Dior Homme by Hedi Slimane: A Berlin Album
By Timothy Hagy
(Photo by IndigitalTV)
PARIS, Jul 1, 2003/ FW/ --- Christopher Isherwood once conjured up the turbulent world of
the Weimar era in his Berlin Novels, a bewitching mix of love, betrayal, obsession and
denial played out before a backdrop of social and political upheaval.
The collision of Fascism and Communism, the intertwining of genteel society and the proletariat make for a frothing brew. As if to foreshadow the inevitable combustion, Isherwood's words take on an ominously dark significance "The wood casts long shadows over the fields. Birds call with sudden uncanny violence, like alarm-clocks going off."
Hedi Slimane, whose own love affair with Berlin is well documented, offers us a contemporary high voltage album each season with his highly creative collections for Dior Homme.
In Bercy, on the east end of Paris alongside docks, the show was staged in a complex that could have been taken for an underground Berlin bunker. The crowds began to gather filing into the dimly lit space, meandering along the five tiers of long black benches, divided into five sections on either side of a wide runway.
Kaneau Reeves was en route, but became ensnarled in a holding pattern at the airport and never made it. But that did not stop the other stars: Karl Lagerfeld, Bernard and Hélène Arnault, Betty Catroux, Pierre Bergé, David Furnish for Elton John, and at least part of the rock band The Pet Street Boys.
And then there are the young kids that come from all corners of Europe, waiting patiently outside and hoping to be let in 'standing' to glimpse Hedi's work. Tonight, they all made it.
A hush fell, and the lights dimmed.
Silence.
Music commissioned by DSL began as a dialogue of strings, a serial composition reminiscent of Schönberg. Gradually the volume increased. The beat began. The music swelled.
Suddenly, blood red laser beams burst from floor to ceiling forming a virtual cloister along the catwalk.
The collection, "Strip", for Spring / Summer 2004 was in a sense a collection of photographs, each tinged with subtle but erotic undertones: beauty, darkness, and friction depicted in a spiky elegant way. Hedi's magical lens transfigures ordinary clothing into art - fashion that is at once polished yet sexually magnetized.
Laser-cut leather was overlaid with strands of ebony beads, falling like a spray of faintly chiming crystal.
Sharp tailcoats came shimmering like black diamonds, sewn with ribs of spiraling sequins. Trousers fell low on the hips, trailed by silk handkerchiefs sensuously streaming from the back pockets. Silvery satin pleated shirts gave way to a burnished red silk redingote, glistening as if wet.
A magically zigzag set of tails led to an all-black finale of vests worn torso nude and sprayed with a fine web of droplets. Molding leather pants, and ankle high sneakers completed the frame.
When it was all done, Bernard Arnault was grinning from ear to ear as he made his way backstage surrounded by a flotilla of security guards. He has good reason to smile. Dior Homme's turnover grew at an outstanding rate of 41% last year, and now is on the verge of eclipsing the signature label.
Sydney Toledano, President of Dior Couture, had more to say on that subject. "Everything is working so well. It's not just the numbers; it's the artistry. Hedi is really a genius, and he makes it all work: the image, the concept, the fashion."
Karl Lagerfeld was ecstatic, dressed in a sparkling black Slimane jacket accented with an Hediard diamond brooch, an exquisite piece twinkling with enough carats to make Queen Elizabeth swoon. Looking very much like a little boy lost in a candy store, he said, "I'm afraid I did love the show. And now I want it all!"
The only people not giddy were a group of lost teenage models that took a wrong turn somewhere and came smack up against a swarm of journalists and television crews. "Ekes," one said, "This looks like a press room. No party here, let's keep moving".
Hedi Slimane, the normally shy and reclusive artist, tonight became quite animated. "There is no one point of inspiration for these collections. It's hard for me to explain it to you. Maybe it's more a kind of allure I have in mind. Things I've seen in Berlin, in Paris, and I start with those images and everything just falls into place. Do you understand?"
And so the guests began to depart, the boys disappeared into the night, and another season came to a brilliant end. Yet the energy and the allure linger still.
"It's all so unreal: the people on the pavement have an air of curious familiarity, of striking resemblance to something one remembers as normal and pleasant in the past - like a very good photograph."
- Christopher Isherwood
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