Events
W*blog: Editor-at-Large in Paris
Events
Swiftly home from an Obamarama cocktail party in London’s Pimlico to celebrate the inaugurations hosted by photographer Graham Wood (his work hangs in the National Gallery) and his wife, the American food writer Nancy Wood, and my head full of Champagne cocktails and thoughts of the ebullience of the night, there was nothing more to do than pack a bag for Paris for the impending Wallpaper* Awards party to be staged at the glamorous Boucheron in the Place Vendome.
See what our Editor-at-Large got up to in Paris
The Wallpaper* Awards
The previous four years, since their inception, we had celebrated the Wallpaper* Awards in various prestigious and topical London locations - Foster’s Swiss Re (the very top – no-one had been in when we were there), the Wellington Arch (actually inside), The Hayward Gallery (just love that brutalism and the Swiss concrete with its wood grain) and the even more brutal but equally successful former Post Office. But this was to be different, exotic, carpeted chic. Why not celebrate the dawning of neoteric thought at a tangent?
Paris: City of the Year
Paris had won City of the Year Award and since the men’s shows were on it seemed serendipitous. Also, Kanye West was to join us there following the Presidential inauguration he had been supporting (quite instrumentally in so many ways), so since we had not been able to go to Washington DC, we would be only two degrees of separation away from history in the making. I once saw the play Six Degrees of Separation on the New York stage, and vowed for me it would always be two. I wanted to meet the man who expressed W Bush would do nothing for the black man, a comment that sprung him from popularity with music lovers to popularity with most of the civilised world, and he seems like a man with a mission. He is also a design aficionado and a real dresser too. I was looking forward to meeting him.
But what to wear (not for Kanye but for Paris)? I was thinking exotic chic but not feeling it. Politics you see. Nothing too obvious from France, I thought, since many guests would arrive from numerous fashion houses and I did not want to fly one flag over another (especially if it was the flag of the person who did not show). Italian, definitely not, it would be entirely inappropriate, so in an attempt to please all (mindful it was Menswear week so I could leave “le look” proper up to Sebastien (Fashion) and Nick (Special Projects), I went to the “neutral”, (again politically, not hue) section of my closets to look for something unintimidating but good for an evening of pouring rain in Paris, as predicted by Google. What is that old adage about “if a woman is told her dress is beautiful, then she is not. If she is told SHE is beautiful, then the dress is a success” – or some such? I pondered over a frock I had entirely forgotten but adore (it was right at the back but had fallen to the floor), a dove grey, slinky jersey number with a satin collar, the form cut to the skin, by a designer I knew in New York a very long time ago. When I wrote art for Details magazine (prior to its Conde Nast takeover – it had only just emerged form the slums of the SoHo News) we had a delicious fashion team, Isabel and Ruben Toledo, who, like vixen and pixie ran around with such creativity it was exhausting. Isabel styled and Ruben illustrated, (it was the early 90s). She was like a feminine Frida Kahlo and I loved her. When New York was Kook, these two were a cut above, and so harmonious, although tempers did flare. I parked the dress for another date.
I selected instead a Belgian ensemble, black fine jersey dress and teeny (size, not age-group) leather jacket. Shoes, Pierre Hardy? Perhaps the Marc Jacobs to be on the safe (classic) side (black patent, peep toed and great with a dash of pewter nail polish and skintone fishnets). If there had been something Swiss I’d have gone for that, just to be safe.
Packed, I slept, headed for meetings then Eurostar, opening the paper as I took a dive into the seat and lo and behold, the First Lady, Michelle Obama in, CRIKEY, an ensemble by Isabel Toledo. I looked left and right, my eyes darting like a scene from Memento, I saw the dress (mentally) hanging on my closet door. I still had the Polaroid in my pocket (really – they are usually pinned to my clothes). Was there time to return? “Madames et Monsieur, Bienvenue a Eurostar.” The doors closed with a dull thud. Oh well, it would have been so de riguer but I could feel the sand slipping through my fingertips. My best friend, Serendipity, had failed me.
First stop: Emeco
Thursday evening and Gaye from Gaye and Gino, the Turkish based design firm, called from the Costes Hotel where she was holding court (not necessarily metaphorically). Should we meet before the Wallpaper party? “Only if you are quick” I said, having just arrived (the train was late and I had 5 minutes to change) knowing I wanted to see if Andree Putman was to attend her own opening that same evening at Emeco. It was a launch of a chair she had designed for Morgans hotel and since she and I go back a long way, I wanted to offer support although aware Madame is very much in her troisieme age and trying to do less. It was around the corner from the Bel Ami in the 6th arrondissement where the Wallpaper crew were to be holed up for a few days, so very easy. Andree has been very influential in my life on a personal level. I have spent many days and evenings with her in all corners of the globe, socially for years. She has even made me pasta in her kitchen. I once organised, about ten years ago, for Karl Lagerfeld to shoot her (it was the most beautiful portrait ever) for the New York Times magazine for a piece I had written for the Living Legends issue. It was a Saturday and fashion week, but Mr. Lagerfeld still obliged between tasks, indicating that they too have had a very special relationship over the years. Actually, I found out later they had been through a rocky patch in their friendship and this single event brought them closer again.
Well, sadly, Madame Putman was not available because she was really a little too tired, which saddened me, as well as Gaye who has commissioned pieces from Andree and worked with her. I promised to watch the Pillow Book back in London to feel closer to her (Andree dabbled with one design for celluloid – her interior for Peter Greenaway’s rather steamy film is essential viewing – well, that’s my excuse…). We did, however, have a lovely chat with her daughter, Olivia, who is very much at the helm, steering the firm to greater commercial success, as well as the jaunty Gregg Buchbinder From Emeco who showed us the chairs.
Stop two: Fauchon
Next swift stop (I was glancing at my watch throughout), the exquisitely designed Fauchon on Place de la Madeleine, the North side. Fauchon was linked to our Awards too, having won one for their eclairs and would be very present, orally, at our party later. So apart from supporting Fauchon at their event, (a little give and take) I also wished to congratulate my friend, architect Christian Biecher, on the design of the Fauchon store and his new book launching that evening (I know Christian because we both design furniture for the same American firm and we “hang” in New York together whenever possible). Christian is handsome and a pleasure, lets say, aurally, since his voice is so tender, so with the visual, the aural and oral (the cakes) I was in heaven.
Wallpaper* party
Wallpaper*, a short sprint away and no car (we had let it go and there were no cabs) for this two minute walk, so the Marc Jacobs patents were robust enough to march me to Place Vendome where Tony greeted me at the door. “You’re late” he whispered. Well, thank goodness others had behaved themselves better. Kanye was there already, as was Ines de la Fressange. I saw Patrick Norguet (Christian and I know him too from the Bernhardt Design connection) and congratulated him on his Wallpaper* Best Designer status. Next, on the stairs, I said hello to Pierre Hardy who was chatting with Sebastien. I looked at my shoes (literally, metaphorically). Did you come with anyone? Asked Sebastien, “Yes, Serendipity, but she seems to have left”
I chatted with Chahan Minassian, again an ex colleague this time from Ralph Lauren moments, who now has his superlative eponymous gallery on the Left Bank, and to Marc Newson about some talks he gave with architecture writer Jonathan Glancey that were really interesting when 100% Design in London first broke. “You wouldn’t like me now” he said, smiling, when I said how much I had gleaned from the talks. Marc is, despite super celebrity status, a truly lovely unassuming man. Herve Van Der Straeten arrived and we chatted Guerlain as I plucked out the very lipstick he had designed for them from my handbag. Was Serendipity back in the room? The Fauchon CEO Isabelle Capron, I had met earlier, arrived, and my mate Arik Levy, who had come by scooter.
The room eventually thinned out (the party was a cocktail until 9.30 but we were still pouring Veuve until well beyond 10.30), so Arik and I decided to leave for Baccarat where Jaime Hayon was showing his new collection of glass vases. But not before a pitstop chez Pietro Beccari of Louis Vuitton who had invited a select few for informal drinks in the Seizieme to celebrate Kanye’s foray into the fashion design world, the trainers launched by Vuitton earlier in the day. It was an elegant and relaxed moment and Mr. and Mrs Yves Carcelle were obviously pleased with Mr. West’s contribution to the Vuitton inventory. Tony and friends stayed for a bite but for us dinner was still a mirage on the horizon so we left for a final canapé at Baccarat.
“Il pleut”, said Mr. Levy (who also pleases aurally). There was only one car and not a taxi in sight. “ ‘Op on” said Arik, so I hitched up the frock (glad now it was not the Toledo) and hopped the best I could. We rode at speed through the 16th arrondissement. “I’ll look a mess” I said to Arik, who said I should not be concerned because everyone we knew had left – he had heard. They were now at Hotel Costes. He was sure. But we had to attend nonetheless to support Jaime and see the collection since we planned to dine with him later. “Jaime is at Costes too” said Arik.
Baccarat
We arrived and it seemed they had not left. Not one of them. So pretending my windswept and rather damp look was intentional (I was thinking Charlotte Rampling) I was greeted by Brigitte Bury from Baccarat and Brigitte Fitoussi from Christofle in unison. Kisses all round. Jaime and his wife Nienke were obviously not at Costes since they were right in front of us. “Nice work,” Arik smiled.
Most importantly, the vases are extraordinary pieces, blends of weights and colours and form, and Jaime has yet again excelled at helping to reinvent a brand (not that Baccarat needed it), without loss of their integrity, while stamping his signature on every facet and in every orifice. The tables were Jaime’s too. It was a visual treat.
Nightcap at Hotel Costes
All senses in check, back on the scooter and a dash to Hotel Costes where Gaye awaited with Ross Urwin, formerly of Liberty of London and now with Lane Crawford in Hong Kong, his partner, the handsome Darryl, Jaime Hayon and wife Nienke Klunder and Canadian gallery owner Sylvain Faucher (of Latitude Nord in Montreal). Repairing with a few dashes of Guerlain product in the cloakroom, we then relaxed for a couple of hours in easy chairs, sipped truly good wine and left for our separate sleep cells.
Oh no, the taxi line was outrageously long. Arik peered at me – “ 'Op on then,“ but what if… ”oh no-body will see you arrive at the hotel looking all messed up. Anyway, you are a mess already. They will have gone to bed." Arik and family live in the opposite direction, but relieved by his gallantry, I slammed my coat in the helmet box, hitched the frock above my knee, for the third and last time, and we took a short bridge over the Seine.
As we arrived at the hotel, a cheer could be heard from a crowd gathering in the lobby. What remained of the Wallpaper* crew, Tony Chambers, most of the interiors and publishing department, were waiting for cabs to take them to a very late club (they all deserved it having work so hard to produce such an event –the planning had to be impervious due to scheduling). The motley crew stood waving as if we had just alighted the Orient Express. We laughed, had some refreshing tea and I bid farewell to my gallant friend. The evening had been a successful party night for Wallpaper* guests, and an evening of mixed blessings for me.
Subscribe to Wallpaper* magazine
Sign up for our free weekly newsletter
