Though Glamour Girl gave you a mini-whirlwind tour of her sojourn on the QM2 and into France in this entry, she neglected to tell you about one of the most exciting events of the trip because she thought it deserved a post all its own. Indeed it does, but my, how time has gotten away from her.
The event in question was the exhibition (free, mind you—just another perk brought to you by the civilized Europeans) called Paris: Haute Couture at the Hôtel de Ville.
It was, in a word, spectacular.
Even Mr. Glamour Girl, who was only going along because GG wanted to, had to admit that it was captivating.
There was a line that stretched around the block every day, so we made sure to get there early one morning. And the languages in that line constituted a veritable United Nations. Once inside, however, you were enveloped in hushed surroundings, as in a church. Which was fitting, since we were there to worship.
For on display, in what seemed like acres of glassed and mirrored booths, were dozens of the most famous, most magnificent, most fabled haute couture creations of the past hundred years. Many of them GG had only read about and never thought she would be lucky enough to see in person.
It’s almost impossible to describe the effect of walking into a room and seeing so many of these handmade wonders all at once. Despite the fact that the salle was crowded, the exhibition was so cleverly designed that you got to see all the dresses from a 360-degree angle. You could walk around them, beside them, between them, you could compare them, you could double-back and see them from a different viewpoint. You could practically press your face up to the glass and examine the heartbreakingly intricate beading by the historic house of Lesage on the bodice or train of an Yves Saint Laurent or Balmain gown. You could marvel over every drape and tuck of a Madame Grès or Vionnet. You could sigh or gasp over the delicacy of a feather or the sumptuous brocade of a Charles Frederick Worth.
In fact, there was a lot of sighing and gasping going on. Hubby at one point asked GG if she felt okay.
Yes, she felt okay; she was just beside herself with admiration for these amazing works of art. For that’s what they are, every bit as much as a Matisse or a Cézanne or a Rembrandt or a Caravaggio or a Vermeer or take your pick.
These gowns and dresses and skirts and jackets and capes and gloves are works of art. They were painstakingly put together, stitch by stitch, by human hands, hands so fantastically skilled it’s hard to believe.
Look at this Jean Patou from 1925:
Or this Charles Worth from 1900:
Worth is considered the first true haute couturier. And he was British, not French. But he plied his trade in France, his name gaining such fame that it became synonymous with grand elegance, so that just as people today say “Xerox” when they mean “photocopy” or “Kleenex” when they mean “tissue,” so, too, did people at the end of the 19th century say “Worth” to mean “best damn ball gown in the place.” Edith Wharton and Henry James populated their novels with women in Worth gowns.
The exhibition also featured tons of photographs of couturiers at work, as well as drawings, illustrations, little films, and examples of particular sartorial techniques, such as beading or embroidery. Thus you had a Worth drawing like this:
that was, decades later, turned into a Dior by Galliano gown like this:
The always inventive and cheeky Elsa Schiaparelli was represented by many garments, including this sunburst cape in her trademark color, Shocking Pink:
and these famous metal-finger-tipped gloves:
Here are two that had me gasping. First, by Madame Grès from 1956-57:
And the second by Madame Vionnet from 1922:
Madame Grès was famous for her draping and pleating, as you can see in that pink-mauve gown. She designed impeccably constructed dresses, to be worn without corsets, that allowed free yet secure movement. She died in 1993, at the age of 90. The last Grès shop closed in Paris only in 2012, but the name lives on in Switzerland, where the perfume house is based. Madame Vionnet lived from 1876 to 1975—talk about a life span! She’s known for introducing the bias cut, which drapes simply and seductively along a woman’s body, giving her the air of a Grecian goddess. GG certainly feels she could float to Mt. Olympus in that green confection.
Here’s a close-up of one of the breathtaking beaded works of Lesage:
Bien sûr, there were lots of little suits by Chanel, as well as mod pieces from the Swinging Sixties by Pierre Cardin.
The constraints of this blog dictate that the pictures posted here are tiny, so I’ll direct you to a few good websites where you can get a better look. The best is probably Style Bubble. There are also some great shots at Une Libanaise à Paris. And if you’re not afraid of French, the official Paris website is superb.
Though GG didn’t buy the massive catalogue at the time, not wanting to schlep it all the way home, she’s thinking about buying the book stateside. If you decide to do likewise, let her know; we can compare notes.
