The fitting room on the second floor of 10 avenue George V is silent except for the sound of chalk on wool

The fitting room on the second floor of 10 avenue George V is silent except for the sound of chalk on wool. A première d'atelier — her name is Marie-Laure Geffroy, though you won't find it on the label — is marking a sleeve head that refuses to sit cleanly over the shoulder. The toile is pinned to a mannequin scaled to sample size eight. Geffroy steps back, considers the pitch of the armscye, and reaches for her shears. She has been at Balenciaga for nineteen years. The coat she is building will carry Demna's name when it walks the runway in six weeks.

This is not an exposé. It is a fact of the trade. Every house operates this way. What distinguishes Balenciaga — or any maison that has survived a century — is the depth of its bench. Geffroy trained at the École de la Chambre Syndicale. So did her counterpart in the leather atelier, Julien Marchand, who joined in 2011 and now oversees the construction of Balenciaga's sculptural bags. So did the modéliste who translates Demna's sketches into patterns that account for stretch, drape, and the physics of a body in motion. The house does not advertise their names. It does not need to. The work speaks.

The atelier system, in brief

Balenciaga's Paris ateliers are divided into flou and tailleur — soft construction and tailoring — with leather and accessory workshops operating semi-autonomously. Each atelier is headed by a première or premier, who reports to the studio director, who in turn works directly with the creative director. This is the same structure Cristóbal Balenciaga established in 1937, though the building has changed addresses and the ownership has passed through several hands. What has not changed is the rhythm of a collection: sixteen weeks from first sketch to final fitting, with fittings scheduled every Tuesday and Thursday at ten in the morning.

Geffroy's role is to interpret. Demna works in drape and volume. He will pin fabric directly onto a mannequin, or onto a model, and leave the atelier to solve the engineering. A sleeve that appears to float six centimetres off the shoulder requires a hidden armature. A coat that pools at the hem like spilled ink requires weight — lead shot sewn into the lining, or a horsehair braid that adds structure without stiffness. These are decisions the première makes in consultation with the modéliste, and they are decisions that determine whether a piece works or becomes a sketch that never leaves the studio.

Marchand's work is more tactile. Balenciaga's leather goods — the City bag, the Hourglass, the Triangle Duffle — are constructed using techniques borrowed from harness-making and bookbinding. The house still employs a saddle stitch for certain seams, which means two needles working simultaneously from opposite sides of the leather. It is slower than a machine stitch. It is also more durable, and it creates a seam that sits flatter and ages more gracefully. Marchand learned the stitch during his first year at the Chambre Syndicale. He has been refining it ever since.

Who gets credit, and why it matters

The question of attribution in fashion is older than the industry itself. Charles Frederick Worth signed his gowns in the 1860s, and in doing so established the designer as author. Cristóbal Balenciaga did not sign his work — he did not need to — but he was meticulous about crediting his premières in private. When he closed his house in 1968, he wrote personal letters to each member of his atelier, thanking them by name and noting specific pieces they had worked on. Those letters are now in the archive at the Musée Galliera. They are not on public display.

Demna has taken a different approach. In interviews — most notably with System in 2021 and AnOther in 2023 — he has spoken openly about the collaborative nature of the work. He does not name individuals, but he does not claim sole authorship either. This is a shift. It reflects, one suspects, a generational change in how creative labour is understood. It also reflects the reality that a Balenciaga collection now includes ready-to-wear, couture, leather goods, shoes, jewellery, and eyewear, all produced simultaneously across multiple ateliers and external workshops. No single person can oversee it all.

That said, the system still privileges the designer's name. Geffroy's coat will be catalogued as Demna's coat. Marchand's bag will be credited to Balenciaga, which is to say, to the creative director who approved the final prototype. This is not unique to Balenciaga. It is how the industry functions. The question is whether it should.

A case study: the Le Cagole bag

The Le Cagole, introduced in Demna's spring 2022 collection, is a direct descendant of the City bag that Nicolas Ghesquière designed in the early 2000s. Same slouch, same hardware, same lambskin treated to a soft, almost suede-like finish. What changed was the scale — Demna's version is smaller, more compact — and the ornamentation. The Le Cagole is covered in studs, buckles, and grommets. It looks, intentionally, like something a teenager might customise in a bedroom.

The bag was prototyped by Marchand's team over six months. The challenge was not the studs — those are applied by machine — but the way the leather had to be skived and reinforced to support the hardware without losing its drape. Too much structure and the bag would look stiff. Too little and it would collapse under its own weight. The solution involved a floating interlining, cut on the bias, that allows the leather to move while maintaining its shape. This is not information Balenciaga publishes. It is the kind of detail one learns by handling the bag, or by speaking to someone who made it.

Marchand's name does not appear on the Le Cagole. Demna's does, by implication. The bag retails for €2,590 in Europe, $2,850 in the States. Of that price, a portion goes to materials, a portion to overhead, a portion to marketing, and a portion to the atelier. Marchand is salaried. He does not receive royalties. This is standard.

What comes next

Balenciaga has announced plans to expand its atelier capacity by 30 per cent over the next three years. This means hiring. It also means training, which the house does in partnership with the Chambre Syndicale and, increasingly, through its own apprenticeship programme. The goal, according to a company statement issued in late 2023, is to bring more production in-house and reduce reliance on external ateliers. Whether this is a response to supply-chain pressures or a strategic shift toward vertical integration is unclear. Likely it is both.

For Geffroy, the expansion means more hands in the room, which she views as a mixed blessing. More artisans means more capacity, but it also means more training, more oversight, and more time spent managing rather than making. She is fifty-two. She has been in the trade since she was eighteen. She can see retirement on the horizon, though she does not speak of it directly. What she does say, when asked, is that the work will continue. Someone will take her place. The house will go on.

This is not romanticism. It is fact. Balenciaga has survived the death of its founder, multiple changes in ownership, and a creative director who once sent models down the runway in IKEA bags. It will survive Demna's eventual departure as well. What endures is not the name on the door. It is the knowledge in the room — the way a sleeve is set, the way leather is skived, the way a seam is stitched so it lasts. That knowledge is held by people like Geffroy and Marchand. They are not celebrities. They are craftspeople. The distinction matters.