Couture Goes Daring And Wacky

By Martha Smilgis

The fall collections just unveiled by Paris couturiers leave no doubt: something is up on the fashion runway, and it is more than hemlines. After several drowsy years, couture is in again by being far-out again. The new high-fashion collections have exploded in a colorful array of stylized, theatrical creations, and in the process have stolen back much of the action from the swaggering ready-to-wear industry. The relentlessly ballyhooed miniskirts, to be sure, are riding high -- very high. But in addition, the couture lines offer daring, bewitching and wacky costumes that pay homage to, . among other things, 17th and 18th century court pageantry, French regional dress and even the movies.

Consider the following items, all displayed in the Paris couture shows: Louis XIV theater-curtain trimmings decorating a hooped mini; velvet bustles and derriere butterfly bows; tutus; white taffeta capes; page boy, cowgirl and matador outfits; satin tunics; bubble coats; cancan skirts up at the front and down at the back; and, even more of a burlesque, satin minis designed to reveal black garters.

Of course, not all haute couturiers appear to have robbed Hollywood's Western Costume Co. Pierre Cardin, at 65 the grandfather of the mini, has taken a resolutely contemporary approach. "I don't do things that are retrospective or cinematic or musical or costume," says Cardin. "I like things modern." Despite his protestations, however, Cardin's collection includes a four-alarm micromini, a thigh-high black stretch number worn with elbow-length gloves that are longer than the hemline of the dress. It prompted the French press to bill him as "Mad Max of the Hemlines."

The designer regarded as couture's new superstar, Christian Lacroix, maintains that the "dream is the No. 1 fashion formula." Last February Lacroix, 36, abruptly quit as chief designer for the house of Jean Patou, and this summer he introduced his first private collection. And what a collection it is. Inspired by his native city of Arles in Provence and by his university studies in art history, it features such figures as a traditional Arlesienne in crisscrossed lace shawls and striped silk skirt and a French cowgirl to round up the horses for which the region is famous. "I'm a nostalgic, naturally turned toward my roots," explains Lacroix. "A first collection establishes one's identity. It's like a first novel, almost always autobiographical."

Marc Bohan, of the house of Dior, predicts that Lacroix, who also designs costumes for dance productions, may eventually tone down his stagy charades. "Lacroix is young and needs to make himself noticed," says Bohan. "With the input from the press and his clients, he will, naturally, evolve." Bohan's own collection is cropped short, but is still traditional. He counts Princess Caroline of Monaco and Nancy Reagan among his clients, and predictably encourages his customers to drop the hemlines of his miniskirts when they come for fittings. Says he: "I can't see Caroline having to struggle out of a car at an official function."

Most other designers, though, have caught the flamboyant spirit. Karl Lagerfeld has blasphemously rearranged the classic Chanel suit into a gold- trimmed body brace befitting Cleopatra. Ungaro has created a 17th century dandy look with intricate musketeer detailing that would delight Alexandre Dumas. Jean-Louis Scherrer glorified old Vienna with ruffly gowns and loden capes, all twirling to Viennese waltzes. Meanwhile, Patrick Kelly, a renegade known for his spicy ready-to-wear, spoofed the couture crowd with a giddy, gaudy pirate show. His veiled tangerine bodysuit might well befit a rock-'n'- roll bride.

As a result of such exuberance, as well as the allure of the miniskirt, haute couture is attracting a more youthful, glamorous clientele. Says Eric Mortensen, designer of the house of Balmain: "The girl of 18 who comes in with Granny -- and Granny's money -- wants a little black sheath, not a pink taffeta number any more." Paloma Picasso and Madonna are among Lacroix's celebrity clients. "We are in a period where young, extravagant women want exceptional clothes," says Lacroix. "They don't want discreet elegance." Still, given the absurd prices of couture fashions (an evening gown can run $33,500, about the cost of a new BMW), only crowned heads, Arab princesses, rock stars and the discreetly rich tend to be repeat customers.

As if the startling apparel of the recent shows were not enough, there were also entertaining fireworks when Yves Saint Laurent banned Women's Wear Daily, the rag trade's bible, from viewing his collection. Tempers flared when WWD Chairman John Fairchild, an ardent supporter of Saint Laurent for 20 years, put Lacroix on the cover on the eve of the couture shows, an honor customarily reserved for Saint Laurent. The implication was that Lacroix was being dubbed crown prince to a fading king. "Saint Laurent wants us to rave about every collection," says Fairchild. "If we made a mistake in all those years it was probably that we gave him too much attention." In the end WWD did cover the show and carried an inside piece, damning in its faint praise: "Saint Laurent . . . now stands alone with his vintage elegance."

For the present, the spotlight is fixed on the innovative Lacroix, who admits that the first trend he would like to set is an antitrend. "I would like to start bringing down hemlines right away," he says. "For couture, we should be constantly changing." Lacroix will launch two ready-to-wear lines in the next year. Accordingly, he tempers his zeal with commercial caution: "We must listen to what the street is saying. And now, the message from the street is 'Stay short.' " Some streets, anyway.

With reporting by Regan Charles and Tala Skari/Paris