eal fashion is something you don’t need, it’s something you want,” Marc Jacobs says to me over the phone one balmy day in June. The designer, whom I’ve known since the 1980s, is discussing his style ethos. He’s calling from his New York headquarters in SoHo and sounds very different from the Marc I first met some 30 years ago, when Betsey Johnson asked both of us to model in one of her shows in exchange for a hundred-dollar store credit. We had walked the runway together in matching sailorinspired outfits, slightly miserable, and even though we had never met, trudged out linking arms either in affection or to keep each other upright.
Over the years our paths crossed many times—at various dinners, in restaurants or clubs, the way things, for a long time, happened in the city. At all those “scenes” at Mr. Chow and Indochine, where everyone was table-hopping and up late, we’d bump into each other. Going out was the norm back then, and our seemingly glamorous jobs gave us an all-access pass: mine as a writer and his as a prodigy in the fashion world. I didn’t wholly follow his career but know of the highlights: the seminal “grunge collection” for Perry Ellis in 1992; his meteoric rise at Louis Vuitton; and his namesake line, which is always a visual feast, stemming from a smorgasbord of sartorial references. One day, in 2012, I saw remarkable ads, shot by Juergen Teller, of models in vaguely late ’20s and ’30s outfits, travelling in frock coats and dusters in beautiful colours and wearing the most extraordinary hats by Stephen Jones. The clothes were new and nostalgic and in some obscure way absolutely bonkers—they looked like they belonged in the Mad Hatter’s tea party. I was hooked.
The clothes, impossibly right in their wrongness; magic created. Though he’s guileless, talkative, and enthusiastic, he can’t really say what makes his fashion work. “It’s all about creative choice,” he says of the process, “making sketches, fittings, collaging—however it happens to get to the end result. Sometimes I sit with a shoe, or look at a silhouette. Sometimes the design team inspires me and brings in things. I think, ‘Oh, I’d like to use this.’ Other times, I don’t know what I want. It’s kind of the same sensibility that Andy Warhol had. He was interested in everything and soaked up what he saw like a sponge.”
He tells me that his Autumn/Winter ’16 collection, with its Victorian-goth vibe and oversize proportions, was the inverse of the spangled Americana show that he’d presented the season before. “When I finished the spring show, for the next one I said, ‘Let’s start with the same look, only take all colour out of it and make it a gothic version of the spring show, just to be contrary.’ So we started with the first look, took all colour out of it, and changed proportions. But the print I had developed for spring, I wanted to work with someone to create an image for print and patterns. I was looking at a painting by Tabboo! and said, ‘Oh, let’s get in touch with him and see if he wants to do something with us.’”
The artist and ’80s drag performer Tabboo! (aka Stephen Tashjian) heeded Jacobs’s call. At their first meeting, he showed his drawings and posters dating back to the Pyramid Club era. Tabboo! had arrived in New York around that time, right out of art school in Boston, found a cheap East Village tenement loft, and started performing, in drag, at various clubs and making art. All too often, talented people arrive in the city and spend a life here making and creating but for the most part never receive recognition or financial rewards. For Tabboo!, being “discovered” by Marc has been, to say the least, transformative. “Working with Marc has been an incredible experience,” he says. “It’s luxury fashion. It’s been completely out of my comfort zone. It was just thrilling.”
“I showed him things that interested me,” Marc says. “Gothic but not really, dark but not really. Tabboo! painted a crow, a black cat—sweet versions of dark icons. Each day, he’d come in and I’d say, ‘That’s really great, but I was thinking about this cape with swirls and jet beading.’”
“I couldn’t believe it,” says the artist. “A cape! No one was doing that. But it wasn’t just that he took my drawings and printed them on fabric. No, Marc had them hand-sewn, beaded, feathered, and embroidered—in a small French atelier. But first, I drew the designs by hand on this incredibly expensive fabric.”
“It all felt like a continuation of spring and nostalgia for New York City, and I didn’t want to abandon that,” explains Marc. “It had the spirit I want to see in all my collections— people I know and classic things I love.”
“They told me, ‘Submit a drawing,’” Tabboo! says. “I was expecting them to say, ‘Oh, can you redo it?’ But they didn’t. They said, ‘Oh, we love this! Do some more.’” The resulting illustrations swirled around coats, bags, shoes, and even a T-shirt of a black cat, roughly 13 pieces in all that served as the centrepiece of the collection.
This genuine acceptance of one artist’s work for another is special and extremely unusual. Despite the constant travel and creativity that seemingly puts Marc on the edge of feverishness, this capacity to collaborate has become a hallmark of his process. And it’s been to his benefit, on some spiritual level, perhaps.
And for me, I’ve come full circle, finding fashion interesting again, thanks to Marc, his theatrical presentations, and wonderful clothes. It makes me happy too that an original talent in one of the most difficult fields has—at age 53—not only survived through the ups and downs but also succeeded without compromising. How far we’ve come.
A portrait of the designer, with make-up by Tabboo!