Paolo Roversi

in conversation with Emmanuel Olunkwa

December 9, 2025

Paolo Roversi is an Italian photographer whose work has shaped the visual language of fashion for more than five decades. Born in Ravenna in 1947, he began his career as a young reporter before moving to Paris in 1973, where he encountered the work of Erwin Blumenfeld, Sarah Moon, and Guy Bourdin—figures who shifted his practice from documentary clarity toward the luminous, dream-laden style that would define it. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, Roversi became a central presence in the pages of Vogue Italia, Vogue Paris, i-D, and Arena Homme+, producing portraits and fashion stories that have since become canonical. Working almost exclusively from his Paris studio, established in the late 1970s, he developed a singular approach: long exposures, restrained palettes, and an openness to chance that made each image feel both intimate and otherworldly. His photographs have been exhibited at the Maison Européenne de la Photographie, the Moderna Museet, and the Hayward Gallery, among other institutions.

Roversi’s studio has remained the heart of his practice for nearly fifty years, a place where he continues to explore the possibilities of light, shadow, and encounter. In September 2021, he photographed me in Studio Luce, his Paris studio, for i-D’s Winter issue guest-edited by Arthur Jafa, an encounter that revealed the quiet intensity and generosity of his practice. Today, he continues to work in Paris, adapting intuitively to the shifting landscape of fashion and technology while remaining devoted to the mystery at the center of image-making. This conversation took place in December 2025.

EO

If we begin only with words, how would you describe the world your photographs come from? And do you still make images for the same reasons you did at the beginning?

PR

I started as a journalist, doing simple reportage and making portraits. My work was very direct then, and was without fantasy or dream. But when I entered the fashion world, everything suddenly shifted for me. Imagination became an important part of the day to day and the job—almost the point of it entirely—and that changed everything for me. It opened another door, not just in my work but in the world around that was around it. There was an evolution happening at the time, in culture and in photography, and fashion allowed me to step into a more poetic and mysterious space. I’m still connected to those early instincts of the person I was when I first moved here, but the creative freedom I found in fashion transformed my understanding of what a photograph could be and who I was becoming.

EO

You once said you went to Ezra Pound’s funeral. Did that moment matter for you?

PR

Yes, very much. Pound was a great poet and a very special and influential person. While being there was moving, to be honest, I don’t connect that moment directly to my work that I do in fashion. When I left Italy and came to Paris, I left everything behind: my Italian education, my political context, everything else from that life. I didn’t bring it with me; I couldn’t in a lot of ways. Paris was a new beginning for me and I took it.

EO

What made you move? What changed for you in Paris?

PR

I was twenty-four when I arrived. I didn’t speak French or English, so I was a stranger in every sense. But Paris taught me how to grow up as a photographer. Quickly I realized so I changed my cameras, my idea of light, and my way of standing in front of the subject. I discovered the new masters, Blumenfeld and Moon, and they opened my eyes even more new possibilities. In Paris I understood that photography wasn’t just a technique, it could be another world.

EO

Now that you’re older, do you see those transformations differently?

PR

I never try to understand too much, you know. I never try to analyze my work or my life, or to understand too much why it happened like this or like that. I prefer to keep going into the mystery, by living in the chance—in the faith, yes, the distance of what is possible. If I stay too close to asking questions, I lose the feeling.

EO

So what held you together then? What kept you believing in your work?

PR

I’d say curiosity mostly, and desire and pleasure. Taking pictures is a passion for me and it’s almost like a game in a way. I enjoyed it so much that it has continued to carry me forward. I didn’t need a philosophy—the passion itself of consistently making my work was enough.

EO

Did you feel like an outsider when you arrived?

PR

Completely. I was a stranger in every way. But over time, Paris became my home. I’ve been here fifty years now, so I feel Parisian, and the city has been incredibly generous to me. We are good companions now.

EO

Photography has changed so dramatically since the ’70s and ’80s. What has the medium taught you about your life?

PR

My work is my life, and my life is my work, because they cross constantly. I’ve given everything to photography, and it has given everything back to me in return. Though I remain curious and still want to find new ways of seeing and documenting the world. As long as I’m working, I feel alive.

EO

When you photograph someone, is it about preparation or the encounter itself? Do you make the image or take it?

PR

It is always the encounter. Photography is something happens in that moment between two people, and it’s fragile, sacred, and unpredictable. And I don’t think of it as only taking a picture. The photograph contains both of us: a lot of me, a lot of the subject, and we’re crossing into each other. That is the genetic make up of a true image.

EO

Is there anyone you wouldn’t photograph?

PR

No. I like photographing everyone and anyone. But I connect more with people who have mystery, who keep something private, who don’t show everything at once. With them, the picture opens into the unknown, but this is not a decision, instead it’s instinct and pure feeling.

EO

You’ve been in the same studio for decades. How does that shape the work?

PR

The studio is my world. It is where I can isolate the subject, where silence exists because when we’re outside there is nothing but noise and movement. Inside, here, there is quietness, which is my sanctuary. It’s incredible because the person is able to enter that silence with me, and together we build the image from there. I work better in my studio than anywhere else.

EO

That makes sense. It feels like the studio isn’t just a space, but a world you’ve built with your own logic.

PR

Can I suggest something?

EO

Of course. What is it?

PR

The title of the interview.

EO

The title?

PR

Yes. I think it should be “Wow.”

EO

[Laughs.] “Wow”? How do you mean?

PR

Because every time you speak, you say “wow.” It’s the word that returns, the word that opens everything for you and maybe it’s your way of entering the image. And I like that. It’s simple, but it carries wonder and it could be a beautiful title. [Laughs.]

EO

I didn’t realize I was doing that.

PR

It’s a good instinct. Keep it.

EO

When you think about your early career, did you have a grand vision for yourself? Or were you simply a man with a camera—working, responding, following instinct? Did you imagine the photographer you would become?

PR

I think of myself as a photographer, not a camera, because the camera has no heart but the photographer does. I never imagined having a “career.” I imagined making pictures, and the rest has followed from having that kind of impulse.

EO

How do you feel about your work today?

PR

I still love taking pictures. The fashion world has changed completely—the communication of it all, media, magazines, the streets, and even the relationships between designers and stylists. Everything is fundamentally different. But I’m not a nostalgic person. I don’t think things were better before, which I think about all the time, they were simply different. But today is also interesting, because there is still so much beauty to find in this world.

EO

How do you meet the new world without losing yourself?

PR

By staying open and being able to adapt. I’m not scared of the new, because photography has always evolved and I evolve with it. The mystery has continued to remain that is enough for me.

EO

Any last words?

PR

My last word is still ‘Wow.’ Because for me, photography is always that—a small astonishment that arrives from the encounter, from the light, and from something I cannot control. I have worked for many years, but I still feel that wonder, and I hope I never lose it. If I lose that feeling, I lose the impulse to capture pictures.