When the '90s began, bad taste had a flashy stranglehold on Hollywood. Today, stars allow themselves to be dressed by stylists in designer labels they're happy to acknowledge. Who created this mutually beneficial system and managed to raise the level of taste in Hollywood at the same time? Giorgio Armani.
______________________________________
In the minutes before the start of 1999's Academy Awards ceremony, as flacks and paparazzi drove the season's herd of movie stars along the red carpet toward the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, the change in the air was palpable. Sure, this was the same pageant we'd seen before--celebrities decked out in designer threads so costly they could cover down payments on suburban homes, Joan Rivers and her daughter Melissa giving their crackbrained sartorial play-by-play for millions of "E!" viewers at home. But something was different.
Even two years ago, the more credible of the many stars running the press gauntlet on Hollywood's own prom night were hesitant to discuss what they were wearing. At the very least, the true purpose of their presence--the award they were up for or were there to present--had to be given lip service first. Not so in March 1999. Just about every star caught in the pre-Oscar gridlock knew the protocol: you might not mention the director of the movie that got you nominated, but you would most certainly name the designer who had clothed you. A surprising number of celebrities needed no prompting from Joan. The Oscar fashion parade had become for the first time the equivalent of an alternative awards show, and the stars were giving it their professional best.
The sea change had, in fact, been a long time coming. And who did Hollywood have to blame for it? Giorgio Armani.
Giorgio Armani was the first fashion designer to fully understand the value of having a star wear his fashions, and he was a pioneer in forging enduring relationships with handpicked actors who wore his clothes to the best effect. Richard Gere, Michelle Pfeiffer, Jodie Foster, Emma Thompson, Matt Damon, Ben Affleck, Annette Bening, Winona Ryder, Ashley Judd, Gwyneth Paltrow, Angelina Jolie, Keri Russell, Mira Sorvino--all have been willing poster people for Armani, and with their help he's built an empire and turned himself into an upscale-household name. The operation Armani began to give shape to over two decades ago came to represent a model for success that his competitors eagerly mimicked, but few of Armani's competitors have done it as well as he has, and none has done it so consistently. That is partly because Armani's marketing organization has been astute, sensitive and hardworking like no other, and partly because the product itself offered Hollywood a rare commodity: good taste.
A notorious bastion of stylistic excess, Tinseltown has never known how to dress itself. The grab for the limelight never put a premium on taste, and not all that many people come by it naturally. Despite the evidence, only a handful of stars set out to look shamelessly flamboyant or downright awful. Most simply have no idea how to be striking and elegant at the same time. With Armani, stars came to understand that they'd never be the punch lines of tabloid jokes again. His look was classy without being snoozy. He'd give you a plunging neckline and then match it with tuxedo pants. He'd do a short skirt and put it with a long-sleeved, high-collared shirt. It's always been about subtle drama and balance. The degree to which Hollywood values Armani's sleight-of-hand mix of sexy and sophisticated is well illustrated by the single item Ali MacGraw publicly bemoaned losing after her Malibu home burned to the ground--her black Armani jacket.
In contrast to most of the horde of designers who descended on Hollywood to create the current fashion feeding frenzy, Mr. Armani--as one is advised by his organization to refer to him--did not blow into town surrounded by a phalanx of publicists. Like his clothing and the celebrity relationships he would go on to cultivate, his arrival was a gracefully orchestrated affair. In 1980, the Milan-based designer had a growing reputation among a small sector of Americas fashion elite. To the general public he was completely unknown. His suits were available only in the hippest high-end shops, places like Maxfield in L.A. and Barneys New York in Manhattan. Among the insider group of entertainment people who were his original fan base was Bob Le Mond, a talent manager who happened to represent John Travolta.
The post-Saturday Night Fever sensation was slated at the time to star in writer/director Paul Schrader's saga of a high-end Hollywood hustler, American Gigolo, and Le Mond suggested to Schrader that the star should wear Armani for the role. Unfamiliar with the designer, Schrader swung down to Barneys, looked over the extraordinary tailoring of the suits, felt the smooth fabric they were made of and agreed that Armani would be perfect. Travolta was whisked off to Milan and fitted for a closetful of suits, shirts and ties. Ten days before shooting was to begin, Travolta bailed out of Gigolo (to make Urban Cowboy) and the part was given to Richard Gere. Luckily, the new star's build was similar enough to Travolta's that the wardrobe needed only minor alterations (within the organization the style continued to be referred to as the Travolta Cut). When American Gigolo hit screens, Gere's wardrobe turned out to be a virtual costar.
Lionized players like Martin Scorsese and Robert De Niro had been Armani fans for some time by this point, and now a corps of style-conscious Hollywood people on- and offscreen became disciples. The rest of the world paid attention: Time magazine put Armani on its April 5, 1982 cover (the story was written by Jay Cocks, an unabashed Armani fan). But the true power of Armani rolled out slowly; the tailored style was far too understated to instantaneously take over a market that still viewed Cher as a fashion role model. In the mid-1980s, when Don Simpson and Jerry Bruckheimer were turning up at events in Armani suits, most Hollywood men thought matching jeans with Rolexes was a fashion triumph. Still, the name gathered momentum. Simpson was so into Armani that before the name was widely available in LA, he'd order two dozen black suits at a time from Barneys New York. The new Hollywood power women began to latch on to Armani, too. Producer Dawn Steel realized that the women's line, not yet as prominent as the men's, imbued her with the kind of clout she required for boardroom duels.
Over the next few years, Armani maintained a bubbling-under profile in the Industry, while slowly making inroads into the mass market. His clothing became more widely available in more places, and he began to train America's eye on his aesthetics by offering wardrobes for a succession of movies. He created the costumes for Streets of Fire and Dario Argento's horror flick Creepers, both released in 1984, and he dressed the one-named beauty Ariane in Michael Cimino's 1985 film Year of the Dragon. None of these movies was well received. But when Brian De Palma approached Armani to re-create an idealized version of '30s-era gangster flash for 1987's The Untouchables, the designer knew he had the best opportunity he'd gotten since American Gigolo and he pulled out all the stops. The luxurious, richly textured three-piece suits he put on star Kevin Costner made men want to start dressing up again. With that coup, Armani withdrew from costuming films (though he would always donate items from his existing collections to movies) and concentrated on costuming Hollywood itself.
Having opened a posh Madison Avenue boutique that was now all the rage, Armani set out in 1988 to do the same thing on Rodeo Drive. No longer would Hollywood's garments need to be special ordered from New York or scared up at Maxfield. For the opening of his Rodeo Drive enterprise, Armani knew he had to make a Hollywood-size gesture. But at the time he had no personal profile in Hollywood at all--he'd never even stepped foot in Los Angeles. So, in a town where most glitzy events operated as benefits that anyone with the high price of a ticket could attend, Armani decided to keep his event determinedly exclusive. In place of the money raised by ticket sales, he made one large donation to L.A.'s Museum of Contemporary Art in the form of a rental fee, then invited a short list (about 300) of Hollywood's most powerful and/or stylish to a MOCA gala that was budgeted in the vicinity of $350,000. This being one of the few things in Hollywood you couldn't buy or barter, the invitations became the hottest item in town.
Spago did the catering. Peter Duchin provided music. The guest list featured Richard Gere, Bob Dylan, Anjelica Huston and Martin Scorsese. MOCA's walls were stripped of paintings, removing all distractions from Armani's clothing. As the worlds of Hollywood, fashion, art and society merged, they were treated to a fashion show that was as tony an affair as most had ever seen. The entire evening had the effect of making everyone feel complimented by being put in proximity to such refinement. And it was great fun. Mr. Armani was an instant celebrity.
Now he really went to work. With the highly touted Gabriella Forte mapping out his marketing strategy, he brought in Jackie O.'s sister, Lee Radziwell, to draw in socialites. Then he made the wholly unprecedented move of hiring Wanda McDaniel, a writer who'd covered the film industry for the Los Angeles Herald Examiner, to bring her personal powers of persuasion to the task of convincing Hollywood stars to wear Armani designs to prominent events. Well-connected to the Industry and married to Hollywood producer Albert S. Ruddy, McDaniel was well acquainted with Hollywood's A list and was willing to work it.
Her mission for Armani--getting his designs on the backs of celebrities--seems so basic today that it's difficult to imagine what a far-fetched idea it was then. Never before had a designer attempted to court specific stars, offered to dress them gratis for public occasions, and turned them into walking advertisements. McDaniel went through her Rolodex and touted Armani to every publicist, manager and actor she knew, and she talked up Armani at every dinner party she went to. All the while, she kept her eye out for the one actress who could best personify her boss's high-end elegance, for it was now the women's line that Armani wanted to bring into the spotlight.
In the end, Armani found the star himself It happened as he was watching a tape of Brian De Palma's 1983 cult favorite Scarface. During the scene in which drug lord Al Pacino's icy moll rides an elevator in a backless blue gown, Armani realized he was looking at the actress born to wear his clothes. Michelle Pfeiffer was lithe, poised and impossibly beautiful even at her most unadorned. McDaniel made the contact.
Pfeiffer, not yet an A-list star, was flattered by McDaniel's approach and agreed to wear Armani to the 1989 Academy Awards. So new to the Oscar level of glamour that she had no suitable jewelry of her own (and still unaccustomed to having jewelers lend her gems), Pfeiffer wore McDaniel's engagement ring as her sole accessory on that memorable evening. As for the outfit, Armani chose for her a simple, exquisitely tailored long skirt and jacket discreetly lit up with magnificent silver buttons. It was a fashion statement of extreme and luxurious understatement. She looked stunning.
Before the '89 Oscars, Armani was a badly kept secret; afterwards, he was big news. The cover of Women's Wear Daily, blazing with the headline "The Agony and the Ecstasy," juxtaposed two photos to illustrate its point. The "agony" was beautiful blonde Kim Basinger in a ghastly one-armed white satin dress she'd designed with rock star Prince. The "ecstacy" was beautiful blonde Pfeiffer in serene Armani style. The contrasting pictures reverberated from Hollywood to Seventh Avenue, resulting in a changing of the style guard that sent over-the-top on its way out and ushered in a sleek new version of va-va-voom.
Meanwhile, McDaniel made a call to Jodie Foster. Foster had turned up at the 1989 Oscars in a light-blue taffeta dress with a big bustly bow on the back that made her backside look as large as a refrigerator as she went onstage to receive her Best Actress Oscar. As the press added jibes at her gown to praise for her comeback, Foster explained that she'd spotted the dress in a store window as she was walking along the street in Milan and had purchased it more or less on impulse. Later that year, McDaniel offered the Oscar winner a suggestion: next time she was planning to attend a special occasion, perhaps she'd like Mr. Armani's assistance. Never having been one who enjoyed solving the intricate mysteries of fashion glamour, Foster accepted the offer and became a hard-core Armani disciple.
The idea of systematically persuading stars to wear one's label in the limelight was now being picked up by other designers as Hollywood began to shift into a new glamour phase in the mid-90s. In fact, the practice has become such a vulgar competition over the last several years, it's easy to forget that the original strategy was subtle. Today, Hollywood is rife with tales of boxes filled with tens of thousands of dollars of unsolicited, big-name designer's clothing that arrive at a star's offices to be picked over by the celebrity and passed on to assistants, publicists, etc. By contrast, Armani's idea has always been to discreetly key in on a select group of people who fit the house's ideal. It was a matter of establishing personal relationships. Once Armani had drawn the chosen stars into his orbit, he spoiled them in style. He threw dinner parties in their honor and treated them to a level of luxurious fun that was magic even to a star. At different times, he flew Michelle Pfeiffer, Ben Affleck, Claire Danes and Jeremy Irons to Italy for fashion shows and special events, and then hosted them at one of his five homes in Europe. Being Armani's friend was a pleasure.
Meanwhile, his company bent over backwards to accommodate you whenever an opportunity arose. When Sean Connery's luggage was lost en route to Italy, Armani's Rome store opened up after hours to dress him for his appointments. Armani's organization also had a working understanding of the intersection of stars, stylists, photographers, magazines and television. Stylists, often the first people to introduce a star to Armani's clothing, whether at a photo shoot or in preparation for a TV interview, quickly learned they could count on Armani's people to provide fashions quickly, and with a smile.
By 1994, when Armani felt it was time for a rare Hollywood appearance, he and his organization had a sure command of the town. Two soundstages at 20th Century Fox were taken over and Armani played host to the annual Fire and Ice Ball, which benefits the Revlon/UCLA Women's Cancer Research Program. Jim Carrey, Lauren Holly, Clint Eastwood, Val Kilmer, Cindy Crawford, Claudia Schiffer, Sela Ward, Will Smith, Laura Dern, Jeff Goldblum, Robert Downey Jr. and a subdued-looking Cher were all in attendance. Michelle Pfeiffer introduced Armani. Isabella Rossellini gave a heartfelt speech. There was as much star power at that event as at the Oscars.
Ever since winning over key players on Hollywood's various A lists, Armani has wisely protected his position by deliberately courting the Industry's choice up-and-comers. In one savvy strategic initiative, he hosted 1996's "An Evening of Music and Style" in New York City. The party was taped for VH1 and featured live performances by Eric Clapton, D'Angelo, Joaquin Cortes, Sheryl Crow, the Wallflowers and Lauryn Hill's old group, the Fugees. Attendees included the Dutchess of York (Fergie), Gary Oldman, Mariah Carey, Winona Ryder, Mira Sorvino, Mike Tyson, Ashley Judd and Gwyneth Paltrow. The next day, shots of Mira, Gwyneth and Ashley dancing the night away were splashed across New York City dailies. To this day Judd favors Armani when she's doing red-carpet work at premieres. Gwyneth Paltrow, whose greater loyalty has been to Calvin Klein, nevertheless chose Armani for the evening she spent in the company of First Lady Hillary Clinton at the New York premiere of Shakespeare in Love.
With stars like Judd and Paltrow now already in the mainstream, Armani has gone right for the most perfect even-younger targets. Newcomer Angelina Jolie accepted her Best Actress Golden Globe Award for George Wallace in a silver beaded Armani dress that made the shipyard worker's tattoo etched on her arm look almost classy. When Felicity's Keri Russell won her Golden Globe last winter, she glowed onstage in a pale tangerine-hued Armani gown that served as a ringing endorsement to his entire spring line.
Armani's latest move has been to include music stars in his embrace. After a long courting a fashion shoot, Armani won over five-time Grammy-winner Lauryn Hill and managed to cosponsor her recent tour. He's currently solidifying a relationship with the ultra-hot Ricky Martin. His long-term friendship with Eric Clapton, whose concert garb he designs, led to his hosting an evening to preview Clapton's guitars, which were to be sold at an auction to benefit the singer's Caribbean drug rehab facility. The Armani machine took over Quixote Studios and filled the space with lounging couches and pink Plexiglas coffee tables lit from inside to provide the perfect backdrop for an appreciative crowd that included everyone from old-guard luminaries Andy Garcia, Kelly Lynch and Arnold Schwarzenegger, to young turks Vince Vaughn, Joey Lauren Adams, Casey Affleck, Luke Wilson, Robin Tunney, Giovanni Ribisi and Josh Hartnett.
Along with Armani's extraordinary success, there has, of course, been criticism. The overriding theme of his detractors has always been the same: his style is too safe, even boring. Inevitably, many celebrities find the Armani look too tame for the job of slaying the competition for media attention. Flashier designs, bright colors and bold accessories will always have their place in showbiz. But Armani loyalists remain unapologetic about the sense of adventure they supposedly lack. They know this: when you examine an old photo of yourself decked out in an Armani design at some glitzy event from a few years back, you never cringe in horror at what was "in" then. You find that your personal and professional desire to be a center of attention was indeed well-served by your outfit on that occasion, but that such easily misunderstood neediness was not blatantly displayed. It remained, as always, a private matter between you and Mr. Armani.
______________________________________
Michael Kaplan interviewed Frederique Van Der Wal for the July 99 issue of Movieline.