|
imported post -
03-08-04, 01:15 PM
Suitmaker to the stars Ozwald Boateng has unveiled his first collection as creative director of Givenchy. What does it take to be a top man of the cloth?
Rachel Cooke
The Observer
Ah, Savile Row: last bastion of male elegance in a world full of hooded tops and baseball caps and jeans that show the crack of a bloke's pasty derriere. In the bespoke room at Ozwald Boateng, the tailor who seems determined to put the zip back into the wardrobe of his sex (though not literally, of course - button flies being the only acceptable way to do up a pair of trousers), a PR person in scary spectacles is busy telling me how exhausted my interviewee is. Milan, Paris, London... Poor thing. Another week of life lived at this pace, and he's going to collapse into an exquisite heap - a snoring mass of cuffs and collars and lime-green silk linings.
For the moment, however, he's still functioning. Just. Two seconds later, he opens the door to the salon - which is furnished with Thirties furniture, a chandelier and a screen behind which shy boys can fiddle with their too-tight waistbands - and collapses on the leather sofa beside me.
Boateng is tall and thin, with the longest pair of pins I have ever seen on a man; in repose, you half expect him to stand on one leg, like a heron. Today, he is wearing a black suit (shiny, with a herringbone pattern), black tie and white shirt (shantung or, possibly, cheesecloth). Also, a pair of fancy sunglasses and a wristwatch the size of a portable television. He looks like a mourner at a Hollywood funeral.
Boateng has come straight off the Eurostar. A busy month. In Paris, he unveiled his first collection since he became the creative director of Givenchy menswear last year (theme of the show: 'The French Gentleman'). Before that, he was in Milan, where he sent his own-label collection down the catwalk (theme of the show: 'Urban Warrior', I think - by which I mean that his booted and suited models also wore thick face paint, with the result that they looked like strange, high-earning racoons).
Mostly, the fashion press loved both collections - though his self-directed opening movie at Givenchy raised a few eyebrows ('6.30 in the morning, I meditate in the bespoke room'). But then, even if the shows hadn't wowed 'em, Boateng would probably not have lost much sleep over it. He is, he tells me, a 'creator' - and creators are required to be pretty confident types.
Was he nervous before the Givenchy show? 'No, that's the joke. I do what I do, and I believe in it.' But surely it was a little bit intimidating, starting work at such an esteemed label? (The house was founded half a century ago, by the great and supremely tasteful Hubert de Givenchy, who retired in 1995.)
'Look, I've done so many catwalk shows. And I respected the spirit of the house. Englishmen have a certain style; so do Italian men. But French men don't. They only have an attitude. So I tried to express that in clothes.'
From the outset, he felt oddly as if his work was 'meant'. 'For instance, I wanted to get rid of the old 4-G logo. I decided it was too old. I came up with a tulip. Two months later, a call came into the office. The Dutch Tulip Association had decided to call [a bulb] "Givenchy". It was fated, you see.'
Givenchy, which is owned by Bernard Arnault's acquisitive fashion conglomerate LVMH (Louis Vuitton Moët Hennessey), courted Boateng for more than a year before he finally accepted the job as creative director; the two parties danced around one another like exotic crabs on a Caribbean beach.
'The deal just had to be right.' Is he happy with the way he is being treated (some other British designers, including Alexander McQueen, found they were miserable at the house, and left)? 'Well, I'm living at the [Hotel] George V,' he says. 'It's not a good way to start.' I feel a bit queasy. Then - thank God - I see he's joking. 'It's like giving me sweets. How will I feel when they stop giving me sweets?'
Boateng was born in 1968 in Wood Green, north London, the youngest son of Ghanaian immigrants. His father was a teacher, and looking smart was simply part of family life; he adored his school uniform, and he got his first suit, which was made of purple mohair, when he was just five years old. As a teenager, he would cruise around Crouch End in a low-slung Citroën with his best friend, Amos, the two of them egging one another on to push the boundaries of style ever further - slapping their imaginary gloves down on the dashboard like a pair of 18th-century dandies. 'We were like brothers,' he says. 'But he died 10 years ago. He took his own life. I remember the day well. I'd just done my first catwalk show, and I'd signed a deal on a shop. Then I got the call. He and I had the same dreams, but his weren't fulfilled. It was very sad indeed.'
Boateng fell into tailoring by accident; he is somewhat hazy about the precise details. So far as I can make out, he was all set to become a computer programmer when he fell in love - with a girl who just happened to be doing a college fashion show. She asked him to help and, faster than she could say 'Velcro!', he was at the Singer portable, churning out trousers and jackets. Soon after, he decided on a change of career. He does not, however, have any formal training.
'When I was 18, I met Tommy Nutter. He showed me the beauty of tailoring. But I never worked for him. I picked up my skills from outworkers.' If he lost everything tomorrow, would he go back to cutting a nice pinstripe on the kitchen table?
'When push comes to shove, you'd be amazed what you can achieve,' he says, with disarming honesty. 'I wasn't brilliant at any aspect [of tailoring]. But it was good I didn't get entrenched. I could improve other people's work. I could say, "Have you thought of doing it this way?'"
At 23, he opened a shop in Portobello Road; two years later, he moved to Savile Row. Today, a ready-to-wear Boateng suit with trademark hot lining will set you back around £800, and a bespoke version - or, as he prefers to call it, 'bespoke couture' - some £3,000. (This is not cheap: a bespoke suit by Paul Smith is only £1,200.) His client list is starry, if a little loud: Jude Law, Graham Norton, AA Gill, Samuel L. Jackson, Pierce Brosnan, Jonathan Ross and Lenny Henry. Shane Ritchie, star of EastEnders, once said he would 'like to be buried in an Ozwald Boateng suit, or in my blue Pontins coat'.
Orange being a hard colour to pull off, I guess it takes a certain kind of man to wear his colour palette (though, to be fair, he'd probably be just as happy to rustle you up something in a gentle dove grey - so long as the inside pockets were still chartreuse).
But life has not all been as smooth as his favourite Thai silk. His childhood was marred by the divorce, when he was eight, of his parents. In 1998, as a consequence of the downturn in the Asian economy, his company went bust (though he was up and running again within six months, and signed a contract to launch a range for Debenhams). In the same year, he separated from his first wife, a French model called Pasquale. He believes, he tells me, in the 'power of the spirit', and this is what sees him through the hard times. 'My parents don't really talk. It's very difficult. But when they split up I learnt an important lesson. I tried to bring them together. I got close to doing that. But some things aren't meant to be. A few years ago, I had to start all over again with the business. My strength, my conviction, saw me through. What will be, will be.'
He is lucky, too, in that he needs only five hours' sleep. 'I was trained from a young age to get up early. I used to do a paper round.'
Recently, while he was in Paris, Naomi Campbell gave an interview in which, once again, she accused the fashion industry of racism. Since Savile Row sometimes feels like a microcosm of white Englishness, he must, surely, feel some sympathy with her.
'She was only a kid when she started. It's understandable she has a strong point of view. People should cut her a bit of slack.'
But is she right? Has he ever been on the receiving end of racism? 'Professionally, on many occasions. But if I was to be specific, you couldn't take it. It'd be too tough.'
I think I can take it, but at this point, the PR interrupts. My questions are not 'appropriate'. OK then - does he want to be a black role model, or would he rather that people ignore his colour altogether?
'The fact that I'm here speaks for itself.' But he's unusual: young, black men are underachieving in our society. 'Is that right?' he asks. Behind his sunglasses, which he keeps on throughout our encounter, his lovely eyes widen. Planet fashion, eh? Perhaps some news just never gets that far.
Boateng is now married for the second time - to a Russian former model called Gyunel, whom he met at one of Puff Daddy's parties - and is father to two small children, Oscar and Emilia. It must be hard, I say, to spend your days in the swanky confines of the House of Givenchy, your nights in the equally swanky confines of the George V, and then come home to Lego on the floor. 'Oh, but when you see the little ones, standing at the door, with their arms in air...'
What about the fact that he has so many people to help him at work, to bring him coffee and mineral water, to tend to his every need? 'Oh, my wife is superb on that front!' he says, like a lovestruck teenager. 'She's excellent at bringing coffee. The only time she gets mad is when I work late.' So they have quite a traditional relationship? His smile speaks volumes.
But back to buttonholes. Male readers may by now be wondering if Boateng has any handy style hints. Actually, he does, and here they are. First, the suit should be the cornerstone of your wardrobe. Jeans are fine, but not seven days a week. Second, always button your jacket correctly.
'I hate it when men have a three-button jacket and they button the middle one and leave the other two open. That's a crime.' Better to have the top two done up, and the bottom one open, apparently.
Third, turn-ups are a very bad idea. 'Never ever have turn-ups. They break the line.'
OK, so take me through what you're wearing today, I say. 'I am wearing a black suit today,' he replies. That'll teach me to try and get technical.
It makes Boateng really mad and frustrated that men's fashion is given relatively little attention in the media. But the good news is that, out there in the real world, men are at least taking more of an interest in what they look like - which can, after all, only be good for business.
So they're improving, sartorially speaking? 'Yes, 100 per cent.' They no longer think it's sissy to care about clothes? 'Yes, 100 per cent. If you'd told me 10 years ago that I'd be into mud packs, I'd have laughed. But I am now. I enjoy being pampered.'
Isn't he worried about appearing to be vain? 'No! Pampering is not the same as being vain. Is it vain to get a massage? No! It makes you feel great.' He unfolds his amazing crane legs. 'I'm the least vain guy you'll ever meet.'
Hmm. I look at him, immaculate in black, and smile inwardly. It's noble of him to protest but, honestly, who wouldn't be vain if they looked this good in their threads?
Guardian Unlimited © Guardian Newspapers Limited 2004
|
imported post
Sponsored links
