Impossible Conversations made possible. I wore Schiap pink in honor of the occasion.

While I was excited to be able to see Alexander McQueen’s archived designs in the flesh, last year’s Savage Beauty had left me only ambivalent at most. Blasphemous, perhaps, but I’m a firm believer of to each their own.

It was the Met’s Spring 2012 Costume Institute exhibition, Schiaparelli and Prada: Impossible Conversations, that I found impossibly fascinating. Even when the exhibit was just pure speculation (read: fashion blogosphere gossip) I was hooked; having always had a need to understand every reason to the rhymes, I monitored updates dutifully in the hopes that rumors would have it.  The root of my interest stemmed from the fact that this curation would be an exploration of two iconic women’s interpretation of femininity and fashion. It was about putting philosophies and clothing into words—it’s entitled Impossible Conversations, after all. I couldn’t resist.

… but resist I did. As much as I would have loved to be the first to view and review the exhibit, real life happens (fortunately and unfortunately), and my derriere and I didn’t make our way to the Met until this past weekend. Better late than never, so the saying goes. There was no queue, no three hour wait, no uncouth crowd present as there was for Savage Beauty. I was a very, very happy pink lady that morning.

.   .   .

Inspired by the Miguel Covarrubia’s “Impossible Interviews” of the 1930s for Vanity Fair, the exhibition crosses bounds of time and culture in an attempt to create these conversations between Italian designers Elsa Schiaparelli and Miuccia Prada. It was executed successfully: iconic ensembles were staggered throughout the wing as videos of simulated discussion (over tea, no less) splayed across tiled walls were played on loop. Each fed the other, the clothing offering visual support and inspiration as the two women delved into the meanings behind what became their most well-known work.

It’s dark at the entrance. Black, modern, chic really—very fitting—where the only illumination came from the introductory film. Museum videos usually have me walking past in disinterest. These series* directed by Baz Luhrmann, however, were captivating. No distractions or fluff took away from the conversations themselves; it’s as if we’ve intruded on a private moment between Schiaparelli, played exquisitely by Judy Davis, and Prada. (According to the Met’s webpage, Davis’ responses are paraphrased excerpts from Schiaparelli’s autobiography Shocking Life.)

The exhibit is divided into seven themes: “Waist Up/Waist Down,” “Ugly Chic,” “Hard Chic,” “Naïf Chic,” “The Classical Body,” “The Exotic Body,” and “The Surreal Body.” I loved the layout; in my iPhone I had quickly written:

Echoes of the film, of these great women, throughout the halls of the exhibit. It’s inspiring, you feel it.

… it’s a great energy.

“Waist Up/Waist Down”

The eras that separated the two designers had created differences in where each wanted the public eye to be drawn. Schiaparelli focused decorative detailing from waist up in order to have the woman wearing her clothes stand out; it was a reaction to the 1930’s Café Society culture where women were oft always seated. Her narratives were told through her jackets for which she created beautiful silhouettes and had elaborately embroidered by Maison Lesage.

Prada, however, was devoted to the waist down. It was that part of the woman’s body she found most dynamic and active—legs got you places; where did faces take you? (#foodforthought)—and therefore to her, represented foundation and grounded-ness.  She refused the convention that a woman had to be beautiful from the waist up (Schiaparelli believed her “waist up” design philosophy offered endless opportunities for attention and begged to be photographed). For Prada, skirts offered endless impossibilities with which she toyed with from season to season. The skirt was modern femininity, summarized.

(Photographs, unfortunately, were not permitted. There was a pair of gorgeous grey silk duchesses satin shorts printed with palm trees by Schiaparelli that would have been sorelevant right now.)

The gallery went further into how each designer extended their clothing “zones,” I’ll call it, to their accessories. Schiaparelli was neck up, of course, with beautifully crafted jewelry and hats. Prada’s territory was knees down; shoes were her speciality, the more dramatic the better. But for both, accessories delivered their respective messages in full. It was accessories—be it hats or shoes—that extended their personality beyond the body and acted as “potent sexual and psychological metaphors. (NYMag.com)”

“Hard Chic”

The first of three ideas of “chic” that challenge convention. As its name suggests, “hard chic” is military and menswear inspired. Through uniforms and minimalism both Schiaparelli and Prada deny femininity all the while enhancing feminism. By no means is it an innovative concept—Chanel had explored ideas of androgyny before Schiaparelli)—but these androgynous, almost masculine periods in fashion are significant to women and womenswear history.

Needless to say I found the designers’ commentary interesting.

Schiaparelli recalls a violent controversy when she wore her trouser skirt; people wanted to outlaw it. Her interpretation of “hard chic,” while stil possessing standard menswear characteristics of an all-black palette and having a structured silhouette, wasn’t necessarily masculine or androgynous (it may have been for the 1930s, though). It was feminine, but dark. Womanly, but architectural. One dress stood out in particular—a black pencil dress with a high neck – Schiaparelli had designed for the average woman and deemed appropriate for any and all occasions.

Prada’s take was significantly more androgynous than Schiaparelli’s. Unconventional femininity was portrayed through the use of utilitarian fabrics (nylon, I think?) which made it a departure from the traditionally dainty materials used. Again, nothing particularly innovative or balls-y, but truth be told, I came for the words:

“I wanted to make man more human and woman more powerful.”

—Prada

I can’t say enough how much I loved that Prada quote.

“Ugly Chic”

“Ugly Chic” isn’t unlike the (horrible) saying where something/someone is “so ugly it’s pretty” in that explores pushing the boundaries of (conventionally) “good” taste. It’s formatted similarly to the “Waist Up/Waist Down” gallery—Schiaparelli’s so-called jackets and Prada’s skirts play as counterparts in this game of the stranger, the chicer. Colors and textiles are manipulated in order to unravel conventional ideas of beauty the “generic appeal of the beautiful, glamorous, bourgeois woman (metmuseum.org).”

I’ll be the first to admit I’m a camp of whatever is conventionally defined as “good taste;” I passed by this gallery rather quickly. Only Prada’s fairy-print ball gown skirt—a 2008 archived piece from her collaboration with illustrator James Jean—caught my eye. I remember flipping through magazines and falling in love with that one handbag from the campaign years ago…

“Naïf Chic”

A Schiaparelli and Prada exhibit wouldn’t be complete without highlighting the whimsical designs they’re known for. “Naïf Chic” compiles their best attempts at defying age-appropriate dressing in favor of keeping alive the girlish naiveté. Again I wasn’t too keen on the designs (though I’m every bit for the banana print!), but the quotes are golden:

Prada: “I hate the idea that you shouldn’t wear something just because you’re a certain age… Thinking about age all the time is the biggest prison women can make for themselves.”

Schiaparelli: “You shouldn’t be afraid of age! It’s when you’re older when you can really get wild!”

Truth.

Schiaparelli: “90% of women are afraid of being conspicuous and of what people will say. So they buy a grey suit.”

There’s no crime in loving neutrals; but to use it as camouflage to diminish your presence is disheartening. Age is something to be proud of! Age is a myriad of experiences. Age is an accumulation of thoughts and dreams and love. Wear it with pride—age a badge you’ve earned.

“The Classical Body”

It’s no surprise that the first of the dressed body series (the three above are interpretations of “chic”) had me, stylistically speaking, most excited. I’m a sucker for beautiful things—beautiful things which don’t obstruct or distract from the human body and face (as anything “naif” or “ugly” chic would), beautiful things which are simply simple and simply contour to the woman wearing it. The woman does more talking than the clothes.

The Met (or Schiaparelli and/or Prada) calls this dressed body the “Classical Body.” The plaque defined it as an incorporation of “The Pagan Body” through which the two designers explore “antiquity through the gaze of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries (www.metmuseum.org).” The result is pantheistic Arcadia, cerebral, restrained, classical Apollonian—the opposite of the wild, visceral and ornate Dionysian.

In hindsight, Prada found some of her white dresses from Spring/Summer 2009 boring; they were unlike her usual aesthetic as she found conventional ideals of beauty un-interesting.

“The more the body is respected, the better the dress acquires vitality… The Greeks understood ths rule, and have to their goddesses…the serenity of perfection and the fabulous appearance of freedom.”

—Schiaparelli

“The Exotic Body”

Regardless of the name, it seems there’s always exists a gallery that references what the “Western” (quoted because “western” is merely a matter of perspective) calls exotic. Exotic is foreign. Non-European. It translates into this European romance with the “Eastern” culture and obsession with the luxe Orient.

Prada laments. “You can’t shock anymore. It’s all been done.” She showcases rich brocades in 2002 with, of course, her own take on this Eastern fascination. “A little looks bourgeois. A lot looks original and provocative.”

She seems both humbled and defeated by it as Schiaparelli disagrees—you have to try!—she pushes.

“The Surreal Body”

A mirrored hallway makes way for the final gallery, “The Surreal Body,” where the chosen ensembles are displayed in individual cases. It’s more futuristic than surreal than anything else—not unlike the final theme of the McQueen exhibit last year. This is the dressed body that “asserts sexual and psychological component through trompe d’oeil illusions and juxtapositions of imagery.”

I appreciated the concept, but I can’t say I was able to see the words translate into the exhibit itself. (Again, I came for the quote material!)

.   .   .

They were opposites and yet the same. Two extraordinary women with a vision and a desire to break free of convention. It was one endstory that they both wanted; each just took their own path to reach that destination.

Prada is one of few designers humbled enough—or too pretentious? Take your pick—to admit that what she does isn’t just art: it’s the art of marketing and psychology.

“Dress designing is creative, but it is not an art. Fashion designers make clothes and they have to sell them. We really have less creative freedom than artists. But to be honest…maybe nothing is art. Who cares! … I never wanted to be called an artist. The term itself seems old fashioned…doe not relate to modern times. And it’s too xo confining. What I love about fashion is its accessibility and it’s democracy. Everyone wears it, and everyone relates to it.”

—Prada

“A dress has no life unless it is worn, and as soon as this happens another personally takes over from you and animates it, or tries to, glorifies or destroys it, or makes it into a song of beauty. … Power if clothing, embodiment.”

—Schiaparelli

.   .   .

Exhibit closes August 19, 2012. Hurry!

x

*Videos & their transcripts can be watched here. (I forget everything is put online these days; had I known I would not have been furiously tapping away into Evernotes**)

**Evernote is the best app ever. Shazam takes a close second. 

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