Stripping Down to Essentials

By Martha Duffy

Life must be sweet to Emilio Pucci. There can be few satisfactions more pleasing to a designer than to savor success twice, to lead fashion's promenade after years on the shelf. A quarter-century ago, Pucci introduced bodysuits in vivid geometric patterns. They became a chic international uniform for several years and then, inevitably, were castigated as cliches. Fortunately for Pucci, fashion repeats itself. Thus, lively hosiery has become the rage of 1990, and the grand old Florentine marchese, who began his career by running up slinky playclothes for his girlfriends, may be out of stock before the summer is over.

Pucci owes his new fame to a revolution that began in the gym and on the jogging track. Gradually, the line between work-out gear and street clothes has blurred, and, as people gazed into the studio mirrors, they began to see that an unbroken silhouette looks longer and leaner than one cut up by a skirt.

That wasn't all they noticed. One humble service rendered by the traditional skirt is to camouflage the knee: no one much older than an infant has pretty knees. But an opaque legging accomplishes the cover-up nicely. And more ancient wisdom comes into play. Carolina Herrera, noted for her ladylike designs that include Caroline Kennedy's exquisite wedding dress, endorses the look for a sound reason: "The last thing to go in a woman are the legs."

Lively body skimmers now come in a limitless variety. Tigers and leopards have lent their spots, the venerable house of Hermes has adapted one of its signature rope prints, and designer Betsey Johnson, always on the lookout for a laugh, has fashioned a lifelike tattoo pattern. "The '60s were an inspirational bounce-off point," she notes, "short, modern, carefree, futuristic."

The hosiery industry is jubilant. "I'm looking at a 300% to 400% increase over last year," gloats Glen Greenbaum, vice president of sales for Danskin. Hue, whose lines are sold in 2,000 stores nationwide and in Canada, is up 70% since 1987. At Hermes, leggings are selling like the famous heavy silk scarves. "Even grandmothers are buying them," says a salesclerk. One reason for the popularity of the fashion is economic. As Christian Lacroix, whose palette is wild and whose prices are hair-raising, points out, "This fashion comes from the street, where young people create their own style." Tights and body stockings, topped with a big sweater or jacket, can be a cheap way to dress when a label like Lacroix's isn't attached. The average Danskin tights in nylon or Lycra blends range in price from $10 to about $13. At Barneys New York, the house line costs from $5 to $16, with designer labels from $16 to $25. At the top of the line, hand-printed Puccis run from $75 to $95.

With patterned tights all the rage, this should be the most colorful summer in a long time. The fall will see cashmere leggings (tights without a foot), in cable knits, wools and especially in velvet. Jean-Paul Gaultier and Karl Lagerfeld, French fans of tights, are emphasizing the leg. So is the hot young American designer, Isaac Mizrahi, who dismisses the '80s as a time of "boring, rote, dress-for-success looks with stock-tie blouses, flannel jackets and henny-looking long, drab skirts."

Herrera has fashioned a demure tweed costume with the merest sigh of a skirt and rust-colored crushed-velvet tights -- guaranteed to conquer any corporate board. But she cautions against the indiscriminate use of patterns. "They have to be very special," she says. "Otherwise you look as if you have a terrible disease on your legs."

Bill Blass, who has made precious few mistakes in his long career, agrees. He likes woolly legs, not crazy legs. In fact, he likes them well enough to denude his outfits of ornament. "Small head, short hair, no jewels, no necklaces," is his 1990 message. Who will come to the defense of artifice? Not Issey Miyake. Says the Japanese designer, who can conjure more shapes than a sculptor: "Clothes aren't sexy, women are."

With reporting by Elizabeth Rudulph/New York and Alexandra Tuttle/Paris