Paul Poiret's story starts in the neighbourhood of Les Halles. Back before Les Halles was one of the worst places to have to pass through on public transport or a seedy teen hangout, Les Halles was the biggest market in Paris before they moved it out toward Orly in 1971.
I found this amazing video, unfortunately entirely in French for non-French speakers about the market. Imagine that during Poiret's time the market had been open for a few decades and was in full swing. His own father was a merchant and the Poiret family lived in buildings built especially to house the merchants and other workers of the market.
A book I highly recommend for anyone who might be interested in Les Halles before Poiret's time is Emile Zola's "The Belly of Paris". The book takes place in 1858 and is a must read for anyone who is interested not only in the Les Halles market, but also in the history of Paris or of France's foodie history. You will feel both nauseous and delirious with hunger thanks to Zola's gift with words. You might also ended up having an extreme distaste for materialism and the bourgeois classes, because Zola was also a genius at satire.
Paul Poiret grows up in this market, always surrounded by the wares intended for those who could afford them, and while his family wasn't poor they weren't rich. One thing I truly enjoy about his autobiography is that it is obvious that he not only acknowledges his humble beginnings, but takes immense pride in being "cultivated" through his own efforts. He spends his money as any proper member of the nouveau riche should on lavish parties and as he puts them "extravagances", but Poiret also did a number of extremely charitable things with his money. Les arts decoratifs (the decorative arts) was a movement almost entirely founded by Poiret - something that doesn't even seem to warrant a mention in other books I've read about Poiret over the years. He also bought a great amount of art from friends, took them on inspirational yatching trips around the Mediterrean (at the cost of 100,000 francs which would be 15,000 euros in today's money without calculating for what 100,000 francs was really worth in Poiret's time so imagine what it'd really be in today's money with inflation) and never snubbed les provincals as most Parisiens would.
Being such a fan of Yves Saint Laurent, I can see so many parallels in their lives and careers. Poiret started selling his designs at a young age and worked for Doucet and the Worth brothers until he decided to set off on his own. Saint Laurent was a talent from a young age and beat out other hopefuls (including Lagerfeld) and ended up working for Christian Dior who himself intended to be his successor after he was gone. Poiret was the king of marketing, but Saint Laurent wasn't shabby either. One need only think of the Chinese ship Saint Laurent hired for a party in New York to launch his Opium perfume and realise that he got the idea from Monsieur Paul Poiret, who was the first person to ever understand that the fancy parties, the beautiful models, and living a certain lifestyle were all essential to making women want to wear your clothes.
One interesting thing I learned from Poiret's autobiography is that he was the first to understand that a fashion designer must have his Muses. For Poiret his wife Denise was his greatest Muse. He saw in Denise, a girl from the provinces, but with some potential for more perhaps a bit of himself. He cultivated her with clothes and made her the most fashionable woman of Paris. Saint Laurent has his Muses, both of whom are two of my major fashion icons Betty Catroux and Loulou de la Falaise. It's because of Betty (whom I see from time to time in Paris) that I hunted down a le smoking for years (I finally found one after a search that started when I was 13 years old when I was 29 in my size and I could afford it since it was somehow only priced at 120 euros) and it's because of Loulou that I think it's perfectly okay to wear what my friends call my "Disco Ball" dress (it's a vintage black crochet dress from the 70's covered in 1 euro coin sized gold sequin disks that basically reflects lights when light hits it in a way that requires sunglasses to look at me).
My Muse, my grandmother Juliette, gave me my first Saint Laurent jacket (introducing me to the Saint Laurent shoulder) and skirt suit. I think I've talked about her before, but even now there is a part of me that hopes I will age gracefully like my grandmother and that my wardrobe will some day be as beautifully furnished and my style equally effortless seeming as hers. She inspires me.
Poiret is undoubtedly inspired Saint Laurent's and even if he didn't confess it openly, one could easily see Poiret's love of Orientalism and flare in Saint Laurent's collections.
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| Poiret's famous kimono coat. |
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| Velvet coat, Paul Poiret |
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| Cocktail outfit, Paul Poiret |
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| Day dress, Paul Poiret |
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| Evening dress, Yves Saint Laurent 1981 |
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| Suit, Yves Saint Laurent S/S 1978 |
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| Dress, Yves Saint Laurent S/S 1971 |
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| Dress, Yves Saint Laurent S/S 1967 |
Now normally I wouldn't have let anyone usurp YSL from my esteem. In terms of creation and construction, Yves Saint Laurent and Cristobal Balenciaga may be the greatest createurs (a word that differs from designer in that it means someone who truly creates something) the world have ever known.
The "Saint Laurent shoulder" I was passed down like an heirloom from my grandmother is still not forgotten by the women who know of its magical ability to transform the feminine silouhette. Just yesterday when I went into a swanky vintage shop to see how much they wanted for a second-hand calf leather tan Birkin (which I never found out, but they were asking 15,000 euros for a black crocodile Kelly bag) and talked with the Madame there both of us agreed, "One doesn't find the Saint Laurent shoulder anymore and the woman's jacket suffers from its absence." (I translated what the Madame said and my response was "ce type de qualité n'existe plus" (This type of quality no longer exists.)
But reading Poiret's biography was to gaze into the omphalos of why Paris is the capitol of fashion (not just because La Chambre Syndicale de la Couture says so in their marketing campaign). Clothes and other things were always made in other places, but only because some genius who went to Paris like Poiret made them fashionable. We win because of the sheer number of createurs who knew France was the place to have their genius appreciated - Worth, Madame Gres, Poiret, Jean Patou, Cristobal Balenciaga, Chanel, Schiaparelli, Doucet, Christian Dior, Maison Massaro, Lesage, Vionnet, Saint Laurent, Courreges, Ungaro, Alaia...
It has been a long time since fashion has been exciting to me. Poiret's autobiography brought out all those old feelings. It makes me want to get dressed up and go out somewhere wonderful and drink champagne and laugh and live.
Poiret understood women. He knew that there is something beautiful and mysterious and wonderful about each and every one of us. Today I've remembered that.
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