as was ensuring that their children became fully immersed in French culture. They always refused to open up about their past and their own culture. It is something difficult that I know nothing about, yet I can feel its presence. It is this lack of foundations that makes me want to build.”
Before becoming a host of the shadows, before Maison Close took possession of his thoughts like a newly blossoming affair:
“This business is my passion project!”
the aesthete had to prove resourceful before he could finally devote himself to his love of art. Ever since that tumble that left him face down in the mud and drew nothing from his father but an order to get back on his feet, the lesson had been quickly learned:
“You fall, you get back up.”
To the endless moves, the restrictions of a boarding school nestled in the Cévennes, the tribulations of student life and the prospect of a difficult future, he responded with emotion and inventiveness. Whether boats, soapbox cars or makeshift bicycle ramps, grand escapes and ingenious ways out always had a knack for coming before hard work and homework:
“Those moments were, and still are, like a little honey sweet soothing a sore throat.”
Speed in his blood and a quest for what truly fuels him helped him live at full throttle, driven by an impatience now firmly written into the genes of his eldest son:
“Even though I’m beginning to understand La Fontaine’s tortoise, when I want to get somewhere, my instinct is still to charge ahead.”
Eager to find his place in the working world, the eternal autodidact turned to applied arts training, determined to make his imagination his passport to employment. Odd jobs saw his summers pass behind the till of a petrol station, while hours spent scraping away at architectural plans with a razor blade - plans he would rather have designed himself - accompanied a life lived at relentless pace: photography, vinyl records, books and all-consuming love affairs.
The golden age of advertising, the era of Tapie and Séguéla, rigged pitches and art directors subjected to relentless pressure, consumed a decade of the creative’s energy. Moving from freelance work to running his own agency, the draftsman of earlier days shaped powerful identities for major companies, all the while aware that his own was gradually slipping away:
“My brain was in the frying pan every single day. We worked around the clock, on every conceivable subject. It was as exhausting as it was enriching. In the end, I walked away from it all after realising that connections and belonging to a particular school of thought often mattered more than talent.”
In the wake of this creative overload and an encounter in the English-speaking world came the designer’s rediscovered sense of joy. In a flash of clarity, he conceived his first object of desire, which was immediately put into production:
“I was overwhelmed by instant success - it was bigger than me!”
His arrival in this world, still firmly rooted in taboo at the dawn of the twenty-first century, inevitably astonished those around the idealist:
“I didn’t care about people’s reservations! Maison Close was born by accident - originally, it was simply a way for me to have fun. I designed the first collection to accompany the accessories and learned fashion design as I went along. Then the specialist press became excited about it, and I decided I wanted to do things seriously, even though deep down it isn’t a serious business, because I don’t make essential products. It remains a pleasure, pure pleasure!”
The designer could never imagine an existence in which emotions were expressed only in muted shades, where he could not surrender his moods for the duration of an embrace. Beyond wanderings through museums and films, romantic and Gothic impulses, equestrian uniforms, military attire, flirtations with the Eighties and their neon spirit, beyond Gainsbourg’s nonchalance and lyrics charged with raw emotion, Monsieur le Français finds inspiration in the stories he lives through as an incurable romantic:
“I hate not being in love.”
Stories with the power to carry him to the very heights of bliss or plunge him into the most fertile melancholy - the very stories that promise a chance encounter or a heartbreak can give rise to new seams:
“I’m permanently on an IV drip. I absorb and absorb, until the moment comes when I press and filter everything I have seen, heard and lived through.”
And despite his fascination with ever more daring cuts, modesty ultimately prevails in a man who could never bare himself with the same ease as his creations shed their panels of fabric. A desire for retreat and discretion that chips away at the image of the irreverent host, the licentious provocateur that a hasty judgement might readily impose upon him.
For only the muses and friends, the moments shared with his two boys, might unlock that private realm in which Monsieur le Français unfolds beneath the lines of Nicolas.
For now, and for now alone, lingerie takes centre stage, echoing that culture of confidentiality that once sealed the doors of Maison Close and compelled Nicolas to disappear behind the persona of Monsieur le Français.
In the wake of this creative overload and an encounter in the English-speaking world came the designer’s rediscovered sense of joy. In a flash of clarity, he conceived his first object of desire, which was immediately put into production:
“I was overwhelmed by the instant success - it was bigger than me!”
His arrival in this world, still firmly rooted in taboo at the dawn of the twenty-first century, inevitably astonished those around the idealist:
“I didn’t care about people’s reservations! Maison Close was born by accident - originally, it was simply a way for me to have fun. I designed the first collection to accompany the accessories and learned fashion design as I went along. Then the specialist press became excited about it, and I decided to take things seriously, even though deep down it isn’t a serious business, because I don’t make essential products. It remains a pleasure, pure pleasure!”
The designer could never imagine an existence in which emotions were expressed only in muted shades, where he could not surrender his moods for the duration of an embrace. Beyond wanderings through museums and films, romantic and Gothic impulses, equestrian uniforms, military attire, flirtations with the Eighties and their neon spirit, beyond Gainsbourg’s nonchalance and lyrics charged with raw emotion, Monsieur le Français finds inspiration in the stories he lives through as an incurable romantic:
“I hate not being in love.”
Stories with the power to carry him to the very heights of bliss or plunge him into the most fertile melancholy - the very stories that promise a chance encounter or a heartbreak can give rise to new seams:
“I’m permanently on an IV drip. I absorb and absorb, until the moment comes when I press and filter everything I have seen, heard and lived through.”
And despite his fascination with ever more daring cuts, modesty ultimately prevails in a man who could never bare himself with the same ease as his creations shed their panels of fabric. A desire for retreat and discretion that chips away at the image of the irreverent host, the licentious provocateur that a hasty judgement might readily impose upon him.
For only the muses and friends, the moments shared with his two boys, might unlock that private realm in which Monsieur le Français unfolds beneath the lines of Nicolas.
For now, and for now alone, lingerie takes centre stage - echoing that culture of confidentiality that once sealed the doors of Maison Close and compelled Nicolas to disappear behind the persona of Monsieur le Français.
SCANDALOUS HERITAGE
Maison Close changes its name to SCANDALE on 22 July 2026.
Today, a new chapter begins. Maison Close becomes SCANDALE.
For me, this is not an ending. It is the natural continuation of this story. A chance to breathe new life into an iconic French house founded in 1932 and to write a new chapter.
There is a touch of sadness in closing these twenty years under the Maison Close name. And an immense sense of excitement at the thought of taking on this new challenge.
I would like to thank all the teams who stand beside me every day. Their talent, commitment and trust have allowed this adventure to exist and grow. I also want to extend a special thought to our clients. Without you, none of this would exist.
Thank you to everyone who has been with us from the beginning, and to those who joined us along the way.
The most beautiful chapter is still ours to imagine.
Monsieur le Français.