At a table behind the Chicago contingent, eight gorgeous Japanese of several sexes are fingering the goods, chain-smoking Marlboros and speaking impeccable Italian. In front of us, four exquisite German valkyries, wearing variations of the same not-fabulous frosted hairstyle, applaud the gowns worn by parading Italian models. Noting this once-Axis assemblage, I wonder just exactly who won World War II, but this is the world of International High Fashion, and nothing, nothing-wars, famine, pestilence-intrudes.
I`m sitting in the showroom of designer Gianni Versace in the heart of wealthy Milan in the north of increasingly wealthy Italy. What I`m doing here, besides feeling impoverished and obese, is watching the Chicago Versace people order fall fashions in March to sell next August if the merchandise is shipped in July.
Every year it`s the same story. ”When do you want these shipped?” the showroom staffer asks. The Chicago Versace people reply, ”July,” and the staffer amends this to September. August would be a nice compromise, but no one in Italy does a lick of work in August, a fact accepted as gospel even by Americans who agree it`s a retailer`s nightmare but que sera sera.
This is what you get for having a store on Oak Street USA filled exclusively with gear by one single Milanese designer. But, no problema. So many Chicagoans agree Versace`s a genius, you can live with the damned shipping dates. Not to mention four transatlantic trips annually, where you meet other buyers from Versace outposts of civilization such as Paris, London and Florida.
The Chicago Versace people I`m tailing are Jim Levin, the Italianate 29-year-old store owner; and his petite general manager, Joy Sandler. ”We never look at Americans, except for Jeem, because he is so beautiful,” says a Versace staffer. True. Strolling with Levin on Montenapoleone, I see people staring at him. (This is remarkable because the Milanese are so busy window shopping day and night they have no time for eye contact). Clad in Versace menswear, Jeem is tall, tanned, long-haired. (On the plane, he wears an Arizona State sweatshirt, which semi-destroys his image, but the two large earrings adorning one ear restore flavor.)
Levin handles business; fashion know-how is provided by Sandler, a striking woman with the energy of five pre-teens and who is the mother of Levin`s former college roommate. The relationship is more best-friends than familial. (Waiting in the lobby for Jim, ever-prompt Sandler says with a sigh, ”It`s not my business to call his room; I`m not his mother.”)
Since Levin opened in 1986, the duo has flown the Chicago-Milan circuit 18 times. Now, on this March trip to buy fall/winter women`s wear, they meet in the hotel lobby to walk to their pet Ristorante Cavallini for dinner. Jet lag, to them, is like being fat. It does not happen. They are ebullient, raring to go. They keep saying, ”Why on earth did we come on Sunday?”
Monday, we taxi to Versace`s unmarked Via Senato entrance. The showroom has a staff of 10 that grows to 65 during each seasonal buying period. Says Versace marketing manager Anne Marie Paltsou: ”Buyers come from 220 stores worldwide that carry Versace; 100 of these (like the Chicago store) carry only Versace and no other designer. The showroom opens mid-January to mid-February for men`s fall buying and women`s pre-fall. In March, there`s women`s fall/
winter, and in July they come to buy spring/summer menswear and women`s pre-summer. In October, there`s women`s spring/summer. The only time we`re not open is the month of August.” Her voice is hushed with rue. The Milanese have become such workaholics they can barely bring themselves to take their daily two-hour lunch hiatus like the rest of Italy.
The buyers` routine begins by exchanging cheek kisses with showroom staffers, who wear matching Versace gray suits and white shirts, speak five languages, write up the orders and coddle visitors with hard candies, tea and sympathy. (One says, ”It is expensive, isn`t it?” as Sandler frowns at a skirt.)
The next step is viewing the video of last week`s gala Versace fashion show. Joy and Jim, unlike the international media and many U.S. retailers, prefer to come post-show, ”when things are quieter and showroom staffers really know the line.”
This year, the clothes are shot with vibrant color, sexy. It may be true that many of the fashion press have crowned Armani king of fall/winter `89-`
90, but Sandler sincerely believes this current Versace collection is the real winner: ”He does the tiniest detail well; every button is a jewel.” On the screen, Versace immortalizes women`s legs with thigh-high skirts. (”The Europeans like short skirts. But they`re that short only for the show,”
soothes a showroom staffer. ”When they`re shipped, lengths will be near the knee.”)
”Versace always takes a theme and moves with it,” says Sandler. ”This time, it looks like pleating. Plisse. Superb draping. Wonderful coats.”
The models march in chiffons, black velvet, tuxedo jackets, giant chunks of costume jewelry, Wonder Woman jeweled tops. ”Look at the beaded work-hand-embroidered. See that pinstripe, worked horizontally and vertically. The collection is beautiful,” Sandler murmurs. ”The only problem might be the price. It`s not a question of finding what I like, but eliminating.”
Levin tells me, ”Those beaded tops can go from $4,000 to $11,000, and that`s cost.” I wonder if he has figured out that I am wearing a six-year-old jacket I bought on sale in a Mundelein resale discount shop.
”Let`s start with the most expensive.” Jim approaches the first table.
”Laura, is this couture?”
Gorgeous Laura: ”I work only with couture.”
”She`s a coutum says. ”Let`s get started.” He unfolds the budget sheets he carries, noting quantities purchased on previous trips. ”Still playing squash, Laura?” he asks as the latter hands over hefty books of photos from the show, detailing the collection.
”I want the straight skirt, not the sarong, for Mrs. B.,” Sandler says, remembering a steady customer.
Now the 10 models who`ve been showing couture to the Germans appear before Jim and Joy. They`re probably only about 6 feet tall, but the fact that they wear 5-inch high heels gives their thigh-high skirts even greater impact. Levin, who has a young and beautiful wife in Chicago, tries desperately to keep his grin casual. Sandler likes the Fortuny pleating. When Sandler likes something, she says, ”That`s wonderful”; if she doesn`t like something, she says, ”That`s not wonderful.”
After the models` clothes arrive on racks and Joy and Jim are further fortified by fabric swatches, they buy, Sandler at the helm: ”This I want only in black. Let`s take two 42s and two 40s. A 44`s not that big. M
—– says she`s tired of black, so I want that in burgundy. We have size-38 customers, don`t forget. And a 46 for Mrs. C. Let`s see how that hits someone short.” Sandler holds up a garment. ”This is not wonderful.”
”What about the cashmere?” Laura asks.
Jim nods. They buy. He signs each order. Throughout the three-day trip, the procedure is unvarying as the two move from couture to ready-to-wear to sportswear to accessories.
Day 1, however, is distinguished by a summons to lunch at Versace`s headquarters, not far from the showroom. The Milanese enjoy hiding their environmental charms behind walls (the reason why many find the city`s loveliness quotient on a par with your average boiler room). Behind Versace`s wall I find a courtyard, trees, offices boasting dark beautiful woods, and a dining room. The designer has alerted his cooks and gathered friends and family, including his brother Santo (president and general manager of the company), his sister Donatella (a designer herself for the company known as Genny) and Donatella`s American husband, who came to Italy to model for a fashion shoot and never went home.
”Jim and Joy understand fashion, the way they buy, not just the safe sell,” Donatella tells me. ”Jim`s young, cosmopolitan, and Joy is elegant, knowing.” Donatella went to university in Florence, never intended to go into fashion (”I came when Gianni called”), has a daughter, Allegra, 2 1/2, and loves rock music. She tells me that Bruce Springsteen, Sting and Elton John all wear Versace. I ask her what she likes to wear, and she says, ”Sexy tailored clothes, like a skirt or wide pants with a high slit and a man`s jacket.”
I`m introduced to a couple, owners of the Bejart Ballet Lausanne, whose name sounds like Zwpnsnkg. Mrs. Zwpnsnkg says in French that in 1987 Versace did the costumes for his friend Maurice Bejart`s Russian premiere of ”White Nights of Dance.” ”In Brussels, Versace did the costumes for Bejart`s 1988 ballet about Evita Peron,” she says. ”And did you know that Gianni did the costumes for Roland Petit`s Paris Opera Comique, kicking off the French Revolution bicentennial, and that he did the costumes for Bob Wilson`s La Scala `Salome` by Richard Strauss?”
I tell her I didn`t know any of that.
Gianni, gray-bearded with a large head, a body obviously exposed to years of diet and exercise, and a soft-spoken, somewhat nervous manner, sits at the head of the table listening to the Bejart woman on his left; I am at his right. He eats minimally as waiters elegantly dispense antipasto, salad, pasta, chicken, dessert. One of the Versace family says, sotto voce: ”Not all of the boutique owners are invited into the inner sanctum. The Chicago people are very well-liked. A woman told me this story: She stopped some people on the street in New York one day and asked what they were wearing, and they said it was Versace. `But,` they said, `we buy it on Oak Street in Chicago because it`s better than the New York Versace.` ”
I can`t translate the rapid French byplay between Gianni and Mrs. Whatever, but finally they take pity on me, explaining in English that they`re discussing ”La Fortuna dell`amicizia” (”The Good Fortune of Friendship”), a film about the artistic relationship between Versace and Bejart. The film previewed at the Musee d`Orsay in Paris last January, Versace says.
It pleases him to talk about Bejart: ”The greatest choreographer alive. I owe him the sense of freedom, the assurance I feel in my work today. That night, at Orsay, we announced the inauguration of Atelier Versace-it`s a workshop of haute couture, projects I`m doing.”
One project, he says, is a prestigious fashion and arts retrospective of his work, sponsored by the city of Milan at the Sforza Castle. Also in 1989 he`ll bring out a book, coauthored with photographer Bruce Weber, called
”Another Summer,” and ”I`ll do the costumes for the opera, `Doktor Faust,` at Milan`s La Scala Theater-it`s directed by Robert Wilson.”
I sit listening to this interesting man, and Ixpensive clothes and that they aren`t beautiful, but I can`t because I don`t and they are.
He says he was born in 1946 ”in Reggio Calabria-the area called Magna Graecia, filled with Grecian statues and ruins.” He says he goes to his Lake Como home to relax, and he looks like he`d like to be there now. He looks like he would like a cigarette (he still smokes), and I would, too (I quit). The only time he looks me straight in the eye is when I tell him I`m going to visit the Sormani library to see the Stendhal room during my Milano visit; then he smiles. Perhaps the American is not an idiot?
Jim and Joy are laughing with other Versace family members across the room, but the ballet woman, speaking earnestly, casts a pall. I wonder if Versace would like to laugh, or escape, but he smiles politely, listens to her prattle. I ponder saying something amusing for his sake, but it`s too late;
Jim and Joy are ready to head back to the showroom, where the buying continues.
Daily,ons and hearing Joy say, ”I`ll take that, that and that,” and Jim nodding or disagreeing, and marking numbers on his charts.
Levin may be the only man in Chicago fashion who is also in fencing (not the blade, not the crime). Succeeding his father as president of Tru-Link Fence Co., he navigates daily between North Kedzie and Oak.
He discovered Versace clothes in college, where he played football and rugby. He liked the clothes because ”they fit me, and I`m hard to fit. I kept wondering why Chicago couldn`t support an all-Versace boutique if L.A. could.”
