Fashion likes to talk about its musical chairs a lot. So much that it sometimes seems as if more high-value name brands are added to the pool just to increase the options and raise the bets. Last week, the following email rolled in: “Paris, November 7, 2014 – Schiaparelli is announcing today the end of its collaboration with Marco Zanini. The House of Schiaparelli is looking towards its future while transcending the aesthetic codes created by Elsa Schiaparelli. It follows a dynamic where a contemporary spirit meets its founder’s daring personality. Schiaparelli will announce its new creative director soon.” No teary goodbyes there, apparently. Zanini’s departure didn’t create massive waves of shock and despair in the industry, partly because it was somewhat expected but mainly because the re-launch of Schiaparelli somehow never generated the hype and excitement of its legacy.
So what would have made things different for Schiaparelli 2.0? Zanini did some great things at Schiaparelli – and at Rochas before that – but he isn’t yet one of those cult following designers, who moves to an old-name brand with a massive fan club behind them already. This was the case with Raf Simons when he joined Dior, with Nicholas Ghesquière at Louis Vuitton, and it will most certainly be the case for John Galliano at Maison Martin Margiela. But contrary to those three houses, Schiaparelli isn’t an established fashion brand, even if its name is very much an established fashion name, which makes it a bit of a deflated balloon. The reason everyone in fashion starts climaxing the second news breaks that a massive powerhouse may be hiring a new designer, it’s because we understand the authority of the brand and the magnitude of the job in question.
As much as we’d all like to see some more interpretations of Schiaparelli in the world, the quality of Zanini’s first collection wasn’t a make-it-or-break-it moment for a fashion giant and its star designer. It wasn’t one of those designer debuts at Dior or Vuitton where fashion got to hold its breath while our very own gladiatorial Hunger Games played out, which is – however morbidly – a huge part of our fascination with these musical chairs of designers and houses. The more money is at stake, the more thrilling it is to observe. It’s also the reason we keep these brands going, and even add ready-to-wear to them if it isn’t already a part of the house, as was the case when Marc Jacobs joined Vuitton and pretty much had to invent a clothing aesthetic for the brand from scratch.
Elsa Schiaparelli still has a huge following, some of whom might even spend money on twenty-first century takes on her work, but with no major business behind the brand apart from fragrances there’s just not enough on the line to get the crowds worked up. So what is Diego Della Valle, the Tod’s mogul, who owns the Schiaparelli name, to do? For starters, it could be argued that backing new designer brands, whose names belong to actual living and breathing designers, might be a more innovative and rewarding investment. When the House of Worth set the trend for carrying on a fashion house after its designer’s death in 1895, it was only because Charles Worth’s sons were already working for him and had a bit of a family establishment going.
Little did the Worths know that when they hired Paul Poiret as the house’s designer some years later, they were opening the doors to the eternal continuation of all future fashion brands – as carried on by other star designers. As nice as it is to continue someone’s legacy, wouldn’t it be a bit odd if the Bram Stoker Estate suddenly employed Anne Rice to write new books under his name and style? Likewise, there’d be public outrage if a young singer started recording new material under the Billie Holiday name, or if a new artist started painting surrealist art under the Salvador Dalí name. But of course, none of these estates have the multi-billion turnovers that some of the grand old fashion brands present today, so perhaps it’s only comparable from an artistic point of view.
As clever as Renzo Rosso’s appointment of John Galliano at Maison Martin Margiela is, those of us who belong to the Galliano mega fan category would much rather have seen the designer return to fashion under an eponymous label—oh wait, someone else owns that name. Indeed, it’s situations like these that sometimes make the whole fashion circus seem absurd, not least because it touches upon the sinister area of blind fashion consumption. Super fans of Martin Margiela (the person) likely stopped buying Maison Martin Margiela products when he left the label, while John Galliano super fans will now start buying Maison Martin Margiela products because John will be designing them, all of which is as it should be.
But then, there are the consumers who’ll buy Margiela just because of the name, not knowing that its designer ever left or that Galliano has joined in his place. It’s the danger of fashion’s brand machine: a system meant to be promoting designers’ art, while it’s actually deceiving consumers into buying things they don’t know who’s behind. It wouldn’t be a surprise if some of those girls flaunting their Chanel bags down Oxford Street think Coco Chanel is still alive, churning out those collections from her fancy apartment in Paris, if indeed they even know she ever existed. But that aside. If a brand like Schiaparelli, with no multi-billion turnover behind it, wants a revival to match its powerhouse counterparts, the only way to go is hiring a designer, whose cult following will crank up some squealing fangirl hype of their own.
Here’s a suggestion, Mr Della Valle: why not call upon Edward Meadham, demi-couturier and half of London’s designer duo niche megastars Meadham Kirchhoff? And a lifelong Schiaparelli admirer, at that. There’s your winning bet for a successful revival.
Credits
Text Anders Christian Madsen
Photography Mitchell Sams