Word: laurentlis
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1960-1969
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Then last week Yves St. Laurent threw open his salon and voila! the priestesses of high fashion rocketed into orbit. "It made a week of life on gilt ballroom chairs worthwhile," wrote the Herald Tribune's Eugenia Sheppard. "St. Laurent has always known that what modern women really want to look like are little boys...
...Laurent's lean, leggy line is a canny blending of swashbuckle and swank known as the "Robin Hood Look." Into a Sherwood Forest setting enhanced by a pair of real copper beech trees trooped the svelte St. Laurent mannequins-all bundled up in shirts, jerkins, tunics, dark knitted hose and seven-league boots. A big hit of the collection was a costume consisting of tight pants, mid-thigh-length boots and a hair seal pullover, with a Robin Hood hat and chained pendant. Pageboy hairdos were common...
Though the world of fashion could scarcely exist without its sense of discovery, if truth be told, there is less to a scoop than meets the eye. The giddy excitement of the St. Laurent show in Paris is partly real, partly a tempest in a B cup. Manhattan store windows and women's magazines were already chock-full of the new trends. Long before summer, Vogue Editor Diane Vreeland and best-dressed Viscountess Jacqueline de Ribes of fashion's Hall of Fame were wearing above-the-knee textured hose to all the best places-which automatically decrees...
...Balenciaga is the only designer I admire. You say Saint-Laurent is staying small . . . good. Cardin has talent, but he makes too many shocks." It was Paris' irrepressible High Fashion Doyenne Gabrielle ("Coco") Chanel, 80, so-soing this and high-hatting that, while Women's Wear Daily took notes. But Coco saved the sharpest needle for her high-class clientele. "They're all so famous and well dressed and they never pay their bills-never. It's a form of stealing. And the princesses, some of them, they're the worst of the lot. When...
...offers its customers nothing more than hour after hour of phonograph records and a chance to dance where there is no room to breathe. Having such creatures as null Sagan, Porfirio Rubirosa and Yves Saint-Laurent under his electrified baton was excuse enough for the Pavlovian power Warfield felt, but like all pioneer artists, he was misunderstood in his time. Last week, for all his genius, he was fired on the implied charge that he was turning the Princesse into a laboratory for psy-chomusical research; he had become a power-crazed, prima donna player of the phonograph...