For a Paris haute couture house, the decor is outright iconoclastic. Instead of the usual hushed beige backdrops, little gilt chairs and artfully placed mirrors, rich oranges and reds glow on every side. The black border motif on the rugs and walls summons up visions of black flames. Bright pink branches thrust upward from behind small neo-Martian chairs, and the sconces are big burnished theater masks, enough to scare a timid millionairess right out of her chiffon.
But last Monday morning the bold decor was tamed by the hum of human activity. Black-clad vendeuses -- all pretty, some titled -- were bringing gorgeous garments out to clients. Some of the clients were dyed blonds, past first youth and swaddled in mink. But there were young beauties too, including Lucy Ferry, wife of Rock Star Bryan Ferry, who was swanning around in her Louise Brooks bob, sporting a brown broad-brimmed straw hat topped by, yes, a huge pink branch. Another woman tried on an exquisite Arlesian fichu. She had it on backward, but it was still charming. Acting out their dress-up fantasies, or simply getting to the changing cabins, they all seemed to trip over a dark fellow lying on the rug intently watching a video. He laughed now and then and clapped his hands at the good parts, utterly oblivious to the rock royalty or the clients who could not get his clothes on right. The video was of his latest fashion show, which had triumphed just the day before. And Christian Lacroix was doing what he usually does: he was enjoying himself.
And why not? Lacroix, 37, is the new king of couture. A French newspaper, France Soir, considers him no less than a "messiah." The fashion industry last week honored him for the second time with its most prestigious prize, the Golden Thimble. Since he opened his own couture house a year ago, his ideas have become the most visible in the field, a rare combination of wit, frivolity and knowing thefts from both past designers and the great ages in clothing history. Lacroix is the man whose designs might sport a rude cabbage rose, perhaps on the derriere. He is the one who put middle-aged women into bubble shapes or bustles, often at mid-thigh. That led him to an unintended refutation of the Duchess of Windsor's maxim that one cannot be too rich or too thin. Sometimes his widely copied dresses show more skeleton than flesh, but so ubiquitous are they at galas and cocktail parties in the U.S. that Women's Wear Daily has taken to commenting on "social knees." His influence can now be seen internationally, from a pretty young girl in Tampa wearing a copy of his puff pantaloons to the recent Seventh Avenue shows that blushed with his trademark outsize flowers and don't-bend-over lengths.
Most of all, Lacroix is the man with the magic paintbrush, who revealed a palette and an ability to mix colors that astounded the industry. The red and orange of his salon are the designer's favorite colors. (Had it been possible, he says, he would have brought the sun and the sea right inside.) It is easy to work with navy and white, but taming vibrant blues, pinks and tans, not to mention swirling prints, requires the eye of an artist.