“Gucci hadn’t made it yet,” recalled Logan Bentley Lessona. “It was known to the carriage trade, but not to the upper middle class. The shoe made the name take off,” Bentley Lessona said.
Thought to have first been created in the early 1950s at the suggestion of a factory worker who had relatives in the shoemaking business, the shoe was put into production and sold in Italy for the equivalent of about fourteen dollars. When Gucci began selling the loafers in the New York store, stiletto heels were all the rage and the shoes were regarded as bizarre and hardly sold at all. But stylish women soon caught on to the chic comfort of the affordable, low-heeled moccasin.
The original Gucci women’s moccasin, known within the company as Model 360, was made of soft, supple leather trimmed with the snaffle bit and had two raised seams on top that narrowed toward the toes and then widened. In 1968, the original model was modified slightly and named Model 350, the so-called status shoe that became widely copied. Slightly dressier, it featured a stacked leather heel with a narrow gold chain embedded in it and a matching chain across the front vamp. It came in seven leathers (calf, lizard, ostrich, pigskin, alligator, reversed calf, and patent) and a new range of colors, including an unusual pinky beige and a pale almond green. The International Herald Tribune hailed its debut with a long article and a large photo: “Gucci has a new moccasin, which in itself is almost worth a visit to Rome,” wrote Hebe Dorsey, the paper’s respected fashion critic.
By 1969, Gucci was selling some 84,000 pairs a year in its ten U.S. shops, 24,000 pairs a year in New York alone. At the time, Gucci was one of the few Italian labels with its own store in New York City, along with that of clothing designer Emilio Pucci, whose colorful graphic prints had become famous thanks to Giorgini and the Sala Bianca fashion shows. The jingle among fashionable New Yorkers was “Gucci-Pucci.”
Some observers were mystified by the boom of the Gucci moccasin, which continued well into the seventies and early eighties. Paul P. Woolard, then senior vice president of Revlon and an avid wearer of the shoes, was amazed at how Gucci made fashion out of what he considered an established trend. “It’s only an Italian penny loafer,” he said to the New York Times in 1978.
Aldo always felt that the shoe had caught on when the wives of rich Italian industrialists wore it while traveling. Low-heeled (less than an inch), comfortable, and versatile, it looked chic either with skirts or slacks.
Priced at thirty-two dollars, the Gucci loafer was one of the most affordable—and visible—status symbols one could buy. “The status symbol has always been semi-secret, shared by women who really care about clothes and worn like a club insignia,” wrote fashion columnist Eugenia Sheppard at the time. A comfortable working shoe that looked fashionable at an affordable price, the loafer quickly became popular with secretaries and librarians. With that success came new problems.
“So many secretaries and shopgirls started coming in and buying the moccasins that the regular clientele was finding itself elbowed aside and not happy about it,” recalled Lessona.
Aldo, in another stroke of genius, made a deal with the St. Regis Hotel and took over its cigar store–newsstand space, which he turned into a shoe boutique in the fall of 1968. This gave New York’s working women plenty of room to try on shoes and left the main Fifth Avenue store freer to serve its traditional clientele.
The loafer also found its way onto the feet of lawmakers and lobbyists in Washington, D.C., earning the halls of Congress the nickname “Gucci Gulch.” In 1985, the Gucci loafer was displayed at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York in an exhibit developed by Diana Vreeland. The loafer is still part of the museum’s permanent collection.
Men liked the idea of the status symbol, too, so Gucci redesigned the loafer for them. The new Beverly Hills branch of Gucci hadn’t even opened its doors when Frank Sinatra sent his secretary over to buy a pair of moccasins to add to his forty-pair Gucci collection. Gucci also created men’s belts, jewelry, and driving slippers and even produced a man’s purse, called a “document carrying case.” Red Skelton had a set of maroon crocodile suitcases, Peter Sellers a crocodile attaché case. Laurence Harvey commissioned a “bar briefcase” complete with insets to hold bottles, glasses, and an ice bucket. Sammy Davis, Jr., bought two white leather sofas like the one in the Beverly Hills store. Other famous male Gucci customers included sportsman Jim Kimberly, Nelson Doubleday, Herbert Hoover III, Charles Revson, Senator Barry Goldwater, and film stars George Hamilton, Tony Curtis, Steve McQueen, James Garner, Gregory Peck, and Yul Brynner.
As Gucci bags and shoes became consolidated status symbols, the company moved into ready-to-wear—starting a decades-long challenge. Paolo designed the first Gucci outfits, mostly leather or leather-trimmed items, in the mid-1960s. Gucci presented one of its first dresses at the 1968 opening of the Gucci Beverly Hills store. The long-sleeved A-line dress was made of a brilliant silk floral print with thirty-one different colors. Three gold chains attached with tiny mother-of-pearl buttons accented the cossack-style neck and front slit, and solid colors from the flower motif banded the collar, sleeves, and hems. Another style featured silver buttons shaped like horseshoes. The following year, Gucci came out with the first scarf dress, made out of four scarves with the signature floral and insect motifs.
In the summer of 1969, Gucci debuted its GG monogrammed fabric, which was an evolution of the old diamond-print canapa. In the new version, two Gs were placed facing each other 6-to-9 and arranged in a diamond-shaped pattern. The new monogrammed fabric was used for a full line of luggage, trimmed with the by-then-famous pigskin, including a cosmetic case for women and a toilet case for men—similar to what was being done at the time by Louis Vuitton. Gucci presented the new luggage to an enthusiastic audience at a fashion workshop at the Smithsonian Institution, which had invited Aldo to Washington, D.C., to give him an award. As a gimmick to promote the luggage, Gucci sent male and female models dressed in pants and skirts made from the same printed fabric down the runway carrying the monogrammed bags and suitcases. The show received a storm of applause.
Gucci presented its first full-fledged apparel collection in July 1969, during the Rome Alta Moda fashion week. The new apparel was sporty and practical; Aldo wanted women to wear Gucci every day of the week—not just on special occasions.
“Elegance is like manners,” he used to say. “You can’t be polite only on Wednesday or Thursday. If you are elegant, you should be every day of the week. If you are not, then it’s another matter.”
The collection included a sporty blond tweed pants suit with tunic top banded in glove leather, a long leather dinner skirt with a narrow fox hem and fox suspenders, sporty short skirts and shifts, and a suede bra and skirt set that could be clipped together at the waist with clasps.
The International Herald Tribune’s fashion columnist Eugenia Sheppard raved about the new clothes, praising in particular a black leather raincoat with raglan sleeves and a wide red and blue canvas belt that coordinated with one of Gucci’s most popular handbags. She also highlighted the new enamel jewelry and watches with malachite and tiger-eye faces.
By the early 1970s, Gucci products ranged from the $5 key chain to an 18-karat-gold chain-link belt weighing nearly two pounds and worth several thousand dollars. Over the next decade, the variety of Gucci products would grow at a dizzying pace.
“It was difficult for anyone to walk out of a Gucci store empty-handed because there was something for everyone at every price range,” Roberto recalled. “There was every product, except underwear, to dress a person from head to toe for every occasion, from staying at home to fishing, horseback riding, skiing, playing tennis, polo, even deep-sea diving!” Roberto said. “We had more than two thousand different products.”
By the 1970s, Gucci had come to symbolize status on two continents. Ten fully owned stores had opened their doors in leading capitals around the world, while the first Gucci franchise was operating in Brussels under Roberto’s watchful eye. Aldo had even been
called the “first Italian ambassador to the United States” by President John F. Kennedy due to the popularity of Gucci’s classic chic styles.
4
YOUTHFUL REBELLION
Be careful, Maurizio,” Rodolfo growled. “I have received information about the girl. I do not like the sound of her at all. I am told she is vulgar and ambitious, a social climber who has nothing in mind but money. Maurizio, she is not the girl for you.”
Maurizio struggled to maintain his composure, shifting his weight from one foot to another, wanting to run out of the room. He hated confrontation, and most of all with his domineering father. “Papà,” he said. “I can’t leave her. I love her.”
“Love!” snorted Rodolfo. “This isn’t about love, this is about her wanting to get her hands on our money. But she won’t! You must forget her! How about taking a nice trip to New York? You know how many women you’ll meet there!”
Maurizio fought back tears of rage. “Ever since Mamma died, you haven’t thought of me at all!” he exploded. “You’ve only cared about the business. You have never bothered to think about what mattered to me, what my feelings were. You just wanted me to be a robot who obeyed your orders. But this is it, Papa! I’m going to have Patrizia, whether you like it or not!”
Rodolfo watched his son, stupefied. Shy, docile, young Maurizio had never talked back to him before. He watched Maurizio spin around, leave the room, and run upstairs with a resolve he had never seen before. Maurizio had decided to pack his suitcase and leave. It was no use arguing with his father but he wasn’t going to give up Patrizia. He would cut ties with Rodolfo.
“I will disinherit you!” Rodolfo bellowed after Maurizio. “Do you hear me? You will not get a cent from me and neither will she!”
Patrizia Reggiani had mesmerized Maurizio with her violet eyes and petite figure when they met the night of November 23, 1970. For him, it was love at first sight; for her, it was the beginning of her conquest of one of Milan’s most prominent young bachelors—and one of Italy’s most glamorous names. He was twenty-two years old, she twenty-one.
Maurizio knew most everybody at the debutante party for his friend Vittoria Orlando. The Orlando family apartment was on Via dei Giardini, a prestigious tree-lined avenue in the heart of the city that was home to some of Milan’s wealthiest entrepreneurs. Maurizio knew most of the other guests—sons and daughters of the city’s leading families. During the summers, the same group met on the Ligurian beaches of Santa Margherita, about three hours west of Milan by car. There they gathered at the Bagno del Covo, a popular bathhouse with a seaside restaurant and discotheque, where leading pop singers of the time, such as Patty Pravo, Milva, and Giovanni Battisti, performed.
Maurizio didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, and hadn’t yet developed his talent for engaging small talk. Tall and gangly, he hadn’t dated seriously, aside from a few teenage crushes. Rodolfo had quickly discouraged any amorous escapades, admonishing Maurizio more than once to associate only with girls from good families.
Maurizio had found the evening rather boring—until Patrizia came into the room wearing a bright red dress that showed off her curves. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Maurizio, wearing an odd-looking tuxedo without lapels, stood talking absently with the son of a prominent businessman, glass in hand, watching as Patrizia laughed and chatted with her friends. Her violet eyes, dramatically made up with dark liner and heavy mascara, flashed his way from time to time and then slid away as she pretended to be unaware that the young man with dark blond hair hanging limply around his neck had been staring at her since she arrived. She knew exactly who he was. Vittoria had told Patrizia—who lived in the same building—all about Maurizio.
Maurizio finally leaned over and whispered to his friend, “Who is that girl over there in the red dress who looks so much like Elizabeth Taylor?”
The friend smiled. “Her name is Patrizia and she’s the daughter of Fernando Reggiani, who operates an important transport company in Milan,” the friend replied, following Maurizio’s gaze toward the red dress. He paused, then added meaningfully, “She’s twenty-one years old and I think she’s available.”
Maurizio had never heard of Reggiani and he wasn’t used to making overtures to girls—they usually approached him—but he summoned up his courage and moved over to the other side of the room where Patrizia was talking with her friends. He found his opening at the drinks table by handing her a tall, thin glass of punch.
“Why have I never seen you before?” Maurizio asked, brushing his fingers against hers as he handed her the cool glass. It was his way of asking her if she had a boyfriend.
“I guess you just never noticed me,” she retorted coyly, casting her dark lashes down and then back up as she fixed her violet eyes on his face.
“Has anyone ever told you you look just like Elizabeth Taylor?” he asked her.
She giggled, flattered by the comparison—though she had heard it before—and shot him a long glance.
“I can assure you I am much better,” she replied, provocatively pouting her coral-red lips, which were outlined in a darker shade of red.
Maurizio tingled from head to toe. Shocked and enchanted, he gazed at her wordlessly, dazzled and excited. Desperate for something to say, he asked her awkwardly, “Ahhh, wh-wh-what does your father do?” flushing when he realized that he had stuttered slightly.
“He’s a truck driver,” Patrizia answered with a giggle, then laughed outright at the puzzled expression on Maurizio’s face.
“But…ah, I thought…isn’t he a businessman?” Maurizio faltered.
“You are silly.” Patrizia laughed, elated. She knew she had captured not only his attention but his fancy.
“At the beginning, I did not like him at all,” recalled Patrizia. “I was engaged to somebody else. But when I broke off with my fiancé, Vittoria revealed to me that Maurizio was deeply in love with me—so little by little, everything started. He is the man I loved most despite what he became after all his mistakes,” Patrizia said.
Friends of hers at the time said Patrizia never made it a secret that she not only wanted to marry a rich man, but a man with a name. “Patrizia had been seeing a very rich industrialist who was a friend of mine, but he didn’t have enough of a name for her mother so Patrizia dropped him,” a friend said.
Maurizio and Patrizia began double dating with another couple from the Santa Margherita crowd. Before long Patrizia discovered that Maurizio wasn’t as available as she had thought.
Maurizio’s mother, Alessandra, had died when he was five years old, and he had grown up under his father’s doting, yet strict hand. Her health had started to decline just as she and Rodolfo were beginning to enjoy their new life in Milan, and friends close to the family said she developed a tumor in her uterus following Maurizio’s cesarean birth. Gradually the cancer spread through her body, ravaging her beautiful face and figure. After she was hospitalized, Rodolfo brought the young Maurizio to visit her regularly. Alessandra died on August 14, 1954; published reports attributed the cause of death to pneumonia. She was only forty-four. On her deathbed she pleaded with Rodolfo, then forty-two, to promise her that Maurizio would call no other woman Mamma.” Profoundly shaken, Rodolfo told his friends sadly that Alessandra had given him the most wonderful years of his life—and she had left him and Maurizio in what should have been still happier years. Even though their relationship hadn’t always been smooth, he sanctified her.
Despite Guccio’s and Aida’s concerns that the young Maurizio needed a mother figure, Rodolfo refused to remarry or seek other steady female companionship. Though from time to time he saw a few women—mostly former acquaintances from his acting days—he limited the relationships, afraid to take time away from Maurizio or make him jealous. Every time the young Maurizio caught him talking with a woman, Rodolfo would say, the little boy tugged nervously at his father’s coat jacket. Tullia, a simple, robust, young girl from the Florentine countryside, was already Maurizio’s governess and she st
ayed on after Alessandra’s death to help Rodolfo raise his young son. Long after Maurizio had left home, Tullia remained to look after Rodolfo. Although Maurizio and Tullia grew close, she never became a second mother to him—Rodolfo would not have tolerated that.
Maurizio lived with Rodolfo in a luminous tenth-floor apartment on Milan’s Corso Monforte, a narrow street lined with imposing eighteenth-century palazzi and few shops. Rodolfo liked the apartment not only because it was an easy walk to the Gucci store, but because it also stood directly opposite the prefettura, or police headquarters. In the days of frequent kidnappings of prominent and wealthy Italian figures, Rodolfo felt reassured that help was just across the street. The apartment wasn’t large, having just enough room for Rodolfo, Maurizio, Tullia, and Franco Solari, Rodolfo’s personal driver and assistant. It was tastefully, though not grandly, furnished, as Rodolfo wasn’t prone to excess. Each morning, Rodolfo would dress in one of his rich-colored suits, join Maurizio, Tullia, and Franco for breakfast, and walk the few blocks to Gucci’s Via Monte Napoleone store. In the evenings he would return for dinner, insisting that Maurizio remain at the table until he had finished. If Maurizio’s friends called while they were still at the dinner table, Tullia answered the phone.
“Il signorino,” she would say—embarrassing and infuriating Maurizio—“is eating dinner and can’t come to the telephone.”
After dinner, Maurizio rushed to meet his friends while Rodolfo retreated to the basement of their building, where he had set up a personal film studio. He loved to watch his old silent movies over and over again, reminiscing about the glamorous early days with Alessandra. Rodolfo still traveled frequently for business, which meant Maurizio grew up often feeling lonely and sad.
The House of Gucci Page 6
