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Blake Abbie: What are your perspectives on nurturing people and ideas?

Carla Sozzani: I’ve been working in fashion for 57 years now—I started in 1968. It’s been a long time. Over these years I’ve seen so many changes. When I began, ready-to-wear wasn’t even around, it was couture. I witnessed the arrival of designers, the arrival of the “star” system. And as the star system grew and the big groups took over, that sense of freedom we had at the beginning of the 1980s, especially when designers were independent, disappeared. They could build their own brands, they weren’t scared—they had nothing to lose. Today it’s much harder for young designers. You can be the most talented person in the world, but there are so many elements now that didn’t exist then. The world is much bigger. To be independent, to sell, produce, deliver—it’s not like when Azzedine Alaïa or Jean Paul Gaultier started. Back then it was France, two or three places in England, always a lot in Italy, some in America that would buy. The world was smaller, easier to deal with. Today for young designers it’s extremely difficult. Production has changed, and it’s hard to be discovered, to build momentum and stay independent.

Sara Sozzani Maino: I’ve been doing this for almost 20 years. I also think it was much easier before because it was more niche. Now the number of designers coming out of schools is huge. Every time I go see graduate shows I ask myself—where are all these people going to go? Through the Fondazione Sozzani, I try to make them understand: being creative doesn’t mean you must start your own brand. You may have studied fashion for three years, but you can express creativity in many different ways. When I began focusing on talents around 2005, with Franca Sozzani at Vogue Italia, we created Who is on Next, a contest dedicated to “Made in Italy”. At that time “Made in Italy” wasn’t being valued as it should have been. I realised the generational change wasn’t really happening in Italy, or anywhere actually. Supporting new generations is about recognising they are our future. Life goes on, someone else comes, and we must invest in them. But it’s not just about putting another beautiful collection into the market. If there isn’t a story, a meaning, a value—we’re not interested. I always stress quality, not quantity. Social media makes everything too fast: by 25, people think they already know everything. When I started in the mid-1990s, it was slower, there was no internet. That gave me time to figure out what I wanted to do, without following a set family path. That’s important to explain to the new generation that there’s no rush. And of course, there’s been a big shift for me personally: now I support projects that are socially, politically and ethically responsible, not just commercially appealing.

BA: There is this incredible and singular relationship between you and Carla—as mother and daughter. Carla, how did you nurture Sara’s interest in the industry?

CS: Sara learned everything from Franca, not from me.

SSM: It came naturally. In big fashion families, it often feels obligatory that children must follow the family destiny. With me, it was different. I started university in Milan, but I wasn’t a great student and didn’t want to waste time or money. So I began working with Carla at 10 Corso Como, which was only a few years old at the time. After a while, Franca suggested that I join Vogue Italia for an internship. And that lasted 29 years. For me, family and work were always separate. At Vogue, Franca wasn’t my aunt—she was my editor-in-chief. I respected her deeply; for 10 years I didn’t even dare enter her office. Sometimes I doubted if it was the right path, and she would simply say: “The door is open. You can leave if you want.” I was lucky to have had a chance to work across departments, to understand what I wanted. Eventually I found myself in the fashion department, assisting stylists, then styling myself. That’s where I noticed the absence of young designers at shows, and my curiosity grew.

CS: The problem with your children is that you’re either too tough or too soft. Apparently I was too soft. Every Sunday we had lunch with my mother, Franca, Sara and myself. We’ve always had strong family bonds between women. During one of those lunches Franca said, “You’re too soft, but I know someone stronger—me.” And I think Sara really found her freedom when they founded Vogue Talents. That was Sara’s idea, which Franca embraced, because Franca was always very interested in promoting and supporting new designers. At the same time I was doing the same at 10 Corso Como. So although we had similar ideas, it took time before we worked together. Sara has been very brave: between Franca and myself, it wasn’t easy to form her own identity. But she did. And now, she is the one with ideas, and I follow her.

BA: Carla, what did your mother do?

CS: She married late, over 35, and after that she didn’t work. She was always reading, as far back as I remember—sitting in her chair reading until she was nearly 100. Even then, she would learn a poem by heart every day, saying it was good for her. She was exceptionally cultured. Franca and I grew up with her and our father surrounded by beauty—art, museums, churches. It was very formative. But she never worked outside the home.

BA: You both have such a strong sense of curiosity. Where does that come from? Is that a Sozzani trait?

CS: Curiosity gets nurtured by life. When you’re curious, everything you see gives you new ideas—it grows and never stops. You read a book, you want to learn more. I think curiosity holds the world together and gives people strength.

BA: I don’t know if everyone has that sense of doing things just for the love of them.

CS: It’s a privilege, and not easy to keep. But when you believe in what you’re doing, that’s the most important thing. That’s what young people must learn: to believe in themselves, and to be sure of what they want to do. Then, maybe, you can become the next Armani.

SSM: That’s the most beautiful privilege—to love what you do. Of course, there are stressful moments, but if you wake up happy to work and go to bed the same way, that’s wonderful. You don’t just inherit it, you build it through experience. Curiosity is part of that. Franca taught me by throwing me into challenges. If she saw you wanted responsibility, she gave it to you and often for things you’d never done before. You’d say yes in her office, then panic outside, but you’d figure it out. That’s how I learned. It also taught me versatility. Just because you studied something for five years doesn’t mean you must do it all your life. I’ve been working 30 years now, always in creative fields, but in many roles. My curiosity took me beyond the big four fashion capitals—to South Africa, Georgia, the Middle East… Franca sent me to Jeddah in 2016, when women still couldn’t drive or sit in the front seat. We wore abayas the whole week. It was socially and politically challenging, but meaningful. She always said: Vogue Italia is written in Italian, spoken only by Italians. To reach the world, one needs images. So she did it through covers and stories, even when criticised. She didn’t care. That daring spirit was hers, and also Carla’s. When she opened 10 Corso Como in 1991, it was considered the outskirts, with no shop windows, and a car dealer in the courtyard. You’d walk past the mechanic, dirty with grease, then enter the shop.

CS: I spent 19 years in magazines, between Vogue and Elle. When I was fired from Elle, I opened a photography gallery in a loft above a garage on Corso Como. I didn’t know anything about galleries, except that I collected photography. A year later I missed fashion. The early 1990s were full of energy—Comme des Garçons was maturing, Yohji, Prada starting. So I decided to extend the gallery with a space where I could also sell, but make the choices like I did in magazines. Editing was the only thing I knew, I wasn’t a retailer. I wanted a space like a living magazine. Instead of turning pages, you turned corners. Each table was a page. It was hard, people didn’t understand why there were shoes next to candles, or books next to hats. Now it seems obvious, but at the time it was strange. Without realising it, I created what later became known as concept stores. For me it wasn’t a marketing idea, it came from my editorial experience.

BA: Sometimes people say having too many opinions isn’t a good trait, but it seems to me that conviction drives everything you’ve done. Was there ever pushback—times when being strong-willed created challenges?

CS: I don’t think of myself as opinionated. I just believe in what I do. Of course there were times when the business was slow and people didn’t understand what I was doing. They’d say, “Why don’t you close?” But I believed it was the future. For me, it was always about mixing—big brands with small ones, Moroccan textiles with Japanese cups. I loved to mix cultures and people. My idea was to create a destination, like an Italian piazza, where people could meet, talk, exchange ideas. In 1991, there was no internet, no Google. The only place people exchanged views was the town square. So I wanted to build my own piazza where you could have a coffee, see an exhibition, buy a dress or flowers and spend time together.

BA: That’s beautiful. Sara, young designers often say they seek your opinion. How do you see the responsibility of having one?

SSM: I don’t think there’s a simple answer. Right now the industry is in crisis—not just financial, but generational. Many brands have become slaves to the systems they created, trapped in cages with no key. I always tell young designers: listen, but don’t follow blindly. I tell young creatives: find mentors, don’t be afraid to ask questions—everyone was once confused about what to do. But don’t be overly influenced. I never tell someone, “You can’t be a designer.” I try to help them reflect: maybe it’s not the right time, or maybe they need to think differently. Designers are often so immersed in their projects they can’t see what’s obvious. My role is to help them see. That’s why people appreciate what I do: because it comes from the heart, and with a purpose that’s bigger than myself. At the Fondazione, we open doors to those who share its values. It’s never about money or convenience. If we lose our values, we lose our path—and that’s what happens to many designers who listen too much and forget their own voice. It may sound cliché, but clichés are truths repeated.

BA: With the Fondazione Sozzani, when did you two really begin to work together, beyond Sunday lunches?

SSM: It happened naturally. When Vogue Talents closed four years ago, I thought about starting something on my own. But then I realised the Fondazione was the most beautiful heritage I could continue, not only my family heritage, but a space that remains even when we’re no longer here. So around late 2020, early 2021, we began working together. We never said, “Let’s do this together.” It just happened. I always say we began truly knowing each other only then. For most of our lives, we were focused on our separate projects. Now we’ve found each other through the Fondazione.

CS: When Sara was disappointed about Vogue Talents ending—she had believed in it so much—we had this space with my archives and some of Franca’s. We thought: why not invite someone here, give them space, offer support? That’s how it started. Slowly, we tested each other. And it worked. We realised we share the same interests and ideas. Even if I didn’t do anything, because she’s so great. Franca used to say, “You and I don’t deserve Sara.”

BA: What did she mean?

CS: That Sara was better than the two of us.

BA: That’s high praise.

SSM: It was very sweet of her. She often repeated it. Coming from such a family, it could have been difficult to find my own space, separate from Carla or Franca. When she saw I managed, she was proud. She said, “We don’t deserve you.” I think it was also because I grew up very independent. They were both always working, so maybe they expected me to be problematic, but instead I became responsible.

BA: Perhaps because you were raised well.

SSM: Yes, of course education matters. But there are no rules to being a parent. It’s the toughest job in life. Sometimes you wonder if you should have spent more time, but in the end it worked out.

CS: Sometimes I think I wasn’t present enough. But I’ve always told myself: it’s about the quality of the time you give, not the quantity. That gave me freedom, and Sara independence.

BA: And now you’ve found each other again, working together in ways that reflect your lives. It’s a beautiful surprise of life.

CS: Yes, one of the beautiful surprises.

BA: What are your plans for the Fondazione’s future?

CS: At this stage of my life, transmission is what matters—passing on what I’ve learned. Not just in fashion, but from galleries, books, photography, designers. Maybe it will be useful, maybe not. But I like to share. Transmission is my priority.

SSM: I agree. It’s about creating connections, preserving heritage and giving back. The Fondazione itself becomes heritage—for the next generation, and for whoever comes after us.