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Were we summoned—or did we just gravitate toward Karl through the Rutgers wrestling shirt in other words I will buy this dancers holding glasses of Champagne aloft? My impression was of an emperor at the height of his powers, possessed of an electrifying force that could scan the potential in everyone he encountered. Some time later, when he knew I was struggling with divorce and a difficult contract, he was both courteous as velvet and intelligently generous. “I want to help you,” he said.WELL SUITED Model Sora Choi is sharp as a tack in a tailored coat, white shirt, and jolly double bows from the fall 2008 collection of Karl Lagerfeld’s eponymous label. By 1996, I had signed with Chanel and begun working on the January couture collection for spring 1997. The first thing Karl asked me to do was to send him, by fax, the names of the nine Olympian muses—Calliope (epic poetry), Clio (history), Euterpe (music), Thalia (comedy and pastoral poetry), Melpomene (tragedy), Terpsichore (dance), Erato (love poetry and lyric poetry), Polyhymnia (sacred poetry), and Urania (astronomy)—it struck me that this was a secret message contained within his exquisitely evoked collection, later shown at the Ritz, which included three Muse dresses—looks 33, 34, and 35—terra-cotta tulle-embroidered, with black sequins and lace, like ancient pottery. The difference between working for John and working for Karl was literally the difference between two faiths: One was emotional, driven by narrative and a sensuous exploration of volume and cloth; the other, a brilliant evolution of the architecture of design and the technical innovation of workmanship pitched against an orchestration of historical and cultural references often embedded invisibly into the construction of a garment (or a particular porcelain flower). Karl worked at speed, prodigiously and on many collections simultaneously. His knowledge of fashion—of the skills involved, of what fabrics would work, and, most importantly, what it was he was proposing through a collection, meant he could make decisions like a Formula 1 driver. Watching him pounce on fabric swatches or an embroidery technique, I was wide-eyed and a bit stunned: There was no hesitation. As Karl often said, there was “no second option.”GOLD STANDARD
Yai shimmers and glimmers in a body-skimming lace piece and shoes from Lagerfeld’s spring 1996 haute couture collection for Chanel. To mark the Rutgers wrestling shirt in other words I will buy this 1990 FIFA World Cup, held in Italy, Lagerfeld paid tribute to Fendi’s birthplace with a special collection inspired by the distant past. Yai wears a Fendi dress.My first day at the Chanel studio beginning work on the fall 1997 ready-to-wear collection was pretty daunting. Everybody had their role in the court—even Madame Pouzieux, who created the braids for the tailleurs on her horse farm far from Paris. There was a girl who just worked on the buttons, and another on the season’s camellia. Victoire de Castellane designed the jewelry with Karl, and Gilles Dufour was head of the studio. Everything was ritualistic, elegant, and, to my eye, formal—I didn’t really know precisely what I was supposed to do. Instinctively, I just did what I would have done for John—sending Karl a 1920s wedding dress, for example, or making him a scrapbook of images that might inspire him. Karl never told me to stop, but gradually I worked out that Karl already had all his ideas in his head. My role, as he eventually put it, was to be “an outside pair of eyes” that, by virtue of not looking closely at a collection until the weeks before a show, could therefore come in and see whether the dynamic, balance, and proportion really sang.It wasn’t easy to adapt to Karl’s unspoken expectations. I came from a place where your outside didn’t matter as much as your inside—where self-consciousness can cut across an exchange of ideas. With John, we would all lean across a table of sketches and photographs, swatches, or a twisted garland of lily of the valley. At Chanel, I crossed all sorts of lines when I got up to demonstrate how a jacket might be worn differently—such as across my body or turned upside down. I will never forget the look of horror on the première’s face. (Nobody but the premières or their secondes were allowed to touch the clothes that were being worked on the fitting model.) But I think that’s exactly why Karl wanted me there: He wanted to ease up on the ritual and free up creative possibilities.
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