Today, Azzedine Alaia may close the Paris spring/summer 2003 haute-couture season with his first fashion show in more than a decade. Then again, he may not. Speculation that he intended to do so began a month ago. Rumors were fueled by the fact that Georgette Capelli, long-standing premiere d’atelier at Yves Saint Laurent, joined Alaia’s team just before Christmas. She told the French press: “M. Saint Laurent told me I made a wise choice. He (Alaia) is the nearest to him. If I had not begun work for M. Alaia, I would have retired.”
Jean Melkonian, the premier tailor at Yves Saint Laurent’s studio, has also joined the Alaia stable. But, true to form, Alaia remains unfazed. At time of going to press, his office said only: “We think we are showing, and we think it will be on Thursday afternoon. We will decide at the last minute, and we’re not sure any journalists will be attending.”
What, no journalists? It’s all rather grand, in a patrician, “who needs publicity?” kind of way. To those who know about the Tunisian-born designer, it should come as no surprise. To say that Alaia gives the media short shrift would be an understatement. Two years ago, not long after he had received backing from Prada, and the New York Guggenheim Museum had hosted a retrospective of his work, an Alaia revival was in the air.
“Some people don’t understand,” he told me at the time. Yikes! “Take journalists.” Double yikes! “They keep on asking me about my big comeback, but I’m not back, because I haven’t gone anywhere. I have carried on working all along. They didn’t come to me. But that was their loss, not mine.”
Throughout the 1980s, Alaia’s twice-yearly shows were the toast of Paris. No matter that they tended to take place two or even three weeks late, long after the international fashion fraternity had left the city. Alaia had no need for press or even buyers. His collections were sold to the privileged few, who were grateful to receive anything they could get, even though orders tended to arrive months after they were meant to. Alaia has no time for anything as mundane as deadlines. He would deliver when he was ready, and the stuff sold despite exorbitant prices and mostly before it had even made it to the rails.
Alaia is every bit the tortured artist, then, you might think. But that isn’t the case. “When it’s not ready, it’s not ready,” he says. “Why get stressed about it? It doesn’t mean I’m late intentionally, but if something in my life interferes with my work — let’s say, my cat is ill — I’d rather look after the cat than prepare a show.” How cool is that? No one else in the world could get away with it. So what’s so special about Azzedine Alaia?
For many years he was Paris’ best-kept secret — his name was passed around the city’s most monied and discerning women like gold dust. By the beginning of the 1980s, his body-conscious viscose-knit dresses and tailoring had taken hold. Magazine editors and the supermodels — Christy, Cindy, Naomi and Linda — knew better than anyone what an Alaia dress could do for them: It has the pleasing effect of plastic surgery without the nasty mess. It was said that once a girl had worn an Alaia dress, anything else simply seemed too big.
Today, his profile is barely existent to all but the most knowledgeable few. He dresses a handful of private clients and sells to a few boutiques worldwide. Remote from the unforgiving and fickle fashion spotlight, he keeps his reputation intact. In a couture season that will go down in history as having spawned more than its fair share of media controversy, Alaia’s quiet presentation may be the highlight of the week. And the press may, or may not, be there. (The Independent)