After having chaoticized the entire planet, reconciled public opinion with the skirt, the crop and the hound's foot, Hedi Slimane wrote tonight the third chapter of its history at Celine. Bourgeoise? Not bourgeois? The suspense is in posterity, in the imagination of the creator, the female figures of the New Wave, Delphine Seyrig, Stéphane Audran, these falsely wise gaits of the 16th arrondissement ... Here, on the border of 7 and 15, in the shade - or the light - of the Dome of the Invalides, the curtain raising is anything but policed: the first silhouette emerges from a geometric structure beaded with yellow lights, green ... to the sound of one of these psyche rocks Hedi Slimane made his sound signature. Hands in pockets, jeans, basketball, shirt open on heterogeneous medals, this girl left her auteur cinema to write her own story. Post-sixty-eight but still aristocratic, the pitch crystallizes in 63 passages the impetus of the golden youth towards a bohemian lifestyle - as in the song. All the salt of the cliche "bobo" is there, in this embryo of layering way De La Falaise, where silk turbans crowned a man's leather and a bcbg skirt. So, and finally, what transpired six months ago as a modo-cultural manifesto is put into practice here. Like Truffaut, who projected the cinema studios to the street, Hedi Slimane takes his bourgeois, his bourgeois and sent them to beat the pavement.