Haute Couture

(See front cover)

From Paris, last week, came reports of feverish activity around the Place Vendome and, particularly, along that brief but important, severe but incredibly expensive street known as the Rue de la Paix. Crowds milled about sternly-guarded doorways; ultra-fashionable women sought admission as to the most coveted box at the Opera; Parisian celebrities entered with an air of triumph, emerged with subdued cries of "Oh!" and "Ah!"

To the Parisian, even to the accustomed tourist, the melee in the Rue de la Paix was not unfamiliar. Similar scenes had been observable just a year ago, and again last February. As every true follower of fashion knows, there are two months in the year when the couturiers open their magnificent salons to the view of a favored few, display their latest triumphs of design, reveal what the well-dressed woman will wear for the next six months.

Many a fortunate Parisian hastened, last week, from the grand openings of the dressmakers to ponder how she should persuade her husband that no matter how chic she might appear in his eyes, in truth she would be in rags unless her wardrobe conformed to these newly-pronounced edicts.

Color. Bright, navy blue is to be the predominant color of fall fashions. But the most fastidious of women may appear without shame in creations of a red-brown hue. Very smart is a combination of the two, or of shades of navy blue.

Silhouette. Let the cautious woman apply the following test. Dressed in a frock of an outworn mode, a pea dropped from her fork would roll to the table (or carpet) without interruption. But dressed in the 1928 silhouette, she might retrieve the pea in the ruffles at her neck, in a bow or a flounce on her skirt. Adopting the broken silhouette, dressmakers refer the dubious to modern architecture, pointing to jagged, jutting lines of skyscrapers.

Skirts. Last week, His Holiness the Pope issued a thunderous edict. Modesty, he declared, is an essential part of godliness. Said His Holiness: "Early Christian women, dragged into the circus at Rome to be devoured by wild animals, were more concerned in covering their nudity than in saving their lives." Obediently, dressmakers dropped skirts a full two inches, brought their hems to a point between 1 1/2 and 2 inches below the bend in the knee.

Hats. Three designs, all applied to small, close-fitting hats, share the approval of the French fashion makers. A pronounced slant downward on the right side, occasionally obscuring the vision of the right eye, is a mark of a correct hat, as is the bonnet shape, and an imitation of the French peasant's beret.

Formal Dress. Since the War, it has been permissible, though not desirable, for women to wear the same gown at a luncheon or at an afternoon tea, at dinner or at a ball. This year, pre-War distinctions are again in evidence. With more money to spend on clothes, the well-dressed woman will have rich and luxurious gowns for formal wear.

These modes, or adaptations of them, were seen last week in the salons of the 200 French dressmakers who pretend to Haute Couture. But of these 200, not more than 15 or 20 had originated new and startling designs. It was possible, therefore, for Parisians to discuss, eliminate, select the real titans of post-War fashions. And Parisians chose, not without acrid debate and violent disagreement, the Big Six of the dressmaking industry.

Worth. Traditionally important is the House of Worth. Founder Charles Frederick Worth came to Paris from London in the middle of the last century, found himself the man of the hour in the attempt of the Empress Eugenie to restore the magnificence of the First Empire. Eugenie became the patron of the young Englishman. To his shop in the Rue de la Paix came not only Eugenie herself but Charlotte of Mexico, Maria Pia of Portugal, Elizabeth of Austria. Only two reverses came to Founder Worth. Victoria of England would have none of him. And Eugenie, expecting the Prince Imperial, declined to swathe herself in Persian robes, decided to set the style in maternity gowns with the crinoline. Founder Worth battled, but to no avail. The crinoline flourished.

Son Jean Philippe Worth succeeded his father in 1895, carried on the aristocratic traditions of the House. He still comes to the Rue de la Paix to serve the most exalted personages, but his two nephews, Jacques and Jean Charles, have active control of the business, the one as business manager, the other as head designer. The House of Worth remains the arbiter of the most elegant fashions. There go the women of upper French society for their robes de grande soiree. There goes the prospective bride for her wedding gown.

Chanel. The fame of Gabrielle ("Coco") Chanel has waxed since the War. Sweaters have made her name and her fortune, the light, boyish sweaters which form the sports costume of many an American and English woman. The story of Gabrielle is shrouded in mystery. Some say she is of Basque origin, the daughter of a peasant. Others declare her youth was spent in Marseilles, where the jerseys of sailors gave her the idea for the emancipated woman's golfing costume. Even today she is something of an enigma to gossip-loving Paris. "Coco" Chanel is not beautiful, yet her name is linked with that of Prince Dimitri, Parisian man of the world, famed connoisseur of beautiful women.

Vionnet. Dressmakers concede to Madeleine Vionnet mastery of the art of fitting. She never uses linings in her gowns. Unexpected darts and seams, giving perfect lines to a dress, are the despair of copyists and imitators. In her salon of Lalique glass, with heroic figures of women in Vionnet models decorating the walls, mannequins display her triumphs of cutting and sewing. But before a gown leaves her shop, she marks it with her fingerprint, a safeguard against imitation.

Lelong. At the head of the organization of a Paris dressmaking house is the designer. Under the designer comes the premiere vendeuse (chief saleswoman), assisted by a seconde and numerous other vendeuses. Heads of workrooms are premieres mains, with general supervision over the training of the apprentices, the 14-or-15-year-old girls who come as midinettes to learn the history of textiles and of art, the tricks of designing, cutting, fitting, sewing. Finished models are shown by mannequins who think the opportunity of meeting British and U. S. millionaires enough compensation for tiny salaries.

To this organization, Lucien Lelong brought an Oxford education, a vigorous personality. Most efficient of all couturiers, Lelong housed himself in a 9-story building, passing in Paris for a skyscraper, and proceeded to produce 1,000 models a year under 20th century working conditions. Lelong is popular with U. S. buyers. Particularly popular are his three perfumes : "A," for the exotic woman (or the unexotic woman who, acting out of character, is attending an exotic affair); "B," the perfume pour le sport; "C," the delicate scent for the ingenue.

Premet. More than 1,000,000 women are said to have worn the boyish black gown, with white collars and cuffs, which went by the name of La Garconne. It was the House of Premet which invented La Garconne to ride the wave of the novel's popularity. Madame Charlotte, the present head of the house, is herself one of the most beautiful women in Paris, with mauve hair which has an interesting history.*

Louiseboulanger. To Louiseboulanger belongs the credit of discovering the secret of the down-in-the-back hemline. Primarily a dressmaker, rather than dress seller, she amuses herself by studying the personality of unusual women, then designing costumes to suit them. Her greatest triumph has been with the Actress Spinelly, whose frocks are an annual Parisian wonder.

Through the salons of these internationally-known couturiers, last week, wandered the elite of Paris and of Paris visitors. But U. S. women of fashion need not despair because they were not in Paris last week. Let them but wait until fall and they will find the most classic models of Worth, the most daring of Vionnet's designs, reproduced in many a U. S. department store. Instead of paying $500 for a sports costume by Chanel, they will pay $200 or $300 for a replica of the same costume in a Manhattan shop. For Paris dressmakers have found no way to prevent copying of their creations. Madame Charlotte made but 1,000 of the 1,000,000 copies of La Garc,onne. As simplicity is the vogue in Paris, U. S. copyists may turn out French designs for $50 or $75. Even now the buyers are speeding homeward with dearly purchased models, ready to put them in the hands of expert imitators, preparing for the nation's great fall shopping season.

* Here is the story of her violet locks: A few years ago she planned to attend a fashionable ball at the Paris Opera. In the morning she went to her coiffeur for a shampoo. As white-haired women usually do, she requested the coiffeur to put a little bluing in the rinse water. By mistake the man poured in a chemical that stood on the shelf beside the bluing bottle. At first Madame Charlotte's hair looked all right. But when she got back to Premet's and took off her hat she saw to her horror that it had turned green, the color of grass. She rushed back to the coiffeur, in tears begged him to do something for her. He poured more chemicals into more rinse waters, now her hair was blue. Hour after hour he rinsed and struggled; after each attempt the head of hair emerged a new tint. Finally, an hour before the hour of the ball, they gave it up. Madame Charlotte's hair was a pale violet. There was nothing else to do. At first she thought of staying home. But her love of gayety got the better of her. She took her courage in her two hands and appeared at the ball. She half-expected to be the butt of jibes and ridicule. To her amazement she found herself the hit of the evening. Her triumph was so overwhelming that it aroused the jealousy of fair countesses and members of the social set who expended lavish sums on their toilettes for the evening. Journalists flocked about her, cabled abroad the news of her mauve hair. Next day pastel locks were the rage. Madame Charlotte liked hers so well on second thought that she decided to keep them so always.