Photo-Illustration: by The Cut; Photos: Courtesy of Givenchy
Givenchy has had seven creative directors in the past 30 years. Sarah Burton, formerly with McQueen, is the latest. That must be a record turnover among Paris fashion houses, prompting the question: is something wrong with the place? Some of the problem no doubt rests with LVMH, which acquired the business in 1989 from Count Hubert James Marcel Taffin de Givenchy, who founded it in 1952, and went on to be famous for his chic and as Audrey Hepburn’s favorite dressmaker. But despite the talents of John Galliano, Lee Alexander McQueen and Riccardo Tisci — to name the best of Burton’s predecessors — LVMH has always seemed to treat Givenchy as a poor relation of its richer and better-known properties, Christian Dior and Louis Vuitton.
There’s also the question of what Hubert de Givenchy was known for, beyond Hepburn’s movie clothes in the nineteen-fifties and sixties, and perhaps the romantic “Bettina blouse,” named for the model Bettina Graziani. With Dior, you have the New Look. Chanel is the cardigan suit and the Little Black Dress, to mention just two markers. Givenchy was known for tailoring, but that hardly sets it apart in this town.
So Burton, in a sense, is starting from scratch. When she was hired last summer, her boss, Sidney Toledano, who used to be chief executive of Dior and is today president of LVMH’s fashion group, told her, “Give me a silhouette.” In other words, put down a clear line and build from there. What could be easier?
On Friday morning, debut day, I arrived at Givenchy’s elegant building, at 3 Avenue Georges V, as a throng of onlookers was spilling into the street and cars were backed up in both directions. Because Burton is a recognized pro, who spent 27 years at McQueen—she began as a student intern in 1996 and became creative director after his death—and because this was an entirely new opportunity for her, the crowd seemed larger than usual, the anticipation greater. And Givenchy was showing in the house, not in a tent or a public building. There was room for only 300 people at each of the two showings on Friday.
At the entrance, I saw Toledano greeting guests and beaming, and he told me that Galliano, having seen the lights at No. 3 blazing the night before, had sent him a note of well wishes. Galliano had been invited to the show but was unable to attend. However, his partner, Alexis Roche, was there, and so was Daniel Roseberry of Schiaparelli. I passed Marisa Berenson. Burton’s husband, David Burton, and their daughters and her mother were also seated in one of several white, high-ceilinged rooms, over two floors, being used for the show.
It is already early spring in Paris. Sunlight poured in. We were all seated on stacks of large brown paper envelopes, not unlike the kind couturiers and tailors used to store patterns. A few days earlier, Burton told me that two years ago workmen renovating a Givenchy office had literally found buried treasure in a wall—the patterns and notes from Givenchy’s very first collection. How they got there nobody knows. From my symbolic paper perch in front of a window, I saw the actors Vanessa Kirby and Rooney Mara across the crowded room.
After a brief bit of throat clearing, with a black mesh leotard stamped like a dressmaker’s dummy with “Givenchy Paris 1952” and a pair of tubular mesh dresses with flounced viscose hems—meant to echo the skeleton of a couture look —Burton got down to business. Her tailoring was not only visually strong and perfect; it also was varied. There were coats and suit jackets with bold shoulders, and ones with neat shoulders. Sleeves also varied, from a kind of rounded couture sleeve, with an exposed flat-pressed seam spiraling from the armhole to the wrist, to sleeves that were mildly flattened and creased, for a sharper effect. Less visible on some of the tailoring — done in fabrics like mohair, a nice, heavy black crepe, a herringbone jacquard — were subtle raw edges, intended to keep things from looking too perfect.
From left: Photo: Courtesy of GivenchyPhoto: Courtesy of Givenchy
From top: Photo: Courtesy of GivenchyPhoto: Courtesy of Givenchy
Generally, Burton offered a cinched waist. One might say the lines owe something to McQueen, but that’s not exactly accurate. Most designers who are constructionists, like McQueen and Balenciaga and Alaia and Givenchy, belong (more or less) to the same tailoring tradition, like members of a family tree. Burton belongs in that group. She said, “The masculine-feminine thing that I do is what I’d like to establish at the house.”
From left: Photo: Courtesy of GivenchyPhoto: Courtesy of Givenchy
From top: Photo: Courtesy of GivenchyPhoto: Courtesy of Givenchy
More than that, what came across in this thoroughly engaging show was confidence, the eye and experience of a pro. In the varied suit shapes (some of which had trousers with an elasticated bit at the back of the waist), in the wardrobe pieces, like her version of a crisp, oversized trench, and in her balance of sharp fit and comfort, she was giving women of diverse ages clothes that felt distinctive but also plainly real.
From left: Photo: INDIGITAL.TV/INDIGITAL.TVPhoto: INDIGITAL.TV/INDIGITAL.TV
From top: Photo: INDIGITAL.TV/INDIGITAL.TVPhoto: INDIGITAL.TV/INDIGITAL.TV
And she consistently hit her mark of a Givenchy look in different ways. That was also impressive. There were minimalist halter dresses in white and pale pink glove leather; a fantastic black leather bomber with a pair of metal zips running over a puffy shawl collar and worn with a matching, super-soft pencil skirt, and a black dinner suit in that heavy crepe with a short slit at the back of the neck and another at the hem.
From left: Photo: Courtesy of GivenchyPhoto: Courtesy of Givenchy
From top: Photo: Courtesy of GivenchyPhoto: Courtesy of Givenchy
“With Givenchy, there was often a surprise at the back,” Burton noted. Those gestures are also sexy and feminine and, because they’re not overworked, they’re hard to find in the market.
For her first big show, Burton offered a lot and at the same left herself places to go. Could there have been some dresses for the daylight hours? Sure. Could she have proposed some softer construction in her tailoring mix? Sure. I’d love to see that from her. Could she have surprised us a lot more with her choice of models, which seemed pretty standard? Well, sure. At the age of 50, Burton had embarked on a completely new chapter of her career, in a different city, and she made me want to see more.
After a standing ovation, as Charles Mingus’ explosive “Haitian Fight Song,” still filled the bones of the house, with Hubert de Givenchy dead in his grave, people made their way downstairs to congratulate Burton.
“So how does it feel to have a Paris debut?” I asked.
She roared. “Oh, fabulous! Every girl’s dream, I think.”
