(source: March 2007 issue of Elle - US Edition)
ELLE FASHION REPORTER
THE TURNING POINT
IN THE PAST 15 YEARS, MARC JACOBS HAS CHANGED THE FACE OF AMERICAN FASHION AND BECOME THE JEWEL IN THE CROWN OF THE LVMH EMPIRE. WITH ONE OF HIS MOST BEAUTIFUL SIGNATURE COLLECTIONS TO DATE, THE DESIGNER WAXES POETIC ON FASHION, SOBRIETY, AND WHY HE'S NOT PERFECT. BY JOSH PATNER
Marc Jacobs is slouching down in a chair, scattered and confused, squinting in the afternoon sunlight, which shines through the high windows of his studio at Louis Vuitton's sleek Paris headquarters. "I'm looking for something I can't find," he says, dropping a pile of fabric swatches to the floor. But it's not what he says that immediately reveals the heart of a true romantic. It's the way he says it: softly, as though the moment is gone with it. You feel his longing; you know he thinks the idea will never come again.
But of course it will. At 43, Jacobs is one of the most influential and profitable designers working today, and one of the most prolific. At Vuitton, Jacobs is responsible for more than a billion dollars' worth of clothing and accessories for both men and women. Combined with his signature men's and women's lines, and the lower-priced Marc by Marc Jacobs label, he oversees eight runway shows in New York and Paris each year, plus advertising fragrance business and 16 worldwide Marc Jacobs boutiques, with at least four more on the way. Jacobs readily acknowledges his design directors for their contributions-Peter Copping at Vuitton, Joseph Carter at Marc Jacobs, and all the designers on their teams. "You think I do all of this by myself?" Jacobs says, throwing his hands in the air. "I can't be involved in every single decision, and I'm not. I've changed a lot."
The wide-eyed sweetness of his ethereal/urban spring collection -- the fourth in a series of visionary shows that began with the wildly oversize proportions of his fall 2005 line -- was hard-won. Jacobs, who by his own admission became sober several years ago, waged a very public battle with drug addiction that began with his appointment as Vuitton's artistic director in 1997. "Marc has always been curious," says Robert Duffy, his longtime business partner. "He always questions things: the way we see beauty, everything. And when he's sober, it's great. What's been the most difficult part is when he was just completely strung out on drugs."
Today, Jacobs is a new man. "It's stimulating," Jacobs says of sobriety. "I'm exercising and eating well, and it comes across in my work."
Making sense of Jacobs' spring show may prove just as challenging for the legions of Jacobs' obsessed fans. "I used to have this attitude that the runway was only an opportunity to show the clothes plainly, like against a white wall," Jacobs says. "Now I don't feel that: The show is a show and it has to transmit a mood and an atmosphere." The vast spring '07 landscape set by Stefan Beckman was painted in the lulling, deep pastels of Cuban artist Felix Gonzalez-Torres. A babbling brook of candy-blue mints meandered under a runway built on stilts. The butterfly sounds of Pachelbel's Canon filled the air, and at first glance the clothes seemed otherworldly. Oblong layers of jersey were draped over deeply pleated harem pants. Coats had broad, cartoonish collars. There were lollipop-size sequin polka dots, iridescent transparent blouses, shiny little raincoats, and a gray-and-white-stripe silk dress that billowed around Karen Elson like a storybook bug's cocoon. And yet, somehow, this fairy-tale nomad also wore a bomber jacket and carried a hard-edge metallic bag. "Spring wasn't aspirational at all," Jacobs says. "I didn't want to convince anyone of anything or suggest some way to dress. It was just a fashion moment that exists somewhere in this weird outside."
Equal parts '70s disco joyride, '50s WASP, and A Midsummer Night's Dream, the collection, like most of Jacobs' designs, is laced with references to his personal pantheon of icons. "I love fashion, and I admire the work of other designers," he says. "There is a period of Krizia that I love, when Walter Albini was designing it in the '60s. And I love Schiaparelli, and Rei [Kawakubo], and Junya [Watanabe], and Yohji [Yamamoto]. They are real designers designing these things I love. But I just do what I've always done and try to improve on that. It's never a romantic attitude about the past. The past is past and now is now."
And indeed, notwithstanding the references to his heroes, spring was one of Jacobs' least retro-looking collections ever. "I am this American designer, educated in a certain way, thinking about usefulness. I'm not deeply intellectual about it all," he says.
Jacobs and his team worked on the collection for about four months. "We started out with things we knew, all the things we always do: little suits, T-shirts, coats, sweaters," Jacobs says. But despite the elusive poetic mood of the spring collection, Jacobs explains that it began as a technical challenge rather than an emotional one. "Spring is really an evolution of last fall," he says. "It's the same heavy, romantic things, taken into spring. It started as a black cocktail suit, and the black turned neutral. But the suit looked too conventional, so we reworked the patterns by cutting and draping and it turned into all these little bands. It's about creating the lightness."
But that is an understatement. Jacobs' collections are always provocative, and for the fashion insider he is a true arbiter of change. At first glance his silhouettes appear exaggerated for real life, but what may seem outlandish or kooky likely suggests a shift in how women will be dressing for years to come. In our status-crazed world of camera-ready looks, Jacobs reaches for a willful lack of self-consciousness that is in fact altogether American.
Look past the pixie party dresses and gilded ladybug hats, and what you see is a classic wardrobe made extreme with new proportions. "All of my collections are cliches of American sportswear," he says. "There's always a peacoat jacket and pants. Okay, now they have a superlow crotch and the jacket is kangaroo and not wool melton, but still. I mean, look at this," Jacobs says, pointing to a runway photo of a silver leather raincoat worn narrow and long over calf-grazing pants. "Talk about American sportswear. She might as well be Chessy Rayner in three easy pieces it's so American."
(to be continued..)
ELLE FASHION REPORTER
THE TURNING POINT
IN THE PAST 15 YEARS, MARC JACOBS HAS CHANGED THE FACE OF AMERICAN FASHION AND BECOME THE JEWEL IN THE CROWN OF THE LVMH EMPIRE. WITH ONE OF HIS MOST BEAUTIFUL SIGNATURE COLLECTIONS TO DATE, THE DESIGNER WAXES POETIC ON FASHION, SOBRIETY, AND WHY HE'S NOT PERFECT. BY JOSH PATNER
Marc Jacobs is slouching down in a chair, scattered and confused, squinting in the afternoon sunlight, which shines through the high windows of his studio at Louis Vuitton's sleek Paris headquarters. "I'm looking for something I can't find," he says, dropping a pile of fabric swatches to the floor. But it's not what he says that immediately reveals the heart of a true romantic. It's the way he says it: softly, as though the moment is gone with it. You feel his longing; you know he thinks the idea will never come again.
But of course it will. At 43, Jacobs is one of the most influential and profitable designers working today, and one of the most prolific. At Vuitton, Jacobs is responsible for more than a billion dollars' worth of clothing and accessories for both men and women. Combined with his signature men's and women's lines, and the lower-priced Marc by Marc Jacobs label, he oversees eight runway shows in New York and Paris each year, plus advertising fragrance business and 16 worldwide Marc Jacobs boutiques, with at least four more on the way. Jacobs readily acknowledges his design directors for their contributions-Peter Copping at Vuitton, Joseph Carter at Marc Jacobs, and all the designers on their teams. "You think I do all of this by myself?" Jacobs says, throwing his hands in the air. "I can't be involved in every single decision, and I'm not. I've changed a lot."
The wide-eyed sweetness of his ethereal/urban spring collection -- the fourth in a series of visionary shows that began with the wildly oversize proportions of his fall 2005 line -- was hard-won. Jacobs, who by his own admission became sober several years ago, waged a very public battle with drug addiction that began with his appointment as Vuitton's artistic director in 1997. "Marc has always been curious," says Robert Duffy, his longtime business partner. "He always questions things: the way we see beauty, everything. And when he's sober, it's great. What's been the most difficult part is when he was just completely strung out on drugs."
Today, Jacobs is a new man. "It's stimulating," Jacobs says of sobriety. "I'm exercising and eating well, and it comes across in my work."
Making sense of Jacobs' spring show may prove just as challenging for the legions of Jacobs' obsessed fans. "I used to have this attitude that the runway was only an opportunity to show the clothes plainly, like against a white wall," Jacobs says. "Now I don't feel that: The show is a show and it has to transmit a mood and an atmosphere." The vast spring '07 landscape set by Stefan Beckman was painted in the lulling, deep pastels of Cuban artist Felix Gonzalez-Torres. A babbling brook of candy-blue mints meandered under a runway built on stilts. The butterfly sounds of Pachelbel's Canon filled the air, and at first glance the clothes seemed otherworldly. Oblong layers of jersey were draped over deeply pleated harem pants. Coats had broad, cartoonish collars. There were lollipop-size sequin polka dots, iridescent transparent blouses, shiny little raincoats, and a gray-and-white-stripe silk dress that billowed around Karen Elson like a storybook bug's cocoon. And yet, somehow, this fairy-tale nomad also wore a bomber jacket and carried a hard-edge metallic bag. "Spring wasn't aspirational at all," Jacobs says. "I didn't want to convince anyone of anything or suggest some way to dress. It was just a fashion moment that exists somewhere in this weird outside."
Equal parts '70s disco joyride, '50s WASP, and A Midsummer Night's Dream, the collection, like most of Jacobs' designs, is laced with references to his personal pantheon of icons. "I love fashion, and I admire the work of other designers," he says. "There is a period of Krizia that I love, when Walter Albini was designing it in the '60s. And I love Schiaparelli, and Rei [Kawakubo], and Junya [Watanabe], and Yohji [Yamamoto]. They are real designers designing these things I love. But I just do what I've always done and try to improve on that. It's never a romantic attitude about the past. The past is past and now is now."
And indeed, notwithstanding the references to his heroes, spring was one of Jacobs' least retro-looking collections ever. "I am this American designer, educated in a certain way, thinking about usefulness. I'm not deeply intellectual about it all," he says.
Jacobs and his team worked on the collection for about four months. "We started out with things we knew, all the things we always do: little suits, T-shirts, coats, sweaters," Jacobs says. But despite the elusive poetic mood of the spring collection, Jacobs explains that it began as a technical challenge rather than an emotional one. "Spring is really an evolution of last fall," he says. "It's the same heavy, romantic things, taken into spring. It started as a black cocktail suit, and the black turned neutral. But the suit looked too conventional, so we reworked the patterns by cutting and draping and it turned into all these little bands. It's about creating the lightness."
But that is an understatement. Jacobs' collections are always provocative, and for the fashion insider he is a true arbiter of change. At first glance his silhouettes appear exaggerated for real life, but what may seem outlandish or kooky likely suggests a shift in how women will be dressing for years to come. In our status-crazed world of camera-ready looks, Jacobs reaches for a willful lack of self-consciousness that is in fact altogether American.
Look past the pixie party dresses and gilded ladybug hats, and what you see is a classic wardrobe made extreme with new proportions. "All of my collections are cliches of American sportswear," he says. "There's always a peacoat jacket and pants. Okay, now they have a superlow crotch and the jacket is kangaroo and not wool melton, but still. I mean, look at this," Jacobs says, pointing to a runway photo of a silver leather raincoat worn narrow and long over calf-grazing pants. "Talk about American sportswear. She might as well be Chessy Rayner in three easy pieces it's so American."
(to be continued..)