COUTURE CULTURE
The week that un-grinched me
I’ve had this weirdly complicated relationship with Haute Couture over the years… not that it cares what I think.
I just feel like I’ve been a bit of a judgy cow about it and now it’s time to come clean.
It’s not that I lack due respect for the hard work of the talented artisans toiling day-and-night before Couture Week. I respect their work madly. These women (usually) hold rare niche knowledge of a craft is passed down from generation to generation that only exists officially here in Paris: a true gem of French culture and proper craft that is rightly protected by the Chambre Syndicale de la Haute Couture.
By the way the criteria to be an official haute couture house in Paris is rigorous. To earn the right to call yourself a couture house, members of the Chambre Syndicale must:
-Design made-to-order for private clients, with one or more fitting;
-Have a workshop (atelier) in Paris that employs at least fifteen staff members full-time
-Have at least 20 full-time technical people, in at least one atelier; and
-Present a colelction of at least fifty original designs to the public every fashion season (twice, in January an July of each year), or both day and evening garments.
I don’t know who has the honours of policing this but I assume there’s some hawkeye at the Chambre Syndicale keeping tabs.
I’ve actually had the great fortune to enter two of the most splendiforous couture ateliers in the world. The first time, back in our Fashion: No Filter days, Camille and I were miraculously allowed up to the tippy top of Rue Cambon HQ where the Chanel couture magic happens, for a recorded podcast (no photos! An extreme exercise in restraint for us as you might imagine.) The second time, we were even more miraculously allowed into the equivalent setting at Dior, this time to film a scene for our Paris Premiere documentary comparing and contrasting fashion traditions in London and Paris. I think I can speak for both of us in saying these were unforgettable pinch me moments. And that everyone was incredibly kind to us despite our blatant youth and nerves.
So yeah. Whenever I’ve zoomed in on couture or come face to face with it, it’s pretty much taken my breath away. It’s just when I’ve zoomed out again and considered its arguable frivolity from afar that I’ve struggled. Is it relevant? Are the people who can actually buy couture having a laugh with this amount of money? (Imagine if this cash went toward feeding the hungry. Of course, one could apply this argument to all forms of high fashion but it feels more extreme in the case of couture.) Also, can what we see at couture shows even really be delineated into anything normal people can incorporate into their everyday wardrobes? Aren’t fairy princess dresses for children under the age of eight? Can couture even set proper street trends or is it simply a gilded entity unto itself? Etc.
I was discussing my internal debate with the fashion broadcaster-turned-knitwear designer Alexandra Golovanoff recently, who spent years reporting on HC from behind the closed doors of many more ateliers than I could ever hope to infiltrate. She disagreed with my turmoil, bringing up the unique element of heritage know-how yes, but also the extent to which it creates local jobs and cultural pride. I said I reckoned the neighbouring niche in fashion would be Saville Row. Yes, she agreed, except that Saville Row tailors will often be specialised in specific parts of the suiting detail whereas proper courteriers, after years of training under their elders, know how to do le tout. Patterns, draping, stitching, puffs, tailoring, bustles, I don’t know, corsetry… the lot! Plus, she reminded me, the main definition of HC is that it’s made-to-measure for the wearer specifically. This, she added, includes power dressing for power women who want something uniquely sharp and comfortable they can wear often in their power jobs year-round, not just, you know, princesses and dictators’ wives. So an HC client can see a piece on the runway and then come in and have it amended, adjusted, lengthened, shortened and fitted to every curve and inch of her figure. Basically reincarnated from scratch in her own image. It’s your outfit and no one else’s on earth. Ready-to-wear, meanwhile is just that: made ready. And if you’re between sizes, or a different size up top from down below, good luck to you.
So the other morning at Chanel HC I decided to suspend disbelief. After all, it goes without saying that I’m lucky as hell to be invited. I told my brain to shut up and just enjoy it. Plus the mood of the show was one of such refinement mixed with —yes— modernity that I felt all my grinchiness melt away. In fact, I can firmly say my couture heart has grown three sizes in the space of a couple days. Encouraged as it was by Giambattista Valli’s oversized fantasy shapes the night before, then Chanel’s delicate wispy ballerinas, followed by Alaia’s one-string concepts so clever I was forced to unravel all my own baggage.
I’ve also, I think, begun subconsciously looking at fashion through the eyes of my daughter Mia (about to turn three). How utterly transfixed she is by twirly, sparkly, piffy, velvety princess-wear. That childlike sense of wonder is exactly what Haute Couture is meant to provoke in us grownups, I guess, provided we are not too jaded or boringly reasonable or anti-capitalist.
Maybe the big point of Couture is in how it makes you feel. If you have the privilege of wearing it, of course, it but also just as a witness, transported.
So at Chanel I was, briefly, Mia in front of a Disney princess movie. My eyes were wide, then minutes in, inexplicably humid while the hairs stood up on my forearms.
It helped that Margaret Qualley’s opening, waltzing playfully onto the scene with a smile pure but knowing, friendly but confident, was fresh as anything. I didn’t just want her outfit: I wanted to be her. The entire show was a delicate dusting of classical dance references and fairy magic icing. Sweet not saccharine. Playful. A triumph in a white unitard.
But it wasn’t just the couture that got me this week. There’s a solid trend for great ready-to-wear designers, both international and local, choosing to show Haute Couture Week so as not to (I assume) get lost in the crazy pret-a-porter mix a month from now. A reasonable choice if you can bear the time constraints and January-ness of it all. Though the collections at Alaia and Toteme would honestly have shone through even the most dizzying lineup.
One Thread…One Thread !!!!
Even the most jaded among us could not not be impressed by Pieter Mulier’s one-thread wonder at Alaia. The designer challenged himself to create an entire collection using only a single merino yarn, which would have risked verging on gimmicky had the whole operation not worked out to be so stunningly beautiful and well-executed.
Just look at the dress below. A wool 3D print crafted around the body. She looks like she’s wearing in The Guggenheim!
A one-thread wonder Mulier is not: he’s been on the up and up and I can’t wait to see more.
Toteme also decided to show off-schedule this week, which felt like an uber-wearable, but somehow equally sophisticated mirror being held up to the couture pageantry. Smushed into people’s agendas between the opulence of Sciaparelli and glamour of Giambattista Valli, each individual look was a palette cleanser of ultra-wearability. I use my sister as a fashion case-study often: she has a high-powered tech job but loves and invests in clothes without looking OTT (could scare the coworkers). Toteme is her ultimate no-brainer and it’s quickly becoming one of mine.
Oher couture highlights included the Giambattista Valli —where more is more but in a fun, escaped from a Botticelli painting kind of way and I immediately regretted not attempting to bring Mia (Marc says she’s too young to go to shows on account of all the surrounding hooplah, and because she needs to learn that you work for years to earn the right to be invited, and I don’t disagree) … but sigh. She would have lost her mind with happiness.
Another was Simone Rocha’s guest collection for Gauthier, an impressive melange of both designers’ hallmarks —from his Breton shirts to her streaming ribbons, female gaze and provocative wit.
I ended the week with a great time at Patou where I managed to break out my latest hosiery investment (off-white tights, inspired by Chanel via Etam if you please), reconsider the elegance of a 1940s mid-calf skirt, and have a laugh with some of my favourite fashion peeps —their off-runway casting is a house specialty.
Weekly Recs!
Studio Fauve: This pretty little salon in Paris’ Arts et Metier area is, a la base, the chicest place ever to have your excess body hair removed. But they also offer excellent head massages and now face treatments too. Highly recommend the “soin illuminant”, especially for us TMJ suffers (apparently this is a generational pandemic, at least I’m not alone with the crazy uncontrollable jaw clenching).
29 rue des Gravilliers 75003 Paris.
Dagmar: If you’re into simple Scandi-style this is an excellent alternative to some of the better-known brands I often mention. Excellent going-out tops abound.
Loulou Studio Paris: Another one of my go-to brands has just launched a great shoe and bag collection. Its designer, Chloe, has thought things out meticulously: the bags even have secret hidden under-handles for gals on the go (ideal for getting your keys when they’ve fallen to the bottom.) Merci Chloe!
Insightful view into a world I’ll likely never experience. Btw, I’m a month into my no-buy January and also following (cross fingers) Rule Five. House of Dagmar - I see at least six things I want NOW (aviator jacket in brown ❤️). Thank you for sharing retailers and designers that are usually not on my radar!
For someone with no interest whatsoever in haute couture you had my full attention for 5 minutes.