Black Lace and Woolen Undies

The Germans had not yet been driven out of France. Dunkirk had not yet fallen. The Gaullist government had not yet been recognized. But an old Parisian institution (and big Parisian business) returned to liberated France. Liberation fashions were barely a month old, the season of style shows was on.

The spectators were almost as arresting as the mannequins. One Parisienne wore black lace bobby socks with matching lace earrings. Others in towering electric blue or mustard yellow hats racked shiny bicycles in the marble lobby of Maggy Rouff's salon. Past a dead elevator (no electricity) they clattered on two-inch wooden soles up four flights of blue-carpeted stairs, sat down and glorified the gilt chairs in the long showroom. A sprinkling of WACs, a handful of beady-eyed U.S. officers lined the wall. Appraising eyes watched pretty, pert mannequins strut, simper, pirouette.

All last week famous couturiers displayed their 1944 creations. .Most of the familiar names were back: Bruyere, Alix, Molyneux, Worth, Lanvin, Schiaparelli, Lelong, Paquin. The trend was pronounced: skirts full and short, waists small, shoulders wide, sleeves mutton-legged. Designers used material lavishly, too lavishly for U.S. and British women limited by regulations and rationing.

Frou-Frou and Satire. The old Parisian skill was evident. In some of the old Parisian froufrou, the subtle political and social comment also was evident. Schiaparelli offered a model with a bustle in front. Lelong put jeeps on charm bracelets. Agile, aging (70) Madame Jeanne Lanvin (who served iced drinks to shivering patronesses} showed a slinky, black, backless, low-front evening dress called "Liberty." She also offered a simple frock of palest pink named "Free France."

Sales were disappointing. Prices were high. Dresses ranged from $200 to $900, coats from $500 to $1,000. The prices prohibited purchases for export. Most Parisians were too worried about the unsettled political future to part with such sums. Moaned one famous couturier: "What shall I do with all this nonsense going on? All my best customers are in concentration camps, because of course they were working for Vichy."

Another damper was the lack of good fur, real wool. French ingenuity did its best. Rabbits became everything up to ermine and chinchilla. Cats, rats, moles were tinted and tortured into sealskin and beaver. But Parisians faced a cold winter without much coal. Said the Chicago Daily News' correspondent Helen Kirkpatrick: "If some enterprising couturier could acquire an unlimited supply of wool . . . the most popular collection would be one showing woolen underwear."

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