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Never mind that this article is badly written (what's going on with the NYT empire lately?), the question of the shifting landscape in fashion is an interesting one (at least I applaud Ms. Menkes for taking a critical stand for once). What do you think?
Who's next in fashion? No one.
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 5, 2006
PARIS
There is an exquisite irony to the idea that the 1980s are being
revisited as the latest fashion inspiration. For that giddy, glitzy
fashion era was labeled - first with enthusiasm and later with distaste
- "the designer decade."
It did, indeed, give birth to a roster of names that are now imprinted
on the public consciousness. Jean Paul Gaultier, who celebrates 30
fashion years during this Paris season, came to fame and glory in the
1980s. The same is true for Ralph Lauren and Calvin Klein in the United
States, and for an A to Z of Italian designers from Armani to Versace.
The decade also spawned the "alternative" designers, especially the
Japanese and later the Belgians. Almost everything that happened in the
1990s grew from roots in the flamboyant '80s.
So, who's next? Make that "Who's Next?" - the name of an ongoing
project in Italy to find new talent. That search is being replicated
across the world from Fashion Fringe in London to the "You're In!
You're Out!" of "Project Runway," the U.S. reality TV show.
The answer to that burning question for the fashion world is this: No one.
The current state of the industry and a cultural state of mind makes it
virtually impossible for any new designer to brand-build in the way
that the 1980s seedlings flowered into mighty trees.
Of course there will be creative talents who inject new energy into the
fashion scene. Heaven help us if there were not those forces for change
and artistic souls whose vision reflects what is happening in the wider
world.
But will any of these construct a mighty empire with a global stretch, selling everything from lipsticks to bed linen?
I doubt it.
Looking back over the sweep of the 20th century, you might say that the
designer era has lasted just about 100 years, from when Paul Poiret, at
the turn of the last century, turned fashion into personality-driven
performance art with his extravagant orientalist shows and his
profligate lifestyle. Poor Poiret! He was born too soon to sign deals
for perfume, lingerie and eyeglasses and died a pauper.
Some of the names that were fashion gods in the 1980s have not made it
big, compared to the earlier 20th-century couturiers from Chanel or
Dior to Yves Saint Laurent.
Thierry Mugler, whose carapaces of glamour are being cloned on runways,
still has his lucrative fragrance deal with Clarins, but the fashion
company was shuttered. Claude Montana's dominant aesthetic in the 1980s
never turned into big bucks. And Romeo Gigli's romantic counterpoint
never reached a crescendo.
But in the past, there have usually been reasons connected to
character, temperament or management that explained why particular
designers faded away.
Now, the truth is that nobody is building a global business - unless
the label is attached to a powerful parent company, as with John
Galliano at Dior and Marc Jacobs at Louis Vuitton. And if you compare
the figures, these two LVMH Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton designers have
tiny companies under their own names compared to the might of their
brands.
The industry reveres and nurtures personal talent, describing an outfit
as from "Alber," referring to Alber Elbaz at Lanvin or from "Nicolas,"
as in Balenciaga's Nicolas Ghesquiere. But this insider enthusiasm
conceals the fact that to the worldwide public even these powerful
designers do not register in the way that the names of Giorgio Armani
or even Pierre Cardin resonate.
The trend, now definitely on the wane, for brands to snag a hot
designer has hidden another reality: that a strong brand always holds
the premier position, even when we are talking about someone as
famously brilliant as Karl Lagerfeld at Chanel. In fact, brand managers
now believe that too much focus on the designer is detrimental, if that
person then leaves, especially for another company. From Chloé to
Gucci, new designers are being tapped more for their ability to come up
with saleable merchandise than for their charisma.
Three big issues are bringing closure to a designer century.
The first is obvious to any spectator (for that is what we are now) at
the big runway shows, where the line-up of honchos in suits measuring
the financial cost of a fanciful stage set is growing each season.
Designer fashion has gone corporate - and that even includes so-called
"edgy" brands such as Martin Margiela, so long an outlaw, but now part
of Diesel's empire.
Corporate clout is needed to negotiate a key position in the best mall
in Beijing and to fund a 30-strong design studio to make merchandise
that sells around the world. But it makes the designer's position
public and pressured, compared with the hatching of talent in previous
eras, from Coco Chanel in her Deauville hat shop through Gianni Versace
at a Florentine trade show or even Olivier Theyskens, now at Nina
Ricci, when he showed in obscure locations.
The second problem is that budding designers have to cope with the rise
of fast, low-cost fashion. There is just so little space for an
emerging brand to inhabit, when there is now a pincer movement gripping
and squeezing new talent. On the one side, the corporate brands have
the enormous budgets and people power to promote and distribute their
goods. And on the other side, so do the Zaras and H&Ms.
It is not quite fair to say that fast- fashion stores are vampires
feeding off creativity, because they have design teams of their own.
Yet with the challenge from both sides, even established designers are
taking the approach of "if you can't beat them, join them." Hence the
one-offs for H&M from Karl Lagerfeld or Viktor & Rolf. The
success of that Dutch duo, who have a fragrance deal with L'Oréal, is
one of the few brand-building successes of recent years. But will
V&R have to find a fashion backer? Beauty giants have often given
up on clothing lines, as in the closure by Clarins of Mugler, by Puig
of Paco Rabanne and by Procter & Gamble of Rochas.
The third and most compelling reason to believe that the designer era
is over lies in the cultural landscape. The 20th century witnessed the
total democratization of fashion, removing clothing from its historical
role as a defining part of a hierarchy of wealth and social position.
Branded logos have filled the void to an extent, enabling people to
hitch their insecurity to a famous label, wearing the symbol of
perceived success on obvious display.
But for at least 10 years it has been clear that the big brands must
perpetually find new territory - China, the Gulf States, India, South
America, Turkey - to conquer, while the more sophisticated Western
world is increasingly indifferent to the blandishments of the visible
logo.
We may be looking now at a situation where fashion is no longer the
defining badge of social acceptability. Or more probably, that clothes
will retain their importance but in a fragmented way, as, in response
to homogenous branding, society divides into myriad fashion tribes.
If, at this start of the 21st century, a design crusader emerges who
can trounce all that stands in the way and win a worldwide name and
empire, it will be a triumph indeed.
Is fashion over? It will just be different. And who knows if the next new brand will be built in cyberspace?
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