Thierry Mugler
“True artists don’t create by focusing on a specific goal. If they do, they end up making the umpteenth clone of a product that already exists.” Thierry Mugler – the 70-year-old designer who retired from fashion in 2003 and now goes by his real name of Manfred – is categorical about the conditions a creative should never relinquish. “When marketing started to dominate my work, turning it into a mechanism,” he explains, “I realised that world wasn’t enough for me anymore.”
Mugler wanted to share his story with Vogue Italia on the occasion of his retrospective exhibition at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, on show from 2 March until 8 September. With 140 creations – many of
which previously unseen – “Thierry Mugler: Couturissime” retraces the French designer’s career between 1973 and 2001, before his departure from the scene that represented a cathartic moment for him. By erasing Thierry in favour of his first name Manfred, he chose an identity with an Austro-German flavour, which also seems to conjure up cherished memories of his upbringing in Strasbourg. His change of identity occurred at the same time as a major cosmetic reconstruction, which was necessary after an accident in the gym – where in the meantime he has developed a hypertrophic, statuesque physique. “I mistreated my body for years with the frenetic pace that fashion subjected me to. Now I train every day, I eat healthily and I meditate,” he says. “My new life has led me to totally redefine my image. It’s funny how I’ve gone down in history as a man who transformed other people’s bodies, and now I’m doing the same thing to myself.” After his definitive farewell to fashion shows, Mugler exclusively devoted himself to special projects, such as creating costumes for Cirque du Soleil’s “Zumanity” show (2003), or outfits worn by Beyoncé during her “I Am…” world tour in 2009. “When I was young I wasn’t interested in being a fashion designer. I was a professional ballet dancer and I was looking for a new troupe in Paris. But since everyone wanted to buy my designs, I drifted towards fashion, which was a really powerful means of expression in the ’70s. That’s when I understood that I’d be able to conceive fabulous shows thanks to fashion.”
Establishing himself as a creator of unique, exceptionally tailored pieces, Mugler gave the word material a set of new, unprecedented values. He brought the fabric to life, excavating it and making it jagged, moulding it like an outgrowth, making it convex and angular, like the unwieldy corners of a piece of furniture. But he also introduced hitherto extraneous materials into couture, such as rubber, metal, fake fur and silicone. And in doing so, he outlined new frontiers for the body, even redefining its proportions. “Who are the ex-traterrestrials?” he queries radically. “If we flip the question, for another hypothetical community living in a different corner of the universe, we humans could be considered the aliens.” It’s a fact that Mugler has always been a headstrong firebrand intent on breaking down every boundary from the inside, first in classical and contemporary dance and then in fashion, both as a freelance designer and a label. “My creations originated because I’ve never had mental limits,” he remarks. “And since humans cage up their dreams, my creativity has always been seen as something from outside this world.” Having pushed the idea of a garment beyond the (albeit extreme) shapes that perform the function of a covering, Mugler went on to “dress” the skin itself with his perfumes. “I’ve never thought of my fragrances as a product, but as an extension of my dreams. It was about taking symbols that were dear to me and bringing them into reality. That’s how it was with the blue star.” That particular star embellishes the bottle of Angel, Mugler’s blue fragrance launched in 1992. A revolutionary eau de parfum, it included ethyl maltol for the first time – an aromatic molecule used by confectioners. The addition of this gourmand note recalled the light-heartedness of childhood, “as well as making you want to eat the person wearing it”.
Mugler’s most extreme creations are undoubtedly his photographic campaigns, featuring unattainable women standing out against inaccessible backgrounds. “I always wanted to work with Helmut Newton,” he recalls. “When I managed to do so in 1976, during the shooting of my first collection, I kept bombarding him with instructions until he threw the camera at me and suggested I take the photos myself. And that’s what I did, like the manic perfectionist control freak I am.” His images are now part of history, for example the one with Anna Bayle, the “queen of glaciers” in Greenland (1987). “But for me the most epic photo,” he reveals, “is the one with Claude Heidemeyer lying on the eagle of the Chrysler Building, hanging vertically over New York (1988).”
The creator and poet of another dimension, and yet with his feet on planet Earth, Mugler has taken a stand on big issues such as Aids, always in his own way of course. In 1992 he organised a spectacular fashion show in support of Apla (Aids Project Los Angeles), deploying a platoon of exceptional “models” on the runway: Ivana Trump, Michelle Phillips, Debi Mazar, Brigitte Nielsen, Linda Hamilton, Sharon Stone... That was the big return of vinyl. “Fashion wanted to send out the message that protecting yourself was directly connected to protecting others, and as a consequence prevention became an act of generosity. Sophisms aside, I loved vinyl because it makes the body seem lacquered.” This gave rise to dominatrices; fanatical Hollywood divas who even risked violating the very sense of glamour; futuristic reptilian and Masai queens; butterflies or bees soaring on legs, but wearing headdresses with perfectly taut antennas; leopardskin felines or shiny prototype robots. Comfort was banished from this clothing ecosystem with blind perseverance, and it was replaced with cast-iron self-confidence, “because I see clothes as complements of a daily mise-en-scène, as if everyday life were a show”. Mugler’s women had seduction, not careerism. Never languishing social climbers, his strutting, feather-clad chanteuses proclaimed the power to exploit the body as a way to assert one’s identity. He gave anyone a glorious form, from Demi Moore in “Indecent Proposal” to the lady in Italy’s most secluded province who bought his iconic black jacket.
“I’ve always thought my work was intended for real people. I hope I’ve given confidence and self-assurance to everyone who has worn my clothes,” he says. “I’ve never created to declare myself for or against anyone or anything. Mine was just a spontaneous gesture, which sometimes wasn’t well received by everyone, but I don’t believe that’s my problem. After all, thinking back, my perhaps overly strong personality wasn’t compatible with Arnault’s character either,” he explains, referring to the option to take over as creative director of Dior, which fell through when Gianfranco Ferré was chosen instead (in the late ’80s). “But free speech is as important as the freedom to criticise,” he concludes. “I’ve learned that if you stay true to yourself, bringing down barriers, you’ll always manage to reach someone. Then there’s my motto: enjoy good health and a short memory.”
(Trad. Antony Bowden) •