Talisa Soto is photographed by Bruce Weber for Vogue’s “The New Vamps” in 1982. her stretched limbs and toned body, typical of the new generation of models, show to perfection Saint Laurent’s couture black Moreau velvet and ruby Perceval satin gown.
“I AM NO LONGER CONCERNED WITH SENSATION AND INNOVATION BUT WITH THE PERFECTION OF MY STYLE.”
YVES SAINT LAURENT
On December 5, 1983, Yves Saint Laurent’s retrospective opened at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Held at the Museum’s Costume Institute and showcasing twenty-five years of his work, it was an incredible compliment since it was the first time that they had ever devoted an exhibition to a living designer. “Why Yves Saint Laurent?” wrote Diana Vreeland who had curated the exhibition. “Because he is a genius, because he knows everything about women.” Vreeland, who had been at the Costume Institute since 1972, then continued, “The reason I selected Yves is that for twenty-six years he has kept women’s clothes on the same high level. He is followed across the oceans of the world by women who look young, live young, and are young no matter what their age.”
The exhibition was a hit and boasted a million visitors. It consisted of 243 pieces and showed a tremendous amount of his collections from the late 1970s and early 1980s. The range of suits and dresses were all faultlessly constructed and conjured up the elaborate requirements of that time, yet they now look a little dated. In the exhibition, Saint Laurent was quoted as saying, “Luxury is above all an attitude of the heart. I never considered it as something that revolves around money, jewels, or furs.” Nevertheless, looking at the catalog’s outfits, which were often spectacular showstoppers—i.e. once worn, never forgotten but difficult to wear again—there is a nagging sense that only the seriously wealthy could afford the dresses. Whereas Saint Laurent’s black cocktail dresses for Dior were absolutely timeless and still seem contemporary, as do all his iconic classics from the 1960s: his gray satin tunic worn with velvet skirt, his pea coat, or caban of navy-blue wool twill with gold buttons, his safari jacket, and his Smokings. There are also his simple yet modern looks from the early 1970s: a beige jacket worn with black grain de poudre wool pants, a midcalf length black crepe and velvet dress, a black wool gabardine jumpsuit, and a long silk crepe evening shirtdress with matching scarf.
Talisa Soto is photographed by Bruce Weber for Vogue’s “The New Vamps” in 1982. her stretched limbs and toned body, typical of the new generation of models, show to perfection Saint Laurent’s couture black Moreau velvet and ruby Perceval satin gown.
For next two pictures: Christy Turlington photographed by Patrick Demarchelier for Vogue’s “What Really Counts from The International Collections” story and cover in 1987. Here, Rive Gauche’s quilted reversible satin jacket, silk cloqué shirt, and short skirt offer luminous color and instant appeal.
The late 1970s and early 1980s work was superbly executed, yet it was evident that Yves Saint Laurent had changed. He had moved on from having his finger on the pulse and being innovative, and had turned to dressing the middle-aged and established. During an interview with Vogue’s Barbara Rose in 1978, he claimed to be disappointed with the younger generation, describing them as lacking a “message to transmit.” Five years later, he took it further with Joan Juliet Buck. “Today’s look is very destructive for the kids themselves who are denying their own beauty,” he said. “I’m aware of a desire to ruin and distort harmony, and it’s worrying. It’s purely gratuitous, but it can go very far, and it seems to create a sort of sect without values. So I feel isolated from these kids.”
Saint Laurent was only 47 years old yet he was complaining like Chanel, in her later years. He had turned into the sort of person whom he would have avoided during his youth. Still, it has to be stressed that the 1980s were an unhappy decade for Saint Laurent, unhappiness compounded by the public and inaccurate rumors that he had AIDS. Of course there were accolades such as the Metropolitan’s retrospective, but his hedonistic behavior in the 1970s had caught up with him. A haze of serious drugs, powerful tranquilizers, and alcohol had taken a toll on his health and his mood. Isolated and unhappy, he occasionally turned into a hermit who had lost his joie de vivre. Naturally, his friends like Betty Catroux rallied around him, and Anne-Marie Muñoz and Loulou de la Falaise supported him by running his studio, but Saint Laurent was often inebriated, slurring his words, and making little sense. Old friends like Victoire, the former Dior model, were shocked by his frazzled state and self-destructive behavior. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Saint Laurent had to be saved from an alcohol-induced coma in 1985.
“It’s a perfection of line. It’s a perfection of material.”
YVES SAINT LAURENT
Suzanne Lanza photographed by Neil Kirk in 1989 softens the strict lines of Saint Laurent’s “timelessly appropriate” Rive Gauche hip-length wool jacket and short cream wool straight skirt.
Meanwhile, the image-conscious Pierre Bergé hid as much of this as he could from the media. From the 1980s he had one aim: to get Saint Laurent’s designs into museums and mark him as the most important couturier of the second half of the twentieth century. The Metropolitan retrospective certainly realized this goal, since it toured for a staggering seven years and traveled to Bejing, Paris, Moscow, St. Petersburg, Sydney, and Tokyo. Being Saint Laurent’s most fervent supporter, Bergé must have privately realized that the couturier’s best designing years were behind him. Yet, instead of letting the cracks show, Bergé built up Saint Laurent’s reputation by reminding the public of his extraordinary body of work. It was an inspired, effective idea and also a rightful claim. The exhibitions and numerous anniversary celebrations demonstrated that there was nothing that Saint Laurent had not done.
Nevertheless, Bergé was marketing his Yves as the untouchable, the rightful heir of Coco Chanel. This was to change when the house of Chanel announced the appointment of Karl Lagerfeld on September 15, 1982. Lagerfeld, who had been a runner-up to Saint Laurent in the 1954 International Wool Secretariat, who had been a friend of Saint Laurent during his years at Dior, but who then had fallen out with Saint Laurent and Bergé in 1970s over Jacques de Bascher, Lagerfeld’s aristocratic and highly desired boyfriend. Somewhat typically, the house of Saint Laurent took the news badly, particularly the designer himself, who had always felt such infinity with Chanel; she, like him, had been influenced by androgyny, highlighted the appeal of black and placed style over fashion. “Chanel found perfection and stayed with it,” he told Dryansky. Certain members of Saint Laurent’s camp even presumed that Lagerfeld had taken on Chanel to hurt their Yves. Laughable as this claim sounds, it did betray the house of Saint Laurent’s unrealistic sense that no other designer mattered apart from Yves le Maître.
“Elegance Grise,” said Vogue of Saint Laurent’s unbeatable Rive Gauche classic of a gray wool-flannel suit with wrap around skirt, given Parisian poise by model Laetitia Firmin-Didot. Photograph by Eamonn J McCabe, 1989.
Saint Laurent would always continue to do sumptuous and magical evening dresses, like this Hurel tulle couture gown with tight bodice and sashed waist, photographed in 1981 at the Crillon Hotel by John Stember.
“Très Belle Époque,” said Vogue of Saint Laurent’s couture pairing of a Taroni satin dolman-sleeved cape and a Moreau velvet strapless dress photographed on Marie Lindfors by Terence Donovan in 1983.
Loulou de la Falaise, Paloma Picasso, and Tina Chow, photographed by Michael Roberts in 1987. In Vogue’s “Yves Only” story, each style icon confirms their loyalty to the couturier and adds vivaciousness and glamour to the typically resplendent and stylish Rive Gauche, with de la Falaise’s choice of fringe and feathers, Picasso’s multihued drama, and Chow’s off-the-shoulder chic.
After a few shaky seasons, the Chanel collections of the ever-industrious Lagerfeld became seriously successful. Being accessible, amusing, and quotable in four languages, Lagerfeld was viewed as a journalist’s dream, and a parade of admiring articles began. Saint Laurent, on the other hand, remained his reticent self. As a result, Saint Laurent’s press department pushed the charms of Loulou de la Falaise—a winner with the media since she looked chic in every outfit, was photogenic, and was articulate about the designer’s work. For their September 1987 issue, British Vogue interviewed Saint Laurent and three of his favorite women: Tina Chow, Paloma Picasso, and de la Falaise wearing his ready-to-wear collection. Under the headline “YVES ONLY!” the piece began with: “Rumors that he was no longer interested, unwell, past his prime, were dispelled by this breathtaking collection, one to rival his greatest.” Loulou et al are snapped by Michael Roberts smiling and goofing around, whereas Saint Laurent looks wary in Snowdon’s portrait. Nevertheless, he confirms his reputation as the couturier who cares. “I always try to reassure women, even if I am doing a man’s suit,” he insists. Regarding the expense of couture, he predicts, “Maybe one day things will evolve and there will only be one collection with different prices.”
Fashion in the 1980s was full of so many influences; Saint Laurent, on the other hand, continued to bang his own drum and redo versions of his previous hits. “I am sure of myself and my style,” he told Mary Russell. “I embroider on the same theme, adding, subtracting, but never deviating from the basic formula.” Ultimately, his stubbornness garnered respect from the fashion world. But notwithstanding the occasional “revival of Saint Laurent” article, particularly in the mid-90s when strict tailoring returned, “The Saint’s” interminable ready-to-wear shows were not appreciated until he handed over the reins to Alber Elbaz in 1998. The talented Israeli designer injected a modern edge to the Saint Laurent codes. Saint Laurent referred to haute couture as having “multitudes of whispered secrets that a small number of people are still able to pass on,” and it was only in couture, and via his Lesage embroidered jackets and sumptuous evening dresses, that he occasionally sparkled with his former magic, bringing to mind his words: “it’s perfection of line … it’s how to work with a beautiful fabric.”
The kilt, and tartan, remained successful for Saint Laurent throughout his career. Kate Moss, photographed by Andrew Lamb, wears Rive Gauche in 1994. Saint Laurent frequently used Moss on the runway, and later she became the face of Rive Gauche ready-to-wear and Opium fragrance campaigns.
Ludmila Isaeva wears more Rive Gauche tartan, with feathered beret and elegant gold-brocade edged black jacket. Photograph by Neil Kirk, 1990.
Entirely Rive Gauche onboard, from Elaine Irwin’s cotton button-through cropped top and skirt, to her leather drawstring bag. Photograph by Neil Kirk, 1992.
Supermodel Carla Bruni wearing a Rive Gauche linen puff-sleeved dress, photographed by Kim Knott in 1994.
Nevertheless, Saint Laurent’s retirement in January 2002 surprised everyone in the fashion world and led to a wave of nostalgia and mild regret. The conference announcing this was held at the couture salon of the avenue Marceau. It was 40 years after his first couture show for his house. Sitting on a small stage, Saint Laurent’s hands shook as he read his speech. “Today, I have decided to bid farewell to the world of fashion that I have so loved,” he began in touchingly dignified tone. He named individuals who had supported and believed in him. He mentioned Christian Dior and other elements of his career that made him feel proud. “In many ways, I feel that I have created the closet of the contemporary woman and that I have contributed to the transformation of my era.” He also took the opportunity to talk about his problems with addiction and depression that had ended in 1991. “I have struggled with anguish and I have been through sheer hell. I have known fear and the terrors of solitude. I have known those fair-weather friends we call tranquilizers and drugs. I have known the prison of depression and the confinement of hospital. But one day, I was able to come through all of that, dazzled yet sober.” Once his speech was over, Saint Laurent left, leaving Bergé to answer questions. It was the end of an era, and although the idea led to weeping among intimates, there was also mild relief. Gone was the need to play-act and fib about the “fantasy clothes” that The Beautiful Fall’s writer Alicia Drake described as now being “worn by just a handful of women in the world.” That world had disappeared to be replaced by an extremely casual one.
Karen Mulder photographed by Tyen smoldering in Saint Laurent’s silk crepe hooded couture gown from his 1991 spring/summer collection inspired, said Vogue, by “gentleness” and “soft, creamy fabrics.”
Throughout his career, Yves Saint Laurent could be relied upon for immaculate use of white and black and a perfectly cut jacket and pants that made the wearer feel self-assured and protected. Photograph by Michel Arnaud, 1982.
Saint Laurent’s twill trench coat for Rive Gauche exemplifies the timelessness of his designs and illustrates his genius for cut and proportion. Photograph by Barry Lategan, 1971.
Even after retirement, Saint Laurent still went to his studio in the avenue Marceau. He would spend afternoons there, quietly sketching. But such activities ceased when the couture house was made into a museum in 2004. And then Saint Laurent disappeared into the confines of rue de Babylone. To keep him company, there was Moujik no. 4, his stocky French bulldog, house servants, and his prodigious art collection. The rumors around Paris were that he was living a strange, embalmed existence. Saint Laurent had warned that this might be when he had told Le Figaro, “Outside of my collections, I live in total absence.” It was claimed that the only two activities that tempted him away from watching television were either dining with Betty Catroux, his best friend since 1966, or being driven to a patch of grass on the Champ de Mars where he walked Moujik. However, it actually turned out that, when on form, Saint Laurent would go to Mathis, the private bar-restaurant on rue de Ponthieu, and dine with pals such as Jacques Grange, his former interior decorator. Nor was Saint Laurent averse to going to dinner parties if he knew who else was going to be there.
Around 2006, Saint Laurent’s arms became paralyzed. Then he had needed a wheelchair owing to a lack of movement in his legs. In spite of his problems, Saint Laurent was cheerful. Convinced that he was on the mend, he told close friends that an elevator would not be necessary in his apartment because he would be shortly able to walk. In fact, Saint Laurent was dying of brain cancer, but Bergé—his constant protector—had decided not to tell him. After bouts in hospital, the 71-year-old Saint Laurent died at his 7th arrondissement home on June 1, 2008. Both Betty Catroux and Bergé were by his side.
His funeral was held at Eglise Saint-Roch, traditionally considered the artist’s church, in Paris’s 1st arrondissement. Nicolas Sarkozy, the President of the French Republic, attended, accompanied by his wife Carla Bruni-Sarkozy who had often modeled for Saint Laurent. Designers paying respect included John Galliano, then at Dior, Jean Paul Gaultier, Hubert de Givenchy, Christian Lacroix, Kenzo Takada, Valentino Garavani as well as France’s titans of luxury, the magnates Bernard Arnault and François Pinault. Treated like a funeral of state, a French flag was wrapped around the coffin. Outside, on the sidewalk of the rue St. Honoré, a vast crowd had convened to bid farewell to Yves Saint Laurent, France’s Giant of Couture. The “vast crowd” made sense because throughout his life, Yves Saint Laurent managed to touch his public on an emotional level—both with his elegant designs and his poetic words. Perhaps it was a mixture of his genius and unusual honesty. Shy as he was when he first exploded on the fashion scene as the boy-wonder successor to Christian Dior, Yves Mathieu-Saint-Laurent, as he was then known, was always strangely direct.
Supermodel Linda Evangelista photographed by Juergen Teller in 1994 wearing the Rive Gauche Smoking, termed by Vogue a “new wave-tuxedo,” displaying the éclat of the modernized classic.
Saint Laurent was an original, both highly sensitive and witty, who was more inspired by lasting style than fleeting fashion. He often said that all a woman needed to be fashionable was a pair of pants, a sweater, and a trench coat. Pierre Bergé was impressed by Saint Laurent’s ability to maintain his sense of childhood and, to quote Vogue’s André Leon Talley, “In this utopian inner palace, he could summon memories of his swimming at his family’s seaside villa, dressing paper dolls, and putting on a fashion show for his sisters, when he was twelve.” Leon Talley was struck by the beauty of Saint Laurent’s tapered fingers, which reminded him of “a Renaissance aristocrat in a Bronzino.” Yet he will be best remembered as rendering every type of women beautiful. “It is by perfecting essential items of clothing—a marvelous position—that I created my style,” Saint Laurent said. It was a philosophy that infused his designs and confirmed his preeminent place in fashion history.
“Without elegance of heart, there is no elegance.”
YVES SAINT LAURENT
