The peculiar thing (perhaps) about meeting someone internationally famous is that really, they can't intimidate - unless they want to! The 'intimidation' is left to a cohort of unusually beautifully dressed and impossibly beautiful PR girls who marshal everyone about and say that...'You'' have to wait.' BUT time takes care of all of that. Time will or has taken care of them! The cult of fame makes everything reliant on, well...Something and someone else. People keep people away from their target-honey. Fake protection in shielding a demi-god from the ordinary is written in their variant contracts. Which dictator does not know the power or the female?
I met the great designer, Gianni Versace at a Harrods party for his book launch, featuring snake-hipped models in dripping silks and patterns no Byzantine emperor would have thought decent and a of course the usual hoards of journos and hangers-on. He was predictably surly and brusque (the swarthy semi-beard almost had a role!) almost the antithesis of the delicate silks he created for his label. And his knowledge of tailoring wools and mixes was astounding. The Medusa emblem, he made his own and even without the brand-stamp of his name itself, the face of the Gorgon, with a mass of curling snakes for hair, made an instant impression. The buttons seemed more like medals without a campaign, apart from depleting the bank account. The lining, with her face outlined, celebrated robbed and forgotten beauty. It was a simple drawing construct and although not Jean Cocteau, had the same immediacy of intent and thought. I have always admired a draughtsman. And indeed, was it not Ingres who said that 'Drawing is the first fruit' of Art. Or...Some such. But the sentiment is the same.
I had had the chance to acquire a few Versace pieces from then, a very good store in central London, I suppose, stocking odd sizes and samples and unbelievably, items that no-one wanted. Who wouldn't?!? These journeys resulted in an electric blue floor sweeping coat (with Medusa buttons!) and a purple, ribbed car coat which became the feasts of moths! A shirt or two still survive. Oh...And I think many a tie and cravat, all deliciously florid with gold motif on black ground. But if Gianni V taught anything (and he taught a good deal) was that luxury is all. For the late Giorgio Armani, luxury was a carapace - known only to, shall we say, those in the know. It was drape and flow - not Versace's 'show.' I always imagined that they were natural enemies (like Chanel and Schiaparelli) but secretly wondered that when twilight descended in some Italian city or town, they would revel in their difference and enjoy a Carbonara together! And smile - or even laugh with a backdrop of piped Vivaldi. Just a thought! After all...If you cannot keep up the rivalry, what is the point? And designers, internationally feted are as generals of sartorial armies. One must keep up the pretence. If we can call it that. Designers respect and loathe each other. And so...The Fashion Circus goes on.
One day I was walking down London's Bond Street (then, so much more chic than now!) with a friend who was supremely wealthy - not of his own making. I wondered at the time, how it must feel to be a teenage multi millionaire. I recall this friend inviting me to his London townhouse for supper, one evening. I took lilies - white, silent trumpets of sheer beauty - Longi - my favourite. which he immediately placed (in water) in a vermillion cleaning bucket. The mop was in place. That alone should have told me something. But it was the time when a bunch of 12 lilies from that Covent garden stall near Endell Street cost £10). The supper was spare and strange and he revelled in the fact that as a young collector, he could have it all. There was even a blank, raw canvas on the wall with a certificate close by, saying that he paid £40,000 (or so - a memory might remind). The receipt itself was the work of art - not the canvas, untouched... Another time, he asked me to lunch at Joseph's café on Sloane Street (so chic then) where he wept continually into his mushroom risotto. It was around this time that I had expressed a delight about seeing a Versace coat nearby and that I'd liked to have even the thought of wearing it. A friend told me his views later...Because I had made my interest so voluble, he had gone, during lunch, to buy said coat...'So I couldn't have it.' It was, what in the business is still called, a 'one-off.' I wasn't hurt but just wondered. Of course, my friend could have had his own reasons for so besmirching a view. Whom knew then? Who can know now?
So back to Bond Street. It was an ordinarily beautiful day and we sauntered from the cube-shop boutiques of jewellery, finery, garments and past the corner shop Hermes, awash in Jaffa orange to the then boring art galleries and trinket outlets. Asprey was still there then, in all its royal purple glory...
We were on our way to The Ritz or somewhere else when we saw something occurring at the Versace store. The blinds were drawn and the lights - even basically serving ones were off. Suddenly, a Japanese man appeared from (it seemed) nowhere and placed a cigarette on the floor, near the door. He made a perfunctory bow at the door and left as quickly as he had arrived. Later, I was to understand that at the late Versace's mansion, a songbird's corpse had been left in full view. Apparently, as widely reported in the press and from urban legend, this was a message from the Mafia. 'This bird has sung too much' - or some such...
What one must remember about Gianni Versace is that he is a lesson of life. In life he created and wove the beauty of the past with the astringency of the now and the future to be. Silks and leather. Cashmere and cottons. His end came, perhaps not so much as a shock but a sorrow, nonetheless. It is not so strange how the unthinkable happens. Everywhere...A dead bird, a cigarette, a gun...Only means and symbols to point to the end of days...
Every true creator, no matter what they create, is a gift from the Gods...And we can wear their dreams.
I wish that I had had more of Versace's ideas to wear about my person...A genius.