Finding Myself in Fashion by Jeanne Beker

shadowing Saint Laurent for the three months leading up to the designer’s final fall/winter couture collection, shared some touching insights with me. He said that while Saint Laurent approached his work like a suffering artist, he was very strong mentally. “Suffering doesn’t accompany those who are mentally fragile,” Teboul told me.
    The night of the grand YSL retrospective, I was jarred by the contrast between the modern design of the industrial Pompidou Centre and the romantic, old-world splendour of the Intercontinental’sballroom, where Saint Laurent traditionally held his shows. It struck me as emblematic of the way the fashion industry had changed. But the moment the first models came down the runway, sporting 1962-era navy pea jackets and wide, white pants, walking to the beat of the Stones’ “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction,” we were all transported to the time when we first fell in love with fashion. For the next hour, Saint Laurent reminded us of the cupid’s role he had played in our style-conscious lives. From a dramatically simple black jumpsuit to the safari jacket worn by Claudia Schiffer, relaxed pantsuits, sheer blouses, Mondrian dresses, pop-art frocks (sent out to the tune of the Beatles’ “It’s Getting Better”), and the wild green fox jacket strutted by Naomi Campbell, the fashion dreams of my youth came rushing back. Then the exoticism crept in with a vivid rainbow of 1970s “Ballets Russes” fantasies—lavishly embroidered peasant blouses teamed with fur-trimmed vests and sumptuous ball skirts, all followed by a tribute to modern Chinoiserie. It was the stuff of which fairy tales are made.
    The luxe vision continued with a larger-than-life canary-yellow evening cape worn over a sleek black velvet gown; a silver matador suit and senorita clad in black lace; gold lamé East Indian saris draped to perfection; a beautiful bride in black; jungle prints; Naomi again, this time wrapped in cream feathers and strutting to the tune of Marilyn Monroe’s “Bye Bye Baby”; and the incomparable Jerry Hall, a vision in a white satin halter gown, her feather-trimmed chiffon duster blowing in the runway breeze as speakers blared “La Vie En Rose.” It was a kaleidoscope of sensual elegance, and the essence of what Saint Laurent always stood for. The grand finale was a stream of tuxedoed models— there had been so many variations over the years. YSL’s signature “Le Smoking” tux is still a hot evening wear trend to this day.
    At the end of the show, Catherine Deneuve, the designer’s first ready-to-wear customer—and his friend and muse since 1966, when he created her wardrobe for Luis Buñuel’s film Belle de Jour —took the stage from her front-row seat and sang “Ma Plus Belle Histoire d’Amour, C’est Vous” as Saint Laurent stoically marched down the runway for the last time. The audience members rose to their feet,applauding wildly, relentlessly. And with tears welling up in our eyes, we bid adieu to an era.
    Post-show, the guests were enthralled, buzzing about the brilliance of the parade they had just witnessed and how it had affected them all so personally. “In a funny way, watching that show, I felt like I was getting old!” quipped the striking Mouna Ayoub, who was gloriously decked out in YSL’s 1989 gold crystal jacket. For her, the grand runway had been rife with nostalgia. And she wasn’t alone. Paloma Picasso, too, told me the evening had “brought back so many memories of my whole life as a woman.”
    The last time I saw Yves Saint Laurent was in January 2007, at Mathis, the intimate restaurant/bar in Paris. He was having a quiet dinner with his long-time muse and confidante, the former model Betty Catroux, with his faithful little French bulldog at his feet. It was surreal to see this larger-than-life icon out of his usual professional