Anne Elizabeth Jane Claiborne, a fashion revolutionary, died on June 26th, aged 78
ALMOST every woman knows the feeling. You get into the lift, and a very important woman in your office enters after you, talking to a very important man. She is impeccable, from polished court shoes to understated earrings. You are not. You are wearing trainers, because you want to be comfortable on city pavements, and a blouse that doesn't quite match the skirt because the one that matched better was too grubby round the neck when you went to find it. Nothing is ironed, and there is a faint stain on the skirt that is yesterday's lunchtime soup ineffectually rubbed off with a Kleenex.
The very important woman glances at you, from the feet upwards. Her lip curls almost imperceptibly. She looks away. You wish that you might become a vapour, and leak away through the lift walls.
Liz Claiborne understood all that. Not that anyone ever looked at her that way, since from immaculately creased slacks to cropped dark hair to giant, fun glasses she was absolutely
comme il faut. But she grasped exactly what American women needed as the aproned housewife of the 1950s morphed into the professional of the 1970s. Good tailoring, classic styling, quality material, mix-and-match colours, a dash of panache: just the tops and trousers and skirts, set off with a Claiborne scarf and a Claiborne leather tote, in which to stride down Fifth Avenue or into the halls of power.
“Effortless” is still a favourite word in the Claiborne catalogue. Ms Claiborne knew her customers were imperfect, mostly with bodies they didn't like, and wanted clothes that flattered them with no discomfort and no ironing. She took care to give them collars that stayed flat and pleats that stayed pressed, and comforted the size-20s with billowing tops “to accentuate your form”. Her customers worked hard, juggling office and children, but also wanted to have fun without dashing home to change; so her clothes were designed not to rumple or stain, to go “effortlessly from work to weekend”, and even “well into the night”. And since in all this frazzle they had little time to shop, she offered them—from 1976 onwards, when the brand was launched in top department stores like Saks and Bloomingdale's—separates filed on adjoining racks, to be plucked from the hangers at speed.
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http://www.economist.com/obituary/displaystory.cfm?story_id=9432832
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