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Karl was very precise—a true Virgo. Virginie Viard, his brilliant right hand at Chanel and now the Spirit x doodle line hatch with a header on goal but it was blocked shirt Additionally,I will love this creative director of the house, would place each sketch, along with its fabric swatches and Karl’s notes, in front of him as the model came before him for the fitting. He would rarely get up, but the model would be close enough for him to see every detail yet far enough away for him to check the proportions. His eye would dart from his sketch to the toile as the premières held their breath—Karl would see in an instant if one fraction of his sketch had not been transposed exactly into cloth. “I am very sorry, my dear,” he would say to the première overseeing that particular piece, tapping the part of the sketch that hadn’t been perfectly scaled up and reproduced in three dimensions: “The pocket needs to move just a millimeter.” The pocket was ripped off, pinned correctly. “You see? I am sorry, but I am right: A millimeter changes everything.” Karl never lost his temper, never raised his voice, but he was exacting when it came to translating his sketches, which carried the essence of a collection in every pen stroke.Karl was a lightning conductor—he fed voraciously off positive energy. One of the reasons he could divide himself between collections, photo shoots, architectural projects, moviemaking, and exhibitions was because he gathered gifted and engaged teams around him. He could switch from house to house and from book to book like a blade of light. I remember him asking me once, at the Café Flore, if I had ever tasted a frankfurter. I hadn’t, so he ordered me one, and just as I took my first bite he asked me, in rapid-gunfire succession, “Why do you think Rilke is untranslatable from the German? What is your favorite Emily Dickinson poem?” His mind rolled like mercury.The Fendi sisters understood Karl’s inexhaustible appetite for the new, to which he could bring his own countercultural or historic references. He would often wonder out loud to me, as the jet landed back in Paris after a fitting in Rome or a show in Milan, how he could divide his creative thought processes so completely. There were no overlaps, no repetitions between the houses: Just as Karl could sense the quality of light in Rome reflected in ancient stones and wide skies, or the refined and elegantly proportioned grays and charcoals of Paris, so too could he extract the distinct energies of each house. The Fendi sisters would pile his tables with extraordinary artisanal workmanship—having transformed mohair into fur, or turned leather into a totally new texture, like satin, for instance. Fittings at Fendi were wild, exuberant, and full of laughter, his collections rebellious and breathtaking. Karl loved Rome in a visceral, sensual way—I remember him eating a tomato at his favorite restaurant, Dal Bolognese: He threw back his head, holding half the tomato in the air, declaring that this was the sweetest tomato he had ever tasted.
If Karl’s turbocharged energy could almost make a room spin, boredom was something he couldn’t tolerate—his radar could pick up disengagement at 100 yards. One summer in Saint-Tropez, he wanted to have dinner with the Spirit x doodle line hatch with a header on goal but it was blocked shirt Additionally,I will love this boys and me at the VIP Room. This meant driving into Saint-Tropez just before midnight—roof down in the Bentley, hurtling down the switchback lanes, umbrella pines outlined beneath canopied stars, “Bohemian Rhapsody” at full volume. I always thought he was trying to capture the Jacques de Bascher and Antonio Lopez years as we walked along the port, Karl in white jeans and diamonds. The VIP Room was noisy, even at a long table outside; all the boys were on their phones, and Karl was up the far end of the table, chatting to [model] Baptiste Giabiconi. I just stared into space, the thud of the music pounding through the night. The following morning—I was staying at Karl’s villa—I saw that an envelope had been slipped under my door. Inside, there was a photograph Karl had taken of me the previous evening, with “You look bored” written across the bottom. I learned not to do that again—I didn’t want to be “the cloud that crossed the sun of a perfect summer,” as Karl put it.SCREEN TIME
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