D.V.
Page 20
But we all have our dreams. We all want one thing. That little red ribbon of the Légion d’Honneur—it was something so associated with my childhood in France, when I used to see men with it in their buttonholes. It’s impossible to explain, really, but to me it was France, where I was born and brought up. I can remember the people coming into my parents’ house with the little red ribbon—and those were the people I had my eye on. And that’s what I wanted all those years.
The French ambassador came up from Washington to the consulate to make the presentation. As he pinned it on me I shouted, “Enfin, enfin, enfin!”…that night could have happily been the end of my life.
There’s so much I still haven’t told you. Have I ever told you about my obsession with horses? About the horses that used to come around the corner of Park Avenue and Seventy-ninth Street? I have? About the little toy stall I used to have in my room and about how I used to water my little horses all night long? I have? Did I tell you about Josephine Baker and sitting next to her cheetah at the Mirabar? I did? Did I tell you about the zebras lining the driveway at San Simeon? You believed that, didn’t you? Did I tell you that Lindbergh flew over Brewster? It could have been someone else, but who cares—Fake it! Did I tell you about the elephants at the coronation. Of course I did. What about hitting Swifty Lazar in the nose? Well, I never did that, you know. Why, it would break my arm! It would never heal. I usually know when I’m repeating myself—in other words, the inspirations aren’t coming. There’s only one thing in life, and that’s the continual renewal of inspiration. Mmm…but as I never seem to know what I’m saying, the chances are I’ve repeated myself occasionally.
“In my end is my beginning.” Who said that?—Mary, Queen of Scots, no? Look it up.
But where do you begin? The first thing to do, my love, is to arrange to be born in Paris. That’s how we began our little conversation. After that, everything follows quite naturally.
I’m sure I chose to be born in Paris. I’m sure I chose my parents. I’m sure I chose to be called Diana. And I’m sure I chose to have a nurse called Pink. Don’t ask me her other names. People called Pink don’t have other names.
About the Author
DIANA VREELAND was born in Paris on July 29, 1903. Beginning as the author of the infamous “Why Don’t You…” column for Harper’s Bazaar, Diana’s immense success propelled her to fashion editor at the magazine, and she quickly became a singular authority in the fashion world. In 1962, she left to be editor-in-chief at Vogue, and her tenure there was marked by her exceptional ability to translate the zeitgeist of the times, her clairvoyance for trends, and her inimitable style. She was an inspiration for a generation of designers, among them Yves Saint Laurent, Bill Blass, Issey Miyake, and Valentino, and she would help launch the careers of some of today’s top designers, among them Diane von Furstenberg, Manolo Blahnik, and Oscar de la Renta.
In 1973, she became a special consultant to the Costume Institute at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, curating shows that featured the clothes and costumes of former Hollywood stars, ballet companies, and master designers. From then until her death in August of 1989, she remained the preeminent voice of the fashion world, its grande dame, and one of its most memorable characters whose lasting influence continues to inspire.
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Other Books by Diana Vreeland
Allure
Credits
Cover design by Allison Saltzman
Cover photograph © 1977 by Bill King
Copyright
D.V. Copyright © 1984 by Diana Vreeland. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
This book was originally published in 1984 by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., New York.
FIRST ECCO EDITION PUBLISHED 2011.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
ISBN 978-0-06-202440-4
EPub Edition © MAY 2011 ISBN: 978-0-06-207912-1
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