BRAVO, GIORGIO ARMANI
Be honest. What do you remember most about recently deceased designer Giorgio Armani? Probably American Gigolo, where Richard Gere danced and pranced in Armani suits – never getting them sullied by the cocaine he snorted.
Or the parade of stars that march the red carpet, starting with Jodie Foster. If anyone deserves credit for soft-shouldered power suits and using stars as models, it’s Armani, as he preferred to be called. He quicky capitalized on the Gigolo phenomenon by being the first designer to open an office in Los Angeles, expressly to court celebs and their stylists. His initial target was the Academy Awards—and his arrows hit the bullseye.
You could say he trained the wealthiest stars to demand free frocks which spiked his sales. The system paid for his yacht and St. Tropez villa—but became a burden for financially-strapped designers.
If anyone trained me as a fashion reporter, it was Armani. Shortly after I arrived at his Milan mansion, the lights lowered in his pristine, stark-white, multi-tiered theater, the ultimate showcase and brand statement. Before I could catch my breath, I witnessed a speedy stream of 100-plus outfits. Back then, I had no iPhone to capture the androgynous glamazons. Instead, I had to rely on my memory and notes, as I shaped the story in my mind and chose which exquisite power suits and evening gowns I’d feature.
His quickness and prolificness extended to spinning off diffusion lines, hotel suites and stores – all in his sleek aesthetic. The designer himself was muscular and fit well into his 80s, dapper in a T and trousers that showcased his frame as he confidently strode onto his runway for a bow.
His jackets were so beautifully crafted, I confess I bought one—no freebie, no discount.
Later I purchased a costly silk Armani tie for my boyfriend. I knew I had it bad.
When we got married, Armani sent me the most exquisite and huge navy leather duffel suitcase. As an ethical newspaper journalist, I couldn’t accept it.
While his aesthetic remained the same, times changed.
Sadly, age slowed him down. He became markedly frail, needing two models to help him gingerly down the runway in recent seasons.
His final show heavily featured funereal black evening gowns—delicate and beautiful. The models clapped profusely in his honor. But for the first time ever, he did not appear.
The fashion industry sensed his inevitable passing was coming.
And, if you didn’t count the garb of starlets-turned-mannequins highly paid to wear a single label, the recent Venice Film Festival’s red carpet was wall-to-wall Armani. Cate Blanchett and others were saying goodbye.
My power-shouldered jacket is still perfect. Armani’s work was built to last.
He’ll be missed.
With Leonardo DiCaprio
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