When Sonia Rykiel knitted her first sweater for herself in 1962, she probably had no idea that she was about to spark a fashion revolution. At the time, she was a young mother frustrated by the lack of clothing that combined femininity with comfort. Stores were dominated by stiff, formal garments, often completely detached from the real needs of everyday life. Knitting a sweater was therefore more of a practical solution than a grand ambition – and yet, out of that practicality, a philosophy of fashion was born that changed the way women began to dress. That first sweater later became known as “the poor boy’s sweater.” It was fitted, soft, emphasized the figure, but did not restrict movement. At a time when women were still forced into the corsets of convention and often literally into stiff clothes that sweater was a manifesto of freedom.
It is no coincidence that the fashion world crowned her “the Queen of Knitwear.” Rykiel had the ability to turn the simplest garment, the sweater, into a style icon. Her collections were full of stripes, asymmetrical cuts, and soft fabrics that evoked domestic comfort rather than the runway. And yet it was precisely these pieces that made it to the biggest fashion stages and became symbols of Parisian elegance the understated, unpretentious, but authentic kind. Think about it: in a world where haute couture meant towering gowns and complex designs, Sonia Rykiel approached women with the proposition of an “ordinary” sweater. Yet in her hands, ordinary became luxury. What seemed banal in other hands turned into something extraordinary in hers. That was her power the art of revealing the extraordinary in everyday life.
Writing about her, it is impossible not to mention her personal style. A fiery red mane, dark sunglasses, bold eyeliner, and ever-present striped sweaters – these were her trademarks. You didn’t need to see a label to know it was Sonia. She was a walking advertisement of her own philosophy. And most importantly, she never pretended to be anyone she was not. She did not create an artificial persona; she lived in harmony with her designs. Her presence in Parisian cafés, bookstores, or on the streets of Montparnasse made her look more like an intellectual artist than a fashion diva. That is what made her so relatable to many women she was an icon without the grandeur. “The neighbor next door who just happened to change the world of fashion” – that is how I would describe her.
For me personally, Sonia Rykiel embodies freedom. When I look at her striped designs, I feel that it is not just a pattern but a whole philosophy of life. Stripes – horizontal, vertical, colorful are a bit like life choices: sometimes you go straight, sometimes you veer to the side, sometimes paths cross, but together they form a harmonious whole. I remember for years treating fashion as something ceremonial, something to be “endured.” Stiff jackets, uncomfortable shoes you probably know the feeling well. And then I discovered clothes I could move in, dance in, breathe in. That’s when it dawned on me that fashion doesn’t have to be a torment. I imagine Sonia would smile at this, because that was exactly her point that a woman should feel herself in her clothes, not someone imposed by a mirror or magazine cover.
However, we cannot consider Rykiel’s work without understanding her era. The 1960s and 1970s were times of social change, the rise of feminism in a louder, more visible form, and societal upheavals. Women were fighting for freedom, independence, and the right to self-determination. Sonia Rykiel did not write feminist essays or speak from barricades her “protest” took the form of clothes. Every sweater she designed was, in essence, a statement in the larger conversation about women’s rights: quiet, soft, but incredibly expressive. Instead of imposing uniforms, she gave women space to be themselves. It was a silent revolution, one as effective as the loudest manifestos.
Stories about Sonia reflect her character perfectly. Once, when asked to define elegance, she said: “Elegance is refusal.” Indeed, in that short sentence she captured her entire philosophy. A refusal of unnecessary embellishments, a refusal to pretend, a refusal to compromise on comfort. She was a queen, but a queen in a sweater, not in a crown. Looking at her photographs, it is immediately clear that perfection never mattered to her authenticity did. Perhaps this is why she still feels more contemporary than many designers who came half a century after her.
Sometimes I wonder how Sonia Rykiel would navigate the age of Instagram. I am convinced she would watch the endless pursuit of the perfect image with mild amusement. Her fashion was never about filters or perfection it was about real life, movement, a city full of energy. If she were alive today, she would probably tell us: “Put on your striped sweaters, go out into the world, and enjoy yourselves. That’s enough.” And I have to admit in a world overflowing with artificiality, that sounds like the most refreshing trend we could follow.
Photos courtesy of The Wall Street Journal, © The Condé Nast Publications, Gamma-Rapho via Getty Images
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