by Jeanne Beker
After the official opening of the exhibition, Valentino and Giancarlo Giametti hosted an exclusive outdoor dinner party at the historic Temple of Venus, on a mammoth terrazzo facing the Colosseum. The event was staged by Dante Ferretti, one of the world’s leading scenographers, the creator of sets for the likes of Fellini and Scorsese. Eight hundred guests, including Karl Lagerfeld, the shoe god Manolo Blahnik, and Philip Treacey, along with most of the luminaries who had attended the exhibit launch, dined on a sumptuous buffet dinner and drank countless glasses of Champagne, all in awesome surroundings. Just past midnight, an aerial dance show began. To the strains of opera, artists clad in flowing Valentino gowns sailed through the night sky. The performance culminated in a seemingly endless display of fireworks. This was over-the-top beauty at its most spectacular, a dream that only Valentino could have masterminded, and many were rendered speechless. It reminded us all of why we stay in a business that at times can seem so tough, heartless, and shallow.
“I think every designer should learn from Valentino how to make dresses!” Karl Lagerfeld told me the next day. The Chanel designer, whom I have rarely seen at another designer’s show, was joined by Donatella Versace, Carolina Herrera, Giorgio Armani, and a host of other celebs from the night before to soak up the splendour of Valentino’s special anniversary collection. Valentino retraced his past for this presentation, serving up a kind of “greatest hits” package, with iconic looks from every era reinterpreted with renewed gusto.
“That’s precisely what I intended to do because there are so many young people now who don’t know my clothes,” said the designer. “This collection will help people understand the scope of what I’ve done through the years.” The eclecticism of the silhouettes, attitudes, fabrics, detailing, and construction techniques was astounding. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house as a white-suited Valentino took his walk down the ultra-long runway, with music from Tosca punching up the passion of his life. He got a well-deserved standing ovation, not only for his efforts here but for a lifetime of creativity. It was an incredibly emotional moment for us all. Backstage, Valentino and Giametti were jubilant that their elaborate presentation had been so well received. “It was absolutely flawless,” Lagerfeld raved. And coming from that calibre of critic, the praise doesn’t get any higher. “I’m so proud, so emotional,” Valentino told me. “Now I know I must go on!”
The final stop on the Valentino party circuit was a sit-down dinner for one thousand at the Parco dei Daini of the Villa Borghese, a masterpiece of Italian garden architecture. My camera wasn’t allowed into the party—it was being shot exclusively for Matt Tyrnauer’s documentary, The Last Emperor. But I was honoured to have received a personal invitation to this event, even though it felt a little strange going on my own. Actually, it was a tad intimidating, and pretty lonely, walking through the exquisite villa and out into the gardens, where a big tent had been erected. But at the same time, I knew I was amazingly blessed to be bearing witness to this high-fashion fantasy. With legends like Gina Lollobrigida, Joan Collins, and Mick Jagger joining the other stars that came to celebrate the memorable weekend, the festivities reached new heights of glamour. The celebs mingled in the red-draped dining room before taking their seats, and dinner began with a video presentation of Valentino at work in his atelier. At dessert, Annie Lennox performed, and we all marvelled at Valentino and Giametti’s staggering attention to detail. The weekend’s festivities were more than just a salute to a couturier’s career—they were a celebration of haute fashion itself. This was, quite possibly, the party of the century.
Three months later, on September 4, Valentino announced his retirement. I immediately phoned my long-time friend Carlos Souza, Valentino’s right-hand man and devoted PR honcho, and asked if we could get a TV interview with the designer. The dashing Carlos promised me an exclusive, just as soon as Valentino was ready to talk. I was sitting in Café de Flore in Paris about a month later when Carlos, true to his word, called me on my cellphone to say that Valentino would grant me an interview. I contacted my cameraman and another crew I had on standby, and within a couple of hours, we were back at Valentino’s Place Vendôme showroom, where he was preparing his Fashion Week collection.
Valentino was wearing a blue crocodile blazer and looked handsome, relaxed, and at peace with the decision he had finally made—a decision that must have been excruciatingly difficult, given how incredibly passionate he had always been about his métier. We sat on a couch and had a cozy chat. I told him I would miss him. He told me not to worry—he wasn’t totally disappearing. He was sure our paths would cross again. Of course they did, at his final runway show later that week, and at his final couture show that January. I saw him again after that—at the house’s spring couture presentation in January 2009, when his former accessory designers, Pier Paolo Piccioli and Maria Grazia Chiuri, took over the label. Valentino pulled me aside backstage after the show and told me he was going to be designing costumes for the Bolshoi Ballet. It was exciting for him, no question. But I couldn’t help thinking how much he must be missing what he always loved to do most—creating beautiful clothes for some of the world’s most elegant and glamorous women—and just how bittersweet this new phase of his life might be.
DESIGNERS I HAVE LOVED
ONE OF THE BEST THINGS going for us as a team at Fashion Television is our longevity: After a quarter of a century covering fashionable goings-on around the world—profiling designers, reporting on collections, and introducing diverse new perspectives on the international style arena—we’ve earned the trust and respect of some amazing people. Because I often have the opportunity to get close with these major players, I’m able to see them through a particularly intimate lens. Of course, I’m always wowed by their brilliance. But what impresses—and touches—me most is their eagerness to share their ideas and explain what drives their creative process.
Jean-Paul Gaultier consistently floors me with his ebullient nature and generous spirit. No matter how many reporters are crowded around him, vying to get a post-show interview, Gaultier will talk with each one of them. And even though he expends exhausting amounts of energy, you know that when he talks to you, he’ll be just as animated and engaged as ever. Gaultier’s quick wit and playfulness are a joy, and regardless of how tired I am by the time I’m finally in front of him with my microphone, I’m invariably inspired our conversations, my batteries recharged.
In the fall of 2010, Gaultier came to Montreal to begin work on a new exhibit at the Musée des Beaux Arts to celebrate his illustrious forty-year career. I was granted an exclusive sit-down interview with him, and was charmed once again by his candour. It was Gaultier’s seventh visit to Montreal—he has a real affection for the city and its people. He told me that he found Canadians to be refreshing—more friendly and nowhere near as snobby as the French could be. The French, he said, were always judging people on their appearance. Gaultier talked about his own perception of beauty, and how he was always drawn to the unusual. He said that imperfection was far more intriguing to him than conventional attractiveness. He told me that he saw the world cinematically, and that theatrics were integral to his work as a designer. We discussed sexuality, sensuality, and all the subtleties of sartorial communication. Deep into our conversation, I realized that we weren’t talking about fashion at all: We were discussing human nature.
By the end of the conversation, Jean-Paul half-jokingly told me that talking to journalists in this way was therapeutic for him. It was as though he could really hear himself think, he said, and thus he gained a better understanding of himself. He then began telling me that while he adored fashion, it was really only a way for him to get to people, a tool that enabled him to communicate and celebrate life. It was like hearing myself speak, and I once again realized that it’s my passion for people that keeps me in this business. Basking in the glow of this designer’s wonderful spirit, I silently thanked the fashion gods for allowing me the privilege of this magical moment. But I was espec
ially moved at the end of the interview, when Jean-Paul graciously thanked me and let me know that he really “got me.”
“You’re great,” he told me, “because you love your job.”
Then there’s the inimitable Karl Lagerfeld.
My relationship with Lagerfeld goes back to the summer of 1989, when I had my first sit-down interview with him at the rue Cambon Chanel couture atelier. It was a sweltering day, and I was about seven months pregnant. My crew and I had been waiting for about three hours for the Kaiser, as Lagerfeld was often called, to arrive. His assistant at the time, Gilles Dufour, was kind enough to put me out of my drab green maternity-wear misery by lending me a striking black-andwhite Chanel dress (which miraculously fit, and which Lagerfeld ended up giving me!). When Lagerfeld finally arrived at the atelier, he was waving around a package of contact sheets, excited about a photo shoot he had just come from. He had taken up photography the year before and was fervent about his new hobby. We had a wonderful chat that afternoon. And ever since—having interviewed him countless times in the years that followed, in cities from Miami to Monaco—I’ve had a soft spot for Karl.
The great French diarist Anaïs Nin once wrote: “Life shrinks and expands in proportion to one’s courage.” Perhaps that explains why Lagerfeld has had such a big life: designer for three different houses (Chanel, Fendi, and his own eponymous label); photographer and illustrator; art aficionado and antiques collector; bookstore and gallery owner; publisher and author. He is fearless, and I never cease to be inspired whenever I spend time with him.
One rainy afternoon in 2003, I was invited to the elegant upstairs office of his 7L bookshop, gallery, and studio space, at 7 rue de Lille, where he was having a tête-à-tête with his close friend Ingrid Sischy, the savvy former editor of Interview magazine. Lagerfeld talked about his drive and relentless creativity. “The brain is something you have to train,” he explained. “The more you work, the better it works. I always have the feeling—and it may be childish at my age—that the best photo will be my next one, the best collection will be my next one. I always have the feeling [that] I’ve accomplished nothing, that I have to start again and again and again.” Lagerfeld said his biggest problem in life is that nothing satisfies him, that he always thinks he can do better. “It’s hopeless,” he lamented. Ingrid suggested that his generosity is the reason Lagerfeld can do so many collections. “He has the capacity to really give and really put it out there,” she said. “But there’s nothing else I want to do,” countered Lagerfeld. “I don’t want to go on holidays. I don’t want to go on boats. I don’t want to go to beaches. I did all that when it was time. Now I can concentrate on my work. And I’m lucky I have people who like my work, and who I can talk to. That’s very important. Otherwise, you have no echo. It’s an empty thing.”
In the summer of 2009, twenty years after our first encounter, he agreed to yet another exclusive sit-down interview. It was slated to take place right after the Chanel fall couture presentation at the Grand Palais. I knew I would have to wait, of course. Lagerfeld customarily chats with all the press post-show, and there are usually dozens of international crews clamouring to get to him. But like Gaultier, he always has time. If one is patient, one eventually gets to Lagerfeld. As Ingrid Sischy pointed out, the man is incredibly generous. He talks to everyone, switching effortlessly from English to French to German. Once in a while, a reporter may get snubbed—but only because he or she has asked a stupid question. Lagerfeld does not suffer fools easily and is quickly bored by people who display ignorance. That being said, he always responds to reporters backstage, often patiently repeating the same things over and over again. And he does it tirelessly and with great aplomb.
On this occasion, I was feeling quite pressured because we planned on turning our promised twenty-minute tête-à-tête into a half-hour special. We had hired an additional crew for the occasion so we could shoot the interview from two different angles. In fashion, nothing is ever for certain—things can change on a dime—so you always have to be on your toes, and just pray for the best. This is especially true when you’re dealing with a volatile artist—especially one who is verging on exhaustion after sending out a breathtaking collection and then entertaining the hordes of media for about two hours straight.
It was getting close to midnight, and my crews and I were patiently standing by. Even Chanel’s efficient Canadian PR head, Virginie Vincens, who had helped to orchestrate the interview, wasn’t 100 percent sure it was going to happen. It was always possible that Lagerfeld would bow out suddenly if he decided he just wasn’t up to talking anymore. Chanel’s always-helpful Véronique Pérez, who works in the Paris office and acts as Lagerfeld’s personal press handler, was doing the best she could to make sure that Karl would keep his promise, but nothing was certain. “Just make sure he sees you, Jeanne,” Véronique told me as the media crowd started to dwindle. “If he sees you, he won’t leave.”
I went over to the stage where Lagerfeld had been giving his sound bites and waited til he’d wrapped up with the last reporter. He saw me and instantly came over, gave me a double kiss, and asked how I had liked the show. I was amazed that he still had the energy to do this thing and was actually up for it. We sat on a big couch (happily, the front row of that particular show was composed of these beautiful long couches), and he grabbed a pillow, cozying up to me. I grabbed another pillow.
“I like holding this pillow when I talk,” he said. “But it’s not to cover up my tummy, ah? I’m slim. I don’t need that,” he said.
“Well, my tummy does need that!” I joked.
We launched into a delightful, intimate, and very animated personal chat. Almost instantly, I forgot the cameras were even there. My only focus was Karl. It’s uncanny how fast you have to be when you’re interviewing him. But this exchange felt more like a conversation. My questions were totally spontaneous, though I did have a certain agenda in the back of my mind. Karl is extremely quick and constantly lobs witty remarks with lightning speed. I had to keep coming back. But I was mesmerized by him, totally captivated. And ultimately charmed, to say the least. Afterwards, as we posed together for a few post-interview pictures, Lagerfeld whispered into my ear how much he always enjoys talking with me, and how some people are just a bore to him.
A couple of months later, speaking with Karl backstage just after the presentation of his Lagerfeld label, I asked him if he’d had the chance to see our interview. “Yes, of course,” he replied. “It was great. Especially because now I really know that I’m not wasting my time with you, ah?” I appreciated the compliment, especially when I thought about the frustration he must often feel, indulging so many reporters and knowing that such a limited amount of the material he gives them will likely ever be used.
SHABBY CHIC
GREAT STYLE is about much more than what we wear. If style was solely dependent on the clothes we choose and how we strut them, there would be many more inspiring people on this planet. While the lifeblood of this business may indeed be fashion’s superficial side, I have learned that what’s at the heart of truly great style is personal behaviour—the way we move through the world. That, and the way we treat others.
One of the most shocking and blatant displays of classless behaviour I have ever seen came in May 2006, courtesy of a prominent San Francisco fashionista and socialite who was hosting a dinner party for Alexander McQueen at the ritzy Postrio restaurant. McQueen had been invited to the Academy of Art University in San Francisco to receive an honorary doctorate, and the school, knowing that he and I had a good relationship, invited me and my cameraman to fly out for the celebration.
I had interviewed McQueen many times over the years, but the exchange we taped that afternoon in his hotel room was the most intimate conversation we had ever had. The designer had turned over a new leaf, abandoning his reckless, bad-boy image and embracing a more spiritual philosophy of growth and compassion. There was even a copy of one of the Dalai Lama’s books on his coffee table. I
was heartened to see Lee—as his friends called him—who had battled his fair share of personal and professional demons in the past, finally seeming so at peace with himself. We had shared a lot together. In 1996, I documented his first outrageous New York show, when he infuriated certain senior members of the fashion media by starting his American debut before they even arrived. I covered his first collection for Givenchy in 1997, when the critics ripped him apart, and he later opened his heart to me and my camera, revealing his vulnerability. And we had sat on the judging panel of the Smirnoff International Fashion Awards for a couple of years, with McQueen demonstrating his feisty side by always standing up for the most controversial design in the competition. There was a definite simpatico feeling between us, and we often shared personal tidbits of information that endeared us to each other. Lee seemed genuinely happy that I had come all the way to San Francisco to witness his proud moment, and we both looked forward to seeing each other at the dinner that evening. One of the organizers at the school told me that Lee and I were sitting together, a detail I shared with him. He was relieved, because he said he wasn’t very good at chatting up strangers and was a little overwhelmed by all these fashionistas, who were so intent on schmoozing him.
My cameraman and I arrived at the restaurant early because we were only going to be allowed to shoot the first fifteen minutes or so of the cocktail portion of the dinner. The dinner was taking place in a private room at the restaurant. I went in to see the lovely, long table, formally set with placecards at each seat. Indeed, Lee and I were sitting together, and I felt quite privileged. The guests started to arrive. Our hostess—decked out in a gorgeous black McQueen number—seemed gracious and introduced me to several guests. The designer had yet to show, and I continued to mingle. When I went into the dining room a second time to put my bag on my chair, I realized that Lee’s placecard was no longer beside mine: His seat had been moved a few places over. I thought that was strange but didn’t ask questions.
