One of the first items I heard on the news this morning, as I blearily fed the cats, concocted coffee and shot up Z with his insulin, was that Yves St. Laurent died in Paris earlier today. His own fragile beauty and the enduring beauty of his work came to mind and made me feel sad. He was one of a dying breed, I think; the art of elegant dressing is lost, I think, and YSL's work had a glamour and sophistication seldom seen today.
Later, when I got home from work and flipped the daily photo on my calendar, the photo was of a gold snake-motif YSL sandal from 1997. What are the chances? So, I felt like I had to jot a quick post about YSL and his genius.
That genius brought us, among other things, "Le Smoking"-- the gorgeously sexy (intended only for the tall and willowy among us-- the rest of us just look like stumpy little men should we be foolhardy enough to try it...), androgynous tuxedo for women. Think Marlene Dietrich. Insanely glamorous and confident, a "can-you- handle-the-incredibly-confident-and-sexy-woman-that-I-am?" look, if ever there was one. The Village Voice pointed out that "Le Smoking" was widely adopted by "the Sapphic set", but I think that diminishes it's appeal by narrowing it too much. ALL women, not just our Sapphic sisters, love a great pair of trousers, and YSL started it all. Think Kate Hepburn (or Cate Blanchett PLAYING Kate Hepburn) in wonderful, gorgeous, wide-leg trousers: what could be more fantastic and sexy and 1940s glam?
One day, several years ago, I was in Paris with my mother, my grandmother and my grandmother's sister. Completely by accident, we discovered a sweet little restaurant behind the (then-closed-for-renovations) Theatre Odeon in St-Germain des Pres. We had a quick bite, as we were on our way to see an opera (Les Noces de Figaro) in the Jardin Luxembourg, but we liked it so well that we made reservations to dine there on our last evening in Paris. On that night, we got all dressed up. I felt thin and confident. There was a ridiculously hot waiter. The staff treated us like we were the most important guests they'd ever had, making a fuss over "The Ladies" (my grandmother and her sister). The food was good. The wine was good. The decor was all Jean Cocteau murals. And, as the evening got underway, the maitre d' came over to our table to chat-- we were the only non-Parisians in the place and I think the staff were curious about how the hell we'd managed to find them. Part of the chat went a bit like this (except in French):
Maitre d': Do you the designer, Yves St-Laurent?
Lola's Sister: Yes, I do.
Maitre d': Well, you know, this restaurant, that table right there (points to corner table), used to be his favourite.
Lola's Sister: Really!?
Maitre d': Mais, oui-- he used to come here with his old boyfriend, every week. But now they are no longer together, so he does not come here any more. [conspiratorial wink that I do not, at first, understand]
Lola's Sister: Oh, that's too bad. [great conversationalist, no?]
At the table where he had pointed, there was a handsome, very chic, silver-haired, older man and a gorgeous, very chic, very young man.... It didn't take me long to start to wonder whether the wink and the story and the handsome older man were connected-- were we dining mere metres from Yves St-Laurent's former flame?
Hmm. This has ended up being a bit of a post about me. Go figure-- it's my blog.
RIP, YSL.
2 comments:
Great post E. I loved the story. I think you told me about the restaurant before but never YSL.
RIP YSL, indeed. I recall his retirement speech. something about how the fashion world has lost its way. he was right, tom Ford is no more a clothes designer than henry Ford was a car designer. It's all about the bottom line now, when it should always be about the hem line.
nice lanterns, I hope they are there when you have me over for a real dinner party with real guests. by the way, my friend Cal will be in town again this summer. Put us on your list, SVP.
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