Under Pressure

By: James Gavin

To go behind the scenes at a fashion show is to witness the kinds of pressures that are inherent in the industry. For most designers, success depends on the ability to produce more collections in less time, while managing to please everyone. It means making eyes and flashbulbs pop at runway shows, seducing a jaded press into proclaiming one’s genius and charming store buyers and moneyed clients into opening their chequebooks. Creative directors for classic brands must honour a company’s tradition while making it seem fresher and more fabulous than ever before. Veteran designers must constantly break new ground. 

All of them—especially the heads of high-profile labels—are expected to be as glamorous and media-attracting as movie stars. Failure to measure up in any respect can get a designer axed fast. Then there’s the “self-inflicted pressure” noted by designer Marc Jacobs, who has a towering empire to uphold. “We always want to be better than we were the season before,” says Jacobs. “We want people to love it more. We want it to sell more.” 

Of course, the fashion industry’s strains may be no worse than those endured by the high-rollers of film, TV, and music—not to mention hospital workers, firefighters or highrise window-washers. But fashion is a uniquely fickle field. By nature, its product isn’t built to last. Designers and corporations can be quickly swept away on the shifting waves of public taste. 

These kinds of pressures have sent many a designer over the edge. Substance abuse and public breakdowns are increasingly common—and the industry, wrote Eric Wilson in the New York Times, “feasts on the intrigue of disgrace as if it were a long-denied buffet.” Jacobs, like countless others in his profession, has done his time in rehab. But his problems seem tame compared to others that have made recent headlines. In 2010 came the demise of 40-year-old Alexander McQueen, the British fashion dynamo who hanged himself. This past winter brought the fall of Dior titan John Galliano after a drunken anti-Semitic rant in a Paris bar. And Balmain ousted its creative director, Christophe Decarnin, when he failed to appear at a show, allegedly due to a drug-induced collapse. 

Previous years are strewn with crash-and-burn stories from the fashion world’s fast lane. Still gossiped about is the case of Donatella Versace, who after her brother’s notorious murder in 1997 took over as VP and chief designer of the Versace Group—and nearly sank the company through drug use and overspending. Whether one blames such behaviour on the strains of the workplace or the ego problems of a privileged and pampered few, it still reflects an industry that pushes lives and careers to the breaking point. 

By contrast, relatively little hysteria emerged from the ’40s and ’50s fashion world. The scene then was marked by a chilly selfcontainment and helmed by such imperious figures as Coco Chanel, Christian Dior and Cristóbal Balenciaga. The politesse began to crumble in the ’60s, as fashion tilted toward the outrageous. Then came the designer who made excess synonymous with the fashion life. Roy Halston Frowick, better known as Halston, had struck it big with the demure pillbox hat he designed for Jacqueline Kennedy. Later, when his Ultrasuede and cashmere fashions caught on with the ’70s A-list—Elizabeth Taylor, Liza Minnelli, Betty Ford, Bianca Jagger—Newsweek anointed him “the premier fashion designer of all America.” He had a lot of hype to live up to, and his success was fuelled as much by his clothes as by his renown as a poster boy for ’70s indulgence. Voracious in most respects, Halston spread himself impossibly thin by taking on more design projects (notably for J.C. Penney) than he could handle. By 1990, when he died of AIDS-related causes, he had lost control of his own name. 

Halston’s decline helped alter the face of the fashion world, pointing the way to the modern era, when fashion, like so many other businesses, has become increasingly competitive and alarmingly fast-paced. “Even 10 years ago there were two major seasons; now there are five,” observes Bridget Foley, executive editor of Women’s Wear Daily. “Designers literally are leaving the runway and thinking of their fabric appointments tomorrow or the day after.” The pressure surely afflicted John Galliano, who designed numerous collections each year for Dior and for his own label.

Wanting too much, too soon is now the industry’s theme. The lust for media attention fills runways with outlandish styles that make for fun videos and photos, but at times can prove virtually unsaleable. Hotshot but inexperienced young designers are hired as creative directors, and are expected to revitalize companies speedily with hit collections. In 2007, Ungaro appointed Esteban Cortazar, a handsome 23-year-old prodigy, as head of its women’s-wear division.The company’s chief executive, Mounir Moufarrige, spelled out his intentions in WWD: “The brand has aged, and it needs buzz—and fast.” Cortazar couldn’t deliver what Ungaro wanted; in 2009 he was dismissed. His replacement, starlet Lindsay Lohan, certainly caused a stir; in her short stint there, the stylistically inept tabloid queen turned Ungaro into a laughing stock. 

Even the most gifted designers are prone to a maddening degree of interference from company presidents and marketing directors, whose eyes are on the bottom line. Collections can be torn apart at the last minute, as designers are told to ape what sold well in a former season or to mimic a successful rival. The clothes that are finally paraded down the runway may have little to do with a designer’s original concept, yet he or she has to stand behind them, taking the lumps with the praise. And anything short of unanimous raves can cause the ax to fall. It happened twice to Alessandra Facchinetti. In 2004, when Tom Ford resigned from Gucci, Facchinetti, a young Italian designer who had worked under him, was elected to succeed Ford to run women’s wear. Gucci clearly expected her to equal Ford’s star quality as well as his business sense; when her early collections failed to enchant the critics, she swiftly got the sack. 

Then Valentino hired her to succeed the retiring giant as creative director. Stefano Sasso, the company’s chief executive, extolled her talent and eye for detail. But a day after a weakly received show during Paris Fashion Week in 2008, Facchinetti was out. Kim Hastreiter, an editor at Paper, talked to Eric Wilson about the desperation that leads companies like Valentino to clean house so abruptly. “They are not willing to give it the long haul,” she said. 

As long as fashion houses remain so intent on fast, huge revenue and mega-stardom, the situation isn’t likely to change. It’s hardly the most fertile ground for creativity or endurance. Many in the fashion world cite Karl Lagerfeld, now 78, as their favourite long-distance runner. Starting in 1953, Lagerfeld worked his way up through the European fashion ranks to become the ceaselessly productive and influential figure he remains today. “Perhaps I’m not a crazy genius who does things nobody wears,” he said recently. “I like fashion because fashion is what people wear; it is a reflection of modern life.” He refuses to wallow in self-pity over the pressures of the business. “I live in a perfectly organized, well- prepared, professional world, so I don’t understand this craziness,” he says. Fashion, explains Lagerfeld, is “like a sporting competition. You have to train all year to do it again and do it again.” 

Meanwhile, Jean Paul Gaultier has not only weathered the industry’s strains for 35 years, but has spent more of that time on the cutting edge than perhaps any of his peers have. As an indie designer, he has been able to go his own way, creating everything from haute couture to rock-star garb and affordable junior wear; all the while he has kept his playfully decadent, streetinfluenced vision in place. Gaultier has stayed focused on the art of design more than on costly and frantic grabs at stardom. 

“I started little by little and with no money,” notes Gaultier, who has certainly known his share of slumps in the years since. “One moment you’re loved; the next you will not be loved anymore because fashion likes to change. Sometimes you feel it painfully. It’s truly a very depressing business, but I still love what I do. I am still excited. I am working.”