"Or you are abominably wicked;
You are a toad."
And after I had thought of it,
I said, "I will, then, be a toad."
- Stephen Crane -
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Christian Dior Haute Cuture 2012
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The Fine Line
HAUTE couture has survived a century of war, austerity, fads and a fair number of bungling owners. During the 1990s, when many houses were gobbled up by big groups, with money made in real estate and finance, couture felt vaguely touristic, like one of those traveling Wild West shows for city folk who had never seen a buffalo — or, in this case, an exquisitely handmade dress.
Still, couture survived. Nowadays, almost no one talks about its demise. Quite the opposite. Not only have revenues reportedly risen, thanks to big spenders in countries like China and Brazil, but there are also more new names on the calendar, like Giambattista Valli and Bouchra Jarrar, who makes ready-to-wear but because of her small quantities and fine sense of craft, shrewdly decided to show during couture. This season Versace returned to Paris after an absence.
Despite the rosy picture, I doubt that couture is a serious business for the houses, with the possible exception of Chanel, which every year spends millions of dollars on lavish sets for Karl Lagerfeld’s collections (this time, an airplane cabin). But given all the buzz it creates, I’m sure that couture is really good for business. And I know that because the clothes don’t measure up.
I’ve been thinking about this all week. In a world of choices, with luxury brands and customized ready-to-wear, what makes haute couture different? Is it savoir-faire? Handwork like pleating and embroidery? Or is there an extra quality?
For the woman looking for immaculate fit, for something exceedingly pretty, she can’t do much better than Mr. Valli’s dresses, with their silk-swathed shoulders and waists finished in grosgrain. I felt the same about Giorgio Armani’s Privé show, where the actresses Jessica Chastain and Cameron Diaz sat in the front row.
Even though Mr. Armani’s tailoring can sometimes look a bit rigid, as if he confused fierce crispness with couture polish, the clothes were a step above his ready-to-wear. There were crystal-beaded mermaid dresses, jackets in an unusual mesh fabric, a new Armani day skirt with an asymmetrical dimple in the silk organza and dramatic variations on snake patterns. The palette was specific, too: the earthy greens and browns of early spring.
Yet, despite the technique and the bold snake motifs, the clothes were not inspiring. To me, the experience was not all that different from watching a very good ready-to-wear show a decade ago.
Mr. Valli’s collection fell short, too. It was clear his aim was to give his youngish clients elegant clothes with feminine flourishes like feathers and flowing skirts, but the styles seemed composites of movie costumes from the ’30s and ’40s — bits of Adrian cut and pasted with something else.
I would have agreed, save for Elie Saab.
