Designers Get Down to Work

By JAY COCKS

Spiffy uniforms liven up the office, the factory and the beat

Thank God that's over. Not pollution, not the decay of ancient monuments.

But the city of Rome has solved at least one of its urgent problems: the Women's Police Corps, just ten years old, some 600 strong. What were these women going to wear?

Granted, at the beginning everything seemed so simple. Together, Rome's councilman for the city police, Mario De Bartolo, and Policewoman Enrica Pirri, who had abandoned a job at a fashion house to do public relations for the Corps, developed the idea for a competition. Why not have Pirri's former colleagues design a replacement for the women's version of men's outfits--navy blue skirt instead of trousers and regulation jacket with a couple of bust darts added to accommodate anatomy? Five renowned Italian designers would be invited to submit prototypes. The prize would be prestige and publicity for the designer of the winning uniforms; for the

Women's Police Corps, the benefits would be a spruce new look, and maybe even some respect from the male Roman citizenry. The mayor would select the winner. Bravo. Perfetto.

Catastrophe. Not the designs--there was a general consensus that they were excellent. Laura Biagiotti came up with not only a trim pants-skirt and navy blouson but also a knit pullover colored wine red and gold, the official city colors. The policewomen were enthusiastic, the press enchanted. Gucci created a leather blouson and helmet that looked as if it belonged on a Flash Gordon storm trooper. The Fendi sisters, working as usual with Karl Lagerfeld, went far afield from their luxury furs and submitted a striking winter woolen overcoat with a storm cape that the Bronte sisters might have worn for a brisk constitutional on the moors. The other contenders--Milan's Mila Schoen, and the Fontana Sisters of Rome--also made impressive showings. It was an embarrassment of riches and, as it turns out, a bit of an embarrassment altogether.

These designs were all paraded in early July, and the authorities promised a prompt decision. The policewomen filled out questionnaires and nominated favorite garments. But what began as an exercise in design and shrewd public relations became a political matter. The Fendis and Guccis, being prominent in the field of fashion and society, have powerful friends at court. Mayor Ugo Vetere, stoutly vowing that no pressuring would be permitted, probably felt several g-forces' worth. Officials took almost half a year maneuvering toward a decision, then announced the results just at the onset of the holidays, hoping that Yuletide good will would dissipate disappointment and defuse jealousies. The Fendis won. But, then, so did the Guccis. It was, perhaps inevitably, a draw. The Fendis would provide most of the basics, and Gucci the leather goods. The first designer wear should hit the streets on April 21, just in time for the Birthday of Rome celebration. What Solomonic cunning! What a gesture of fashion brotherhood! And--let's face it--what a relief. Who could ever have thought that uniforms would be so. . . important?

Designers, for openers. There is hardly a major designer in Europe or America who has not turned a hand to churning out a tunic, or a blazer or a pantsuit for some aspect of light industry or heavy-duty business. Oscar de la Renta has outfitted the Boy Scouts of America; Halston did uniforms for Braniff and Avis; Ralph Lauren turned out TWA air and ground personnel; Issey Miyake has dressed an impressive percentage of the Japanese work force, from employees of Shiseido, Coca-Cola Bottlers and Sony to members of the

Ground Self-Defense Force Band. Giorgio Armani and Gianni Versace have already designed uniforms for a women's military service that has not even been voted into existence by the Italian parliament.

Adolfo provided Suntory Ltd.'s publicity staff with floor-length evening outfits. Guy Laroche dresses the hostesses at the Paris city hall, and there is deep suspicion that the French fashion House of Carven now survives largely on its uniform contracts (Paris' meter maids, Meridien hotels). This fall, Calvin Klein unveiled his new outfits for SAS on overnight flights from the U.S..to Scandinavia. The passengers awakened to breakfast served by cabin attendants in spanking-new tailored Calvins.

Bill Blass has come up with another wrinkle. Besides working on a top-secret uniform for America's Girl Scout leaders, Blass has designed work togs for staff at New York's renovated Kaufman Astoria movie studios. He has fashioned a total executive look. The studio maintenance crew get cotton twill overalls; the women execs blazers, skirts and blouses; and the men gray flannels, navy blazers and a matching tie emblazoned with the corporate "K" logo. Says Executive Vice President Cheri Kaufman: "Blass's clothes have a chic-ery to them. When people put on his uniforms it gives them a sense of being part of what is going on. They're not threatened." Or teasing, it might be added. One Blass design that was rejected was a wrap skirt for the women execs. Notes Blass: "Wrap skirts can be a hazard in an office, not for the wearers so much as for the people they are exposed to. Sometimes they can be too provocative."

"Clothes for work shouldn't be too sensual," agrees Klein. "They should be comfortable, neat and modern." Uniforms, and what the rag trade likes to call "career apparel," can be a "fringe benefit, paid for by the company," in the words of Cynthia Rossomme of the National Association of Uniform Manufacturers & Distributors. They are also a social equalizer. Citing industry research, Burlington Menswear President Bernard Leventhal says, "Working women who don't have a great deal of money to spend on clothes may get up in the morning frustrated that they don't have appropriate clothing, so they don't bother to show up."

The notion that a nifty Blass combo might make for a more enthusiastic work force may be questionable, but the tradition of designers creating uniforms is well established. In 1942, when the Navy wanted its WAVES smarter than the Army's WAACs, who looked dismay ingly butch in heavily padded jackets produced by men's-wear manufacturers, they turned to the great couturier Mainbocher.

He concocted a perky, functional ward robe featuring a trim, short-jacketed dark suit and a hat with a white crown and an upswept brim.

At Carven Couture, uniforms account for 80% of the annual gross of the company, which produced 65,000 uniforms for some 25 clients last year. For most designers, however, financial remuneration runs a distant second to good press and general amusement as reasons to get into uniforms. Says Klein: "It's done more for fun than profit." The big bucks come when, like Blass, they manufacture the uniforms themselves. This irks the old guard of professional uniform makers. "With a name designer your big problem is they do not take utility into account," gripes Ira Legon of New York City's Appel Uniforms. For the designers, however, standardization and budget can be stultifying.

Armani, for example, recognizes the "prestige and promotion" value in uniform design but cautions, "You can't be very creative. And there can be terrifying results."

There is one further, relatively fresh field: clerical garb. Whether designer vestments would induce terror or pity in worshipers or boost morale and recruiting to the ministry remains uncertain. But there are dreamers. Biagiotti, a most honorable also-ran in the policewomen's sweepstakes, consoles herself with fantasy. "I'd like to design a nun's habit. I like fullness.

And those beautiful black and white wools falling in folds. Lovely." -- By Jay Cocks.

Reported by Leonora Dodsworth/Rome and Elizabeth Rudulph/New York

With reporting by Leonora Dodsworth/Rome and Elizabeth Rudulph/New York