The Feather Merchants

In the first week of Paris showings of fall clothes, things were so dull that buyers and critics began to get that feeling that afflicts spectators at some theaters-in-the-round--they found themselves oppressively aware of staring past the actors into a bank of other spectators, all staring back. This reciprocal glare produced nothing worth looking at until Carroll Baker came to town.

Dernier Cri. Hollywood's hardest-working sex symbol showed up at Lanvin's salon, plopped herself down next to Nicole Alphand, wife of the French ambassador to Washington, and dazzled photographers, if not the fashion editors, with a hot-pink Balmain dress whose V-neck plunged to a demure bow set between her floating ribs. Carroll also displayed six inches of thigh, a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses, and aplomb.

"Next time you come to Washington, call me," murmured the impeccable Madame Alphand. "I'd love to show you the embassy." "That's it," cried Carroll ecstatically, as she spied a Harlow-type Lanvin white gown dripping with ostrich feathers.

Carroll had latched onto the dernier cri: from Paris to Rome, the word was feathers. And enough of them were being used to have the Audubon Society declare a state of emergency. Dior's Marc Bohan must have robbed every hen house and bird cage on the Continent. He whipped up topcoats of grouse, full-length evening coats of grackle, blouses of speckled hen feathers and wove materials half in tweed and half in pin feathers.

Tickling the Tops. But even with the plumage, the gimlet-eyed audience of buyers and editors was short on applause. Most of them had just flown in from Italy, where they were more charmed. In Rome, designers went black and white with an op twist--in everything from Valentino's sequined, zebra-topped lounging pajamas to Fabiani's chiaroscuro plaid evening coat. In Florence, Emilio Pucci produced print tights under an Empire dress slit to the armpits on each side. And Italians seemed intent on depluming the bird world too, particularly ostriches, who had better hide more than their heads in the future.

Fabiani used grey ostrich plumes to match his grey chiffon gown. Valentino stitched them all over his palazzo pajamas, tickled the tops of dresses with them, and in a crazy burst, banded Dalmatian-spotted coats with wide ruchings of ostrich.

Best of show in Rome went to the collection of Princess Irene Galitzine, who is married to a Medici and descended from a 13th century Lithuanian king. Galitzine had a thing about spirals. Everything from bikinis to ball gowns swirled their way up and down the figure. The bias that really biased the crowd was a black, silk, matelasse evening dress--the high halter neck in front dropped to a dangerous curve at a point slightly northwest of the coccyx. Lest any man not notice--which seems hardly likely--there is a big shiny bauble planted at the perigee.

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