I was born in Normandy, in a land of leather and manufacturing. In my family, two grandfathers were already linked to shoes: one ran a Heyraud store, the other was a bootmaker and cobbler. Leather was not decoration. It was material, work, discipline.
I first trained as a mechanical systems engineer. In automotive design, at Renault and then Valeo, I learned clean lines, constraints and proportions. A form has to hold. A beautiful line is not enough if it does not serve the body.
Then I photographed fashion, television sets, red carpets, women who command an image before speaking. Celine Dion, Jean Paul Gaultier, Paco Rabanne, Kenzo, runway shows, editorial rooms. After years of framing those silhouettes, one idea stayed: authority often starts with posture.
Kendrick was born there. Not from a trend. From the need to give that force a material form. I left the image for the object. Leather, needles, thread. The first prototypes were made by hand, without formal bootmaking training, as an almost archaeological search for the right form.
The first pairs then found their place without unnecessary noise: on Caroline Roux, Maya Lauque, Ava Djamshidi, Anggun, on French television and in contexts where presence is immediately visible. The names are not the argument. They only confirm that the shoe holds posture on screen.
Today, the relaunch has to stay faithful to that origin. No production to fill stock. Only what can be worn, size by size, by women who understand what a heel changes in the way the body stands.