WHEN GIANFRANCO FERRE WAS APPOINTED CREATIVE DIRECTOR AT Christian Dior in 1989, the news created a tempest in the fine-bone teapot that was then French haute couture.
“I really had no idea of the scandal I had triggered, also because everything happened so fast,” said Ferré during an interview at his Milan headquarters. “Back then, the fact that I was Italian created lots of problems. Luckily, though, my French wasn’t that bad.”
Scandal it was, because unlike in today’s global fashion reality, nearly two decades ago the Paris couture was an impenetrable fortress guarded by an army of French couturiers who were dismissive of foreigners.
Upon learning of Ferré’s appointment, Yves Saint Laurent chief Pierre Bergé summed up the general feeling by saying, “I am very shocked that they weren’t able to find a French person to succeed Yves Saint Laurent and Marc Bohan at Dior. I don’t think that opening the doors to a foreigner — and an Italian — is respecting the spirit of creativity in France. This makes me worry about Mr. Arnault and LVMH.”
When Dior confirmed Ferré was coming on board for a reputed $2 million, the designer took refuge in his mother’s apartment. At the time, he said, “Dior hired me because they are desperate to have a Dior signature. I want to take the house back to the Forties and Fifties, when Christian Dior was designing.”
Ferré replaced Bohan, the man who for three decades had been the house’s creative director. At Dior, Ferré was in charge of the atelier as well as the ready-to-wear collections, and while he discontinued his namesake couture collection, Ferré kept his rtw line.
At his first Dior news conference in 1989, Ferré said, “The issue in fashion today is not young or old, modern or traditional, French or Italian. It is not modern to talk about a French school or an English school. Fashion is in the streets — there are English that dress like French and French that dress like English.”
Ferré unveiled his first effort in July 1989 in the former Salomon de Rothschild mansion, packing in 500 guests who raved and reeled as the show unfurled.
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Guests included Anne Bass, Nan Kempner, Bernadette Chirac, Sao Schlumberger and Claude Pompidou. With just 80 outfits, the collection was considerably smaller than those of his predecessor Bohan.
Highlights included black-and-white tailored pieces, A-line cashmere coats with giant scarves knotted in the back, a high-waisted kimono-sleeve dress with pleated front, and lace-encrusted paisley jackets and matching blouses with jewel beading.
For a good six months, Ferré gravitated closer to the Dior universe by dipping into the archives. Season after season, his collections shifted design focus as they celebrated dandy, Renaissance, dash for cash, tailoring in all forms and Snow Queens.
In much the same way, his shuttling back and forth between his Milan headquarters and Dior’s Avenue Montaigne atelier put him into two distinct worlds that Ferré made a point of keeping separate.
“Ferré was about tradition in a mannish way, with contrasting elements and ample volumes, while Dior was more conservative, more about grandeur,” the designer said.
And over the years, the French developed a liking for Signor Ferré.
“I’m very happy with Mr. Ferré,” said François Baufume, Dior’s managing director, in 1995. “He’s had a five-year experience in haute couture and has an atelier that functions smoothly. Some people may still lament that he’s not French, but talent doesn’t respect national borders.”
That said, fashion critics didn’t always treat Ferré’s efforts kindly, which he still recalls vividly.
In March 1993, International Herald Tribune fashion critic Suzy Menkes wrote, “…The conclusion is that Ferré will never be a great couture designer,” calling his couture an “artistic flop.”
“She was so harsh, but I did try to extrapolate constructive criticism in what she said,” the designer said.
What Ferré built well was a relationship with his customers, who included political figures, actresses and socialites. He reeled off a series of names of women whose elegance, refinement and status have stuck with him: Paloma Picasso, Bernadette Chirac, Claude Pompidou, Sophia Loren, Princess Diana, Princess Michael of Kent, Marie-Helene de Rothschild and soprano Jessye Norman.
One of the other reasons Ferré prospered in Paris was his good relationship with Bernard Arnault, chairman of Dior and of LVMH Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton .
“Mr. Arnault’s realm is finance, but if you go and patiently explain what has to be done, he has the logical ability to understand,” said Ferré in 1993. “When we need to see each other, we talk on the phone, we dine or we meet at parties in his homes.”
Today, Ferré said that, unlike Christian Lacroix and Hubert de Givenchy (who had also designed under the LVMH umbrella), he had a privileged relationship with Arnault. “He wasn’t glamorous à la Karl Lagerfeld, but I remember Arnault as an extremely cultured and quality-driven man,” said Ferré. “He was very involved in Dior, believed in the brand and was happy to invest.”
Working within a luxury goods group was certainly an important chapter in Ferré’s French diary at a time when various Dior managers were charting a new course for the brand by slashing licenses, shutting down diffusion lines and whittling unsuitable points of sale.
In the midst of it all, Ferré and his assistants were whisked off to daily French lessons. He also displayed his most charmant manners to conquer the atelier seamstresses, which he pointed out was fundamental “to better understand the French mentality.” It is clear from the twinkle in his eyes that after seven years of coexistence, the head atelier workers that Ferré refers to as “Monsieur Claude” and “Madame Elizabeth” were mentors and artisans who were able to transform dressmaking from theory into practice.
As a consequence, in the first nine months of 1992, Dior’s couture business grew 50 percent, putting it into the same league as Yves Saint Laurent’s. The year before, under Ferré’s stewardship, Dior’s licensed products excluding fragrances posted a volume of $1.1 billion.
In spring 1993, when Paris was filled with speculation that Christian Lacroix would replace him, the house of Dior renewed Ferré’s contract for another five years.
His goal continued to be to “make Dior live in its time, while trying to maintain the spirit of Dior. It hasn’t been easy to do because Dior loved something about the English. He had a great sense of eccentricity and there’s also a glamour in Dior that has to be maintained.”
In July 1996, though, it was announced that Dior and Ferré would mutually part ways. The official reason was that the increasing demands of Ferré’s business in Milan were conflicting with his duties at Dior. But reviews had been mostly lukewarm, the house remained in the red, and management was in the throes of reinventing the business.
His last couture show, held on July 8, 1996, was an emotional adieu and the designer broke down in tears.
“I’m proud of what I have accomplished, but sad about what I could have done with more time,” Ferré said then.
Still, he has no regrets.
“It was a unique and grandiose experience that I will never regret. I think that I turned Dior into something real and alive without betraying the luxe factor and its clients,” he said.
The most torturous, heartbreaking part of leaving was saluting the 150 seamstresses gathered in Dior’s couture salon. “It was like they were losing an older brother or a father. The respect was mutual,” said Ferré. “We all cried.”