Many famous figures who become synonymous with a catchphrase they once uttered bemoan the association, seeing it as tiresome and reductive to their greater purpose, especially when they cannot buy a coffee without hearing it being bellowed from a passing car window. Not Thierry Henry. Firstly, he sees the phrase, popularised in a Renault Clio advert, as a signifier of the relationship he and the carmaker have built over the past couple of decades, something he equates to “a family”. It started with him being brought on board to capture the inimitable suave Frenchness attached to the brand and attract a new male audience to its cars. Now, he is the face of the Renault Arkana Hybrid – a rather more gender-fluid, environmentally friendly and very 2021 proposition.

Va-va-voom itself? Well, it’s more than a catchphrase, apparently, and, even if it is not being used to advertise the Arkana, it can still be a contemporary force for good. “Va-va-voom is what you want it to be,” Henry tells me. “For me, it’s within you. That’s what I say about style, what you like to wear – it’s what suits you. People say, ‘Have you seen what he is wearing?’ and I’m like, ‘Who are you to judge?’ Is that not the beauty of… wear whatever you want! You are va-va-voom. You will dictate what is va-va-voom.”

Using a car as a springboard to discuss identity might seem odd, but it’s exactly what Henry wants to do. In fact, identity is the main theme of the conversation. That, and understanding. Because, where hybrid cars such as the Arkana have ushered in a new era for the automotive industry, so the era of the one-dimensional sports celebrity – all goals, charisma, and va-va-voom – is over. In its place, something more complex and multifaceted has emerged. Speaking on his 44th birthday, he is frank about his struggle to search for his own authentic self after such a stratospheric playing career. It is often reported that the cliff face of retirement can be a struggle for young men who experienced idolisation so early in their lives. Addiction and mental-health problems are not uncommon. “We all have a dual personality. We all have a good side, a bad side. When you stop your career, you die. It’s over. For me, as a footballer, it’s over. I had a 20-year career and that was it. So you’re trying to find out who you can be.”

And is Thierry Henry still trying to discover who he is? “I’m still… I feel like…” he says, searching for the words. “It’s kind of weird because some stuff that was sure for me, my schedule – training, game on Friday, Saturday, Wednesday; you might have the national team; you have your holiday; then you’re back again. Then suddenly [after retirement] you have time.” Freedom from the rigid schedule of a professional footballer gave him time to reflect, and with that came questions, self-doubt. “It’s weird. Especially with what happened with Covid,” he says. “It’s like, ‘What do you want to do? Do you want to stay in football?”

In 2016, he was appointed assistant coach of Belgium, a role which brought with it a new identity: a different, more nurturing and supportive kind of leadership. He has also managed Montreal Impact in the MLS. “Obviously, I want to stay in football. But maybe some movies are going to come, some business, stuff I wasn’t thinking about when I was playing. I’m trying to find out the person I want to be. I’m still trying to find out who I am. Kids will change you. Moving house will change you. Career will change you. This is what we all have to deal with.”

If Henry knows that even 44-year-old legendary athletes can suffer existential crises, he is all too aware how tricky it can be for everyone else. Throughout the interview he is keen to talk about his empathy for others, and he is eternally grateful for what his children have taught him about acceptance and understanding. It invites him to reflect on his own experiences growing up. “I was educated a certain way but my kids are re-educating me. I talk to my kids the same way my dad might have said something, and they look at me like I’m from another planet.” With Antillean heritage, Henry grew up in the tough Paris suburb of Les Ulis and speaks of a no-nonsense approach from his father. “I would never challenge my dad. If he said to me the Montblanc was black I would have believed him because I didn’t have a way to find that out. What my dad said was the word of god.”

This, he considers, was also reflected in his professional career, perhaps a signal of the time rather than his specific upbringing. “First and foremost, you don’t go and see the coach. You don’t play, you know why. You are S-H-I-T. There was no explanation.” He notes that there is a difference in 2021, a year in which a new generation is more confident, opinionated, aware of their feelings and rights and have a ready source of information via smartphones and social media to back it up. “Now the new generation needs an explanation. You can’t just tell them you’re not good enough. Now if I say something to my daughter I need to explain to her why. The new generation is a generation of ‘let me ask Google’. But they haven’t lived a lot of moments yet. They have more info than a senior guy that has lived moments. But can you beat living moments?” One wonders whether he feels alienated by this new way of doing things. “You are always going to be a reflection of your education. To take that out of yourself completely to adapt to the new generation is virtually impossible. You need to listen to be able to hear and then you can understand. I am trying to learn how to deal with that new generation.”

The conversation inevitably turns to cancel culture (“We are all human beings and we should learn how to live together,” Henry says) and his own battle with internet trolls. He quit social media in March this year as a protest against racism. But he insists there was more to it than that. “When I left social media I wasn’t getting abused myself, it was to show support for people who were. No one does anything. But not only because of racism. Obviously, I’m mixed race so it speaks to me and my community. But bullying, harassment, whatnot. People focused on racism and I will always fight for my community. But aren’t we all that community? I wouldn’t want my daughter to suffer racism or abuse or harassment. I don’t know the amount of pressure on Instagram, but I understand it’s an important tool for the new generation.”

Henry sees his role as a coach as another opportunity to listen to younger people. In this instance, in a professional arena, he seeks to put an arm, literally or figuratively, around footballers who are likely to be a little more sensitive and vocal about their fears than he was permitted to be. “More often than not, the new generation needs a lot of love. If you don’t listen first and foremost you can’t understand someone. I used to listen to people with the intent of replying.” Today, he is all about just listening. But he remembers that before he retired from playing, his career was all about having a one-track mind. Two or three decades ago, the climate was different for players in what is still one of the most ruthless jobs in the world. Of those entering academies at age nine, only 0.5 per cent will make a living from the game.

Henry talks about being so focused when he was at the top of his game that his job was to “kill”. “When people expect you to kill that’s what you’re going to become, you become a killer. People go to the game. They expect. You’re so focused because if you lose your focus you don’t play anymore.” He continues, “When I was a player, if I had to step on the head of my dad to win a game I would have done it. And then bring him to the hospital. But after the game. But now, I wouldn’t do that. I’m not here to kill anymore, I’m here to help.” He says that he helps by trying to develop the minds of players he coaches rather than just their bodies – it’s an approach he says he benefitted from during his time at the progressive INF Clairefontaine academy he joined in the early 1990s. “You’re here to help someone breathe, give them life, make them a better player or person. Or smarter. You don’t often hear coaches say they’re going to make you smarter.”

If he did appreciate coaches who wanted to work on his brain, perhaps he could have benefitted even more from someone who, like Henry is trying to do today, listened or gave him the tools to understand his feelings. When I ask him if he struggled mentally as a player at the top of his game, living the dream of so many of his fans, he hesitates. “I actually don’t know because I didn’t understand. No one taught me to recognise the signs. It was ‘shut up and play’. So you put everything under the carpet – it’s another day. I used to block [my feelings] I guess, good or bad. You go, you play, you kill or you get killed and there’s another game in three days. So this is what I’m saying now. The world is more open and people are getting educated in [understanding] what those feelings [are].”

Society has certainly progressed in terms of the conversation around mental health. And it is improving in the world of football, too. Messrs Tyrone Mings and Gareth Southgate both spoke fearlessly on the topic during the England Euro 2020 campaign. But Henry thinks we need even more understanding, which can be hard for people who see millionaire footballers living seemingly luxurious lifestyles. “Take a young football player – they didn’t ask [for all that money]. The kid is the hub of the family, he might already be the father figure. At 17. Do you remember how you were when you were 17? I’m 44, I’m still trying to find out who I can be.”