Friday, October 23, 2009

Introducing...

LA. Paris. Glam. Goth. Clothes. Vanity. Gym.

Le freak, c'est chic
He's the great fashion eccentric whose leather jackets have made him one of the best-selling designers of the decade. Sarah Mower meets Rick Owens, the man who reinvented a classic
Sarah Mower
The Observer, Sunday 10 May 2009

Fashion designer Rick Owens takes to the runway. Photograph: Christophe Ena/AP
Even in an industry that lionises freaks - Karl Lagerfeld, John Galliano, Anna Piaggi, Isabella Blow, Gareth Pugh and so on - Rick Owens and his wife Michele Lamy have to rank as one of fashion's most alarming sights. Pass them in the street - Owens with his LA gym-body and rod-straight goth hair, Lamy with her gold teeth, tattoos, henna'd locks and ring-armoured fingers - and you could easily take them for types who (at the least) never get out of bed before midday. You might also wonder what a pair like that could possibly be doing slouching across the extremely haute bourgeois Place du Palais Bourbon in Paris, or lately around Mayfair in London. But it's simple: on the strength of an amazing crinkled leather jacket and a bundle of dun-coloured, washed-out stretchy things, Rick Owens, spurred on by his wife, has made himself into one of the most widely loved, biggest-selling designers to have emerged this decade.
And that explains what the man is doing hanging out in the latest outpost of his growing empire, a large two-storey shop at 64 South Audley Street, one of the poshest addresses possible for any fashion store in London. Owens, in his typical laid-back manner, hasn't made any kind of a noise about opening, but has nonchalantly texted that he's coming over from Paris, where he and Michele live, to "dust the shelves". Hilariously, the shop is right in the heart of establishment London, so now, as the clientele rolls out of Harry's Bar or saunters along after perusing the guns at Purdey's, they will be greeted by the sight of a life-sized replica of Owens's head, lying on the top of a Corinthian column as if it's been guillotined. He tells me he had it specially made by a sculptor who makes waxworks for Madame Tussaud's, assuring me: "It's correct to the last nose hair." With a shrug that sends the blanket-like wrap top he's wearing flying off one muscled shoulder, he adds: "It makes me think of Oscar Wilde, being around here. I love Salome. It's kinda a compliment to where we are."
A 47-year-old small-town art-school dropout from Porterville, southern California, Owens speaks in a gentle, thoughtful drawl, saying things which are shocking or downright funny without a flicker of an expression crossing his face. References spill out of him: Kiss, Wagner, Richard Strauss, Alice Cooper, Proust, Brancusi, Pierre Loti, Gustav Moreau - an imagination weirdly wired around the formative influences of 70s underground pop culture and fin-de-siècle art.
It shows in the clothes, a subtle mix of rock undertones, grunge and couture-like sophistication. The rails are hung with the summer collection - off-black, textured pieces with droopy asymmetries and sculptured pearl-grey tailoring with knot-tied belts and little fins jutting from sleeves. Among them there are many adaptations of the washed-leather jackets with the stretchy rib-sleeve inserts that made his name too. They're new, but not much different from the pieces he first started making (he thinks) 13 years ago in LA, jackets that are now collected and coveted by two generations.
On the one hand Owens has rock'n'roll 40- and 50-year-olds loving him for giving them a way to preserve their cool, and on the other, their children, who in the past couple of years have come to a taste for dark, slouchy, hipster stuff under their own steam. That the two markets can live alongside one another without putting each other off is one reason behind Owens's steadily growing success, a popularity visibly registered in the rampant copying of his look all over the world. Does he care? "No-oo," he says softly. "I guess it's a compliment."
He can probably afford to sound confident about it, too, because the techniques he's evolved are unique to him. "I remember going to visit his studio in LA way back before he showed," recalls Ed Burstell, Liberty's buying director, who bought Owens for Henri Bendel in New York, "and saw he had all the dress-forms hanging from the ceiling so he could fit everything exactly. The clothes have zero hanger appeal, but on the body they become incredible. They flatter everybody."
Owens is generous with the technical explanation: "All of the sleeves are long, with a small shoulder. That always makes you look skinnier. And if you have an indentation in the lower back, it kind of makes your ass perkier. A back peplum is always good." The whole idea, as he tells it, was "to do old Hollywood glamour, but in a ripped-T-shirt way. Black-and-white movies, but done in leather and T-shirting. I always resented how high fashion was so unapproachable and not for everyday. I thought: if you're going to do it - live it. I washed everything kind of grey so you could wear a bias skirt with a train in the morning."
It all came about through wanting to do stuff that passed muster with Michele. "He's entranced by her," says his stylist Panos Yiapanis. "They're like two goofy teenagers together." Lamy, who is French and 17 years Owens's senior, hired him as a pattern cutter when she was briefly a designer herself in LA in the late 80s before going on to run a highly successful restaurant-nightclub, Les Deux Cafes. Owens credits her with straightening him out too: "I was drinking and doing drugs, and she made me go to the gym."
At one point in the early 90s (he can't remember when), they were broke and living at the Chateau Marmont. "So I designed the first collection in that bedroom. Long bias-cut skirts, jackets with rib sleeves. I remember letting them lie around to see if Michele would pick them up, then I'd know they were OK. I bought the fabric from a dealer in remnants, and leather five hides at a time, washed them and dyed them. Then drove them in trucks to stores myself." Almost identical pieces are still in the store now.
Eventually Owens was generating such a buzz from retailers that Anna Wintour persuaded him to show in New York for the first time in 2001. In 2004 he and Lamy transplanted themselves to Paris, she managed to rent the former communist party headquarters in the Place du Palais Bourbon (their grand live-in studio on five floors), and the business has expanded exponentially ever since. Now, every show-season, a section of his front row is riveting to behold, as complete a picture of the world of Rick as the clothes on his runway. There's his father John, "a studious and gentle man, who collects guns" and his Mexican mother Connie, a "normal" American elderly couple sitting easily alongside Lamy, her grown-up daughter Scarlett, Gareth Pugh (who's become Lamy's protégé) and an assorted posse of white-faced, black-lipped friends. As a front-row spectacle, they may be the Munsters of Paris, but in their own eccentric, out-there way they're also as close to a picture of success and happiness as can be found anywhere in fashion.

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