Glenda Bailey's tribute, which is also her editor's letter in the April issue:
The world is a less beautiful place today. Karl Lagerfeld was a visionary right until the end. His mastery—of fabric, design, silhouette, and the very process of creative reinvention—was a breathtaking thing to behold. His creations were so exquisite, I have been known to shed a tear.
I first met Karl in 1988, when I became editor in chief of
Marie Claire in the U.K. Over the years, he has given me some of my greatest fashion memories. Each season I would visit him in Paris at his atelier for a preview of the Chanel collection before the show. When I arrived at my hotel room, there would be a small rain forest waiting for me with a handwritten note from Karl saying how much he was looking forward to our meetings. The arrangements were different each time, but one thing was consistent: their size. They were so big, it would often take six people to get them through the door.
Karl was extremely kind and generous. I will always treasure the many drawings he did of me and the thoughtful notes he sent, explaining in detail what he particularly liked about
Bazaar. He would do the same with other designers. He would write to them and send flowers before their shows.
I always looked forward to seeing Karl in Paris. I remember one time, we broke into a spontaneous cha-cha during one of the fittings, and the whole atelier stopped and started to applaud. Another one of my favorite memories was when Karl threw a ball for Stephen Gan and me at his private home in Paris. We danced until the early hours of the morning!
In those early days, I would have dinner in Paris with Karl, just the two of us. I would turn up in a dress—it didn’t matter whose dress it was—and he would tell me the origin of the design. He would say, “I know where that inspiration came from.” And then he would explain that it was based on an original design from Madame Grès or Vionnet or Schiaparelli. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of fashion and a deeper well of aesthetic references than anyone I’ve ever met.
Over the years, Karl participated in dozens of stories for
Harper’s Bazaar. I once got Karl to do an imaginary conversation with Chanel. He loved it so much, he asked French actress Jeanne Moreau to do the voice over as Coco Chanel. And the tape was sold at Le Bon Marché! We featured Karl with Choupette’s ears; he also dressed up as a rapper and then later as a vampire. When we convinced Takashi Murakami, who had never done portraiture before, to create
a portfolio of designers, Karl gamely posed, ultimately purchasing the image from the artist and hanging it in the Chanel offices. Later, when Murakami did his exhibit “The Octopus Eats Its Own Leg,” Karl not only
posed alongside the creature, but took the picture himself. At the time, he said he identified with the octopus. If I ever asked designers to do some outlandish idea, they would all agree to do it if Karl participated in the piece. From star signs to aesthetic opposites, no conceit was too out there if Karl was on board.
Karl also had a wicked sense of humor. In 2008, when I received my Order of the British Empire from Queen Elizabeth, Karl told me he wanted to design a couture Chanel suit for me and asked what color the medal was. I told him it was pink. I arrived in Britain and opened up the garment bag, expecting to see pink and instead there was a navy blue suit. So I wrote him a note and said, “Oh, well, navy blue is the pink of England.” And we cried laughing!
As fastidious as Karl was about many things, punctuality was not one of them. He was notorious for being late. Whether I was visiting him at his home or meeting him for drinks at Café Flore, I would always go with a big book and expect to wait two hours for his arrival.
He also hated people remembering his birthday. The only gift I ever gave him which I think he liked was a pair of custom-made Chrome Hearts “KL” cuff links. Everyone from his atelier called me to say what a success they had been.
I first knew Karl was ill when I visited him at his atelier and he didn’t walk me out to the elevator. That’s when I realized something was wrong. Because he always escorted me out. The last time I saw him, we were talking about our next collaboration! He was excited. “That is the best idea I’ve ever heard!” he said without hesitation. And I thought to myself, “That’s high praise indeed, coming from the master.”
There will never be another Karl. He will live on in our hearts—and the pages of
Bazaar—forever.
US Harper's Bazaar
