nu
måndag, mars 4, 2013 at 11:32fm slutar jag blogga (som många vet). Allt har sin tid, dags för annat.
Lördag Skivstång Intervall, i går IntervallFlex.
Stella Tennant. The rebellious granddaughter of the Duchess of Devonshire.
Bea Miller had a way of coaxing the best out of everyone. She also had an instinct for recognizing special talent. It was she who first introduced me to Karl Lagerfeld. It was 1971, the beginning of his ponytail period. To me he was an idiosyncratically handsome man, with a bushy black fin de siècle beard that he scented with the last drops of a discontinued perfume, Black Narcissus by Caron, of which he had secured all the remaining stock. He wore a monocle, shirts with stiff, old-fashioned celluloid collars, and carried a fan.
And Helmut Lang I am very close to. We clicked from the moment we first met. Helmut is a very real person with a great sense of humour and, even if it sounds like an oxymoron for an Austrian, he's a lot of fun. It helps, if you are friendly with a designer, to love his or her clothes, and I really loved Helmut's. They were intriguing and unexpected, minimal, but not what the young kids nowadays think of as minimal because they were also brilliantly complicated. ... Until he gave it all up and became a sculptor instead.
Funnily enough, I had no idea how cantankerous and argumentalative I can seem until I saw myself in The September Issue. Small surprise that in the past, Anna has said I am the only person in fashion who can actually grind her down. As the nuns who wrote my school report when I was fourteen put it, "Grace has a very nice way of getting her own will." The truth is, although we do have an occasional fundamental disagreement about fashion, I have enormous respect for Anna both as a person and as an editor. And while I am often approached in the street as a kind of heroine of the film about Vogue, to my mind the point of it was to show the creative push and pull of the way Anna and I work together.
After she moved to America in 1976, I would run into her over the years, and she was always very nice to me, although still with that shy little habit of ducking down behind her fringe. Then one day in New York, I received a call from the child psychiatrist Dr. David Shaffer, an old London friend who had relocated to Greenwich Village with his family but had recently separated from his wife, Serena. He said to me, "I'd really like you to meet my new girlfriend." I joined him at the Algonquin to find him with Anna, who by then was working as an editor at New York magazine and seemed far less shy.
Grace Coddington, A memoir
Arthur Elgort, 2001 With Karl Lagerfeld, Paris. Photo: Julie Kavanagh, 1974
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