Clare V., a brand that encapsulates French style, is the product of an American woman who grew up in Minnesota and now lives in Los Angeles. But after reading Clare Vivier’s new Rizzoli book, La Vie de Clare V., this all makes sense. Fifteen years ago, Vivier debuted an elegant, no-nonsense clutch that became the foundation of an accessories-and-clothing house and was sold all over the world. Informed by the sensibilities of American prep and Gallic elegance—her husband, Thierry Vivier, is originally from France—Clare V.’s focus on utility also explains its success. On the occasion of her book’s publication, Vivier shares her key components to the good life. —Ashley Baker
Airline: Delta.
Airport: I’m a creature of habit, so LAX and CDG.
Alibi: “Check the flight manifest.”
App: Instagram.
Bag: The simple luxury of my La Tropezienne.
Bedtime: 10 p.m. when alone, midnight when Thierry is home.
Bike: Linus x Clare V.
Birthday: January 8. Elvis, Bowie, Carolina Herrera, and me!
Breakfast, weekday: Coffee and a piece of whole-grain toast with peanut butter and a dash of Maldon salt.
Breakfast, weekend: Coffee and a fried egg on a corn tortilla with Hot Mama Salsa.
Car: Electric.
Child: My Okkieboo.
Cocktail: A G&T by Annie Campbell or French red wine.
Cocktail appetizer: Saucisson or olives.
Couple: Steak and frites.
Date: An early-bird walk on Sunday night to La Pharmacie du Vin, in Silver Lake, in Los Angeles, or a Saturday-night dinner at Jour de Fête in Valennes, near our house in France.
Diet: Eat less.
Dinner, weekday: A home-cooked meal by Thierry.
Dinner, weekend: A new recipe made at home with Simon, my stepson.
Disguise: I’ve never needed one, but I think a baseball hat and sunnies would do the trick.
Dress: Old Celine, white linen with zipper down the front.
Drive: Vendôme to Saint-Calais, the final stretch before we reach our house.
Enemy: Righteousness.
Escape: Surfing with girlfriends in Santa Teresa, Costa Rica.
Excuse: “I was out of town.”
Family: The Guerreros.
First MAN/First LADY: Barack and Michelle.
Flaw: My lack of Gisele’s abs.
Foil: Salt, my friend, foe, and foil.
Friend: My sister, Ann.
Girlfriend: Heather Taylor.
Good-bye: “Ciao.”
Hideaway:
My closet.
Hotel: The Oberoi Rajvilas, in Jaipur. I’ve never felt so cared for, in such a beautiful setting, in all my life.
Indulgence: Business class.
Insult: “Creepzone.”
Jacket: Dries Van Noten.
Kiss-off: “Dead to me.”
Last Meal: Chips and salsa and/or baguette and salted butter and a bottle of French red wine.
Lunch, weekday: A salad made at work by Meaghan and Greta.
Lunch, weekend: Something my husband makes.
Match: On clay courts.
Movie: Past Lives.
Name: Angela Clare or Clare Angela, depending on whom you ask.
Neighbor: Luxe de Ville, a vintage shop on Sunset Boulevard.
Nonfiction book: Don’t Call Me Home, by Alexandra Auder.
Novel: The Goldfinch, by Donna Tartt. It was the last book my dad and I read and discussed before he passed away.
Pants: Celine trousers, Phoebe Philo era.
Pets: Paco and Cocqui.
Piece of advice: “Look ahead, not sideways.”
Podcast: Pivot.
President: Obama.
RestaurantS: L&E, Botanica, and Elf, all in Silver Lake, and all walking distance from our home.
Ride: An electric vehicle.
Saying: “It’s cute.”
Shoes: Brogues.
Singer: Stevie Wonder.
Spouse: Mon mari.
Street: Rue Bourgneuf.
Television series: Sex and the City and Homeland.
Theme song to your life: “If It’s Magic,” by Stevie Wonder.
Time of day: Magic hour.
Toast: “Santé.”
Vacation: Family reunions with my family, the Guerreros, around the U.S.
View: Bougainvillea blooming out of my bedroom window.
Wake-up time: Between six and seven.
Weekend bag: A bright-yellow C.V. weekender.
Works of art: Portraits by Alice Neel make me happy.
Writing implement: An extra-sharp pencil is a real luxury, but if that’s not possible, then a Kaweco Classic Sport is a pleasure.
Clare’s Essentials
