As an auctioneer, Harold Hessel has made his mark on Rue Drouot, where, beneath the wood panelling of the famous eponymous auction house, the finest treasures go under the hammer. A world of velvet and enduring traditions where one must first carry oneself like a character from a classic novel: with elegance, but never overdoing it. An art Harold Hessel consistently masters in a suit, and always in navy blue. When he is not plying his trade under the studio lights of the TV show Affaire Conclue on France 2, which allows him a few eccentricities that, all things considered, suit him rather well.
What place do clothes hold in your life as an auctioneer?
Clothes are important, because it's always good to feel comfortable in life. And having style is by no means a drawback. That being said, I am not a dedicated fashion follower. What interests me more than garments are objects. That is where my full attention lies: paintings, furniture. An auctioneer's job is to showcase the object being sold. The object must take centre stage, not the auctioneer. You have to remain discreet and avoid overly conspicuous outfits. In a sense, you need to be less stylish than the piece itself. From that perspective, I see clothes more as a kind of uniform. Personally, I love navy blue suits.
Does that uniform say something about your personality?
I come from a family of German heritage, and some of my ancestors were pastors. Lutherans. Subconsciously, I think I carry some Lutheran sensibilities. Navy blue is an understated colour that conveys a certain rectitude, even rigour. It fits who I am and matches my temperament. Looking back, I may lack a bit of boldness. I have never felt the urge to add red or mustard yellow to my wardrobe. My eccentricity lies in the objects I collect. At home, I have wildly eccentric watercolours by a great-great-uncle who studied under the master painter Girodet. Illustrations on the verge of sci-fi comic art dating back to 1810, featuring dragons, witches and bats.
What role does the suit play in the auction world?
Hôtel Drouot in Paris is a traditional, even deeply conservative world. Life there is still lived as in the 19th century, very much in the spirit of Balzac. A formal suit has always been the rule. It is an unwritten code. That's just how it is. When I started out as an auctioneer's clerk in a small Parisian firm, I bought a series of suits in subtle shades of navy and grey. And I only wore formal leather shoes. That was expected of me. It suited that firm perfectly, with all its mahogany furniture and hushed atmosphere.
Those who win the finest lots are the ones who stay discreet, always in the back of the room, where they go unnoticed. There is a kind of bluff to it.
Yet there are exceptions! The famous auctioneer Pierre Cornette de Saint-Cyr, for example, loved wearing colourful trousers. One colour for each day of the week. He was one of the first to do so, and initially it was seen as a terrible transgression. I also think our British and American counterparts have a sartorial edge over us French. They have a slightly keener eye for elegance. But it's never flashy. You see it in the choice of cuts and fabrics. I have genuine admiration for my London peers.
In salerooms, are there people whose bidding power you wouldn't suspect simply because they look entirely unassuming?
In the saleroom, when you want an item, you don't want to draw attention to yourself. Those who win the finest lots are the ones who stay discreet, always in the back of the room, where they go unnoticed. There is a kind of bluff to it. They do everything they can to avoid alerting competitors in the room. If you are spotted, you invite jealousy, spark others' interest, and risk someone bidding simply because they assume it's a good deal, without knowing what it actually is. In an auction room, everyone is looking for a bargain, and everyone is watching everyone else. Today, prominent collectors and leading galleries prefer to send agents to bid on their behalf. You don't necessarily know who they are. Drouot is a world that values anonymity.
Is clothing something people bid heavily on at Drouot?
Until the 1990s, clothing was not really considered by the auction world. People simply weren't interested. And in prominent families, fine antique clothes inherited from the past were either thrown away or given to household staff. People weren't aware of their heritage value. That has changed. Like many other things, we realised that vintage garments could be worth money, and sometimes even more than new ones. As a result, there are more and more fashion sales at Drouot. There is a real enthusiasm for vintage pieces, such as wardrobes from the 80s or 90s. Not to wear them, of course, but to display them.
There is a dreamlike quality to it. A garment is a story, a universe.
Three years ago, as part of an estate sale, I oversaw the sale of a set of knitted sportswear pieces by Hermès, designed for tennis or the beach. The pieces were appraised with the help of fashion experts, much like consulting a specialist in philately or Asian art. It was not easy to appraise, precisely because you rarely see such pieces on the market. Twentieth-century fashion doesn't really have established benchmarks. It is far harder to value than an antique 19th-century dress or parasol found in an attic, which are much more common. The starting price for these Hermès pieces was eventually set at around 500 euros each, as a rough estimate, and they fetched 5,000 euros in the saleroom. They were mostly bought by museums.
Organising a clothing auction is expensive. You have to curate a very specific selection, taking into account provenance and labels. You can't just sell second-hand clothes. Today, there is genuine excitement around pieces once worn by iconic figures. When people know we are selling something that belonged to Joséphine Baker or Mistinguett, it creates a genuine sense of wonder, and never mind if the fabric is pilling. There is a dreamlike quality to it. A garment is a story, a universe.
To wrap up, could we say it was on the set of Affaire Conclue that your style, shall we say, loosened up?
Absolutely. You have to adapt to your audience. For instance, I sometimes dress up depending on the items being sold: I might end up in a Stormtrooper suit or a bullfighter's costume. It makes me laugh. For our Christmas special, I also wear a Christmas jumper every year, each one more absurd than the last. That's my little indulgence. It was our producer's idea. I was very reluctant at first. I never thought a Christmas jumper looked good; it wasn't my style at all. But I grew fond of it, and I think the viewers did too. The uglier the jumper, the more likeable it makes me, I believe. I even wore one with flashing fairy lights around an embroidered Christmas tree.