Why do French footballers look like role models?

In parallel to the fashion weeks that are currently dominating the catwalks of Paris, Milan, and New York, another equally eagerly awaited parade took place this week: that of the French national team players arriving for their training camp at Clairefontaine. A spontaneous but calculated parade, in which every garment, every bag, and every shoe speaks the language of the most coveted luxury brands. This phenomenon, born during the 2018 World Cup, when blue began to turn their arrivals into showcases of style, has gradually gained momentum until becoming, between 2023 and 2024, part of the team's very identity. The moment they step out of the car – as if it were the Oscars red carpet – already involves stylists, photographers and top brands.

This year Jules Kounde, true to his reputation as a fashion icon, has once again surprised with a pop-inspired sweater from Jaden Smith's Misfits brand and turquoise sneakers. Last year was one of the most talked about, with bell-bottom trousers, an orange tie, high-heeled boots and the iconic keepall from Louis Vuitton, Stephen Sprouse version from 2001.

Képhren Thuram – whose outfit looked like it came straight off a snowboard slope in Saint-Moritz – sported a matching Goyard bag.

Bradley Barcola, seemingly casual in an Adidas tracksuit, was actually wearing Y-3, the line designed by Japanese designer Yohji Yamamoto. Ibrahima Konate, this year wearing a Prada suit, a Prada bag, and small-heeled shoes, was the protagonist of one of last year's most viral moments, when he appeared with his head completely covered by a green Jacquemus hoodie.

But the title of daring of this edition goes to Eduardo Camavinga, with a maxibag by Hermès and wide-legged Japanese-cut trousers.

This display of media is accompanied by equal parts fascination on the part of some and sarcasm on the part of others: does Camavinga look like an old lady? Should someone tell them it's not Halloween all year round? Does everything look like a circus... more avant-garde?

First of all, there's a gender issue. Although today high fashion has become very mixed with urban and sports trends, the old misogynistic belief that considers fashion superficial because it's "a woman's thing" still persists. As if men didn't dress every day! The added problem is that football players are not just any men: they are the guardians of normative masculinity, and to question this is to touch a nerve. A clear precedent can be found with David Beckham, who after the 1998 World Cup received criticism for being more concerned with fashion than football, just after a photo of him circulated with a pareo. As if that skirt had been the real culprit for the card she received against Simeone.

There is also a question of class and the management of luxury. In the past, it served to legitimize privileges, but after the bourgeoisie became the dominant class, luxury became intellectualized: taste, education, and moderation, not ostentation or grandiloquence. But footballers, who have gone from being players to influencers Street vendors show the most contemporary face of luxury: not as a cultural symbol, but as an image commodity. It all comes down to attracting attention with exaggerated logomania and overly obvious icons. A spectacle of pure consumption that neither establishes social hierarchies nor transmits culture, since in many cases they dress them without even understanding what they're wearing.

Ultimately, at Clairefontaine it's clear that nothing is as simple as it seems: players who are guardians of the most mothball masculinity playing with the codes of femininity, indecent fortunes that make them fat off the field, and dresses that speak more of vain posturing than fashion. In the end, perhaps the real game is the one played in front of the goals and the eyes, and not on the pitch.