My love story with Karl
UNEXPECTED: GATECRASHING INTERVIEW RESULTED IN DELIGHTFUL FRIENDSHIP
German fashion designer Lagerfeld died on February 19, aged 85.
Ihad to be sneaky to get in. When you’re a journalist, you sometimes have to be. After the Fendi show in Milan, I snuck off and told the backstage doorman (the late) Karl Lagerfeld was expecting me. The truth is, I hadn’t even asked for an interview. But I had nothing to lose! It had been a great show and freshly appointed to fashion desk, it was worth a try.
The security guard hesitated. I insisted, pleading with him that I was worried about showing up late. He let me through.
Backstage I was lucky again. No scrum of journalists, just the legendary pony-tailed designer talking to a young blogger.
The ‘New Look’
She had seen short skirts and long skirts on the runway, but what about next season’s skirts? Karl frowned.
“Women have been choosing the length they want – short for nice legs or long for a little mystery – for quite some time now.
“The fashion industry no longer dictates what women should wear, not since the ‘New Look’ anyway.”
My turn... “Does that happen to you a lot?” He looks at me, bemused, hazel eyes glimmering.
“Well, you just told this girl her question was totally irrelevant as of 1951!” – when Christian Dior revolutionised fashion. He smiles.
I ask him about his use of colour. Such deep, bright blues and delicious earthy clays.
“I was inspired by Edward Hopper,” he says, eyes searching for my reaction. Yes, I know the American painter. But I don’t hang around talking – not wanting to overstay my welcome.
‘She is
A while later, at a show for his eponymous label in Paris, I meet Caroline Lebar, his long-time assistant. I tell her about Milan.
“Ah, that was you!” she grins. “He called me that day from the airport and said ‘I don’t know who she is or who she works for, but she is po-ta-bleu [decent]!’”
For three years, Karl became my fashion coach.
‘Ah, there you are’
When tensions were running high, especially after Chanel shows and dozens of celebrities were waiting to greet him, a press attache would give me a prod and squeeze me in to break up the niceties. I became a sort of relief among all the excitement.
He’d take me by the arm, “Ah, there you are.” He’d talk to me about his show, his ideas, his choices. Our conversations were frank, spontaneous. He expected me to be straightforward and open. It was easy.
He would always have a great quote for me. Often ferocious and always witty. But he was never short of compliments or passions.
Wintour
Caroline Lebar calls me to tell me about an upcoming event. I don’t call her back right away. I’m on holiday in New York.
“Ah, so are we! Karl’s been invited to a department store. Come along?”
He’s waiting in a private room. He asks what I’m doing there. I grew up in New York, I say. “Not very much!” he retorts, teasing me for my short stature.
An assistant tells him Anna Wintour, the impeccably fringed Vogue editor-in-chief whose icy reputation inspired The Devil Wears Prada, is here.
Karl talks a little more, then walks me to the door. He introduces me to Anna: “You known Gersende, of course?”
There is no reason she should. Karl is visibly enjoying her confusion.
An itch for news
Three years later, I’m posted to the crime and justice desk at
Karl is intrigued. He asks about my new job. “So if there’s a fire in Paris at 3 o’clock in the morning, they’ll send you out on a motorbike with a hot rider?”
Not quite! I’ll probably be the one sending people out. “Ah, zut.”
I give him a kiss on the cheek and disappear, sad to leave but feeling honoured by the privilege.
A few days later, an enormous bouquet of flowers is waiting beside my front door. Stapled to it, a handwritten note wishing me good luck, a few tender words and finally some advice: “Don’t send some silly girl to replace you!”
I read it in my head with his German accent and inimitable pronunciation. What a delight! –