The Soiree Is Over

Stephen Burrows's Joie de Vivre Fails Him In a Cutthroat World

The designer's signature -- multicolored frocks on a multicultural group of models -- can still inspire a smile. But Burrows's independent, playful spirit doesn't complement corporate obsession with profit. (Maria Valentino -- For The Washington Post)

PARIS, Oct. 9

More than 30 years ago, American designer Stephen Burrows had a moment of triumph at Versailles. And now he has returned to France to present his spring collection in hopes of reclaiming some of that success. His Sunday afternoon show served as a tutorial in the ways the industry has changed.

In 1973, Burrows was one of a handful of Americans invited to participate in a fashion gala alongside some of the greatest French designers. Burrows stood out in a group that included Yves Saint Laurent and Halston, in part because his clothes had a celebratory, sweet sensibility at a time when fashion was formal and serious. He used models -- many of them black -- who brought energy to their runway performance. They were more actors than stoic mannequins.

Since then, Burrows's career has been a roller coaster of groundbreaking successes and disheartening defeat. He was the first African American designer to achieve international acclaim. He was the first to have his own mainstream fragrance. But he has also found himself without any major American retail accounts. He has had to go hat in hand in search of financing simply to put on a show and produce samples.

In his show in a small auditorium in the Carrousel du Louvre, he offered his signature aesthetic. His clothes, with their slightly gathered "lettuce" hems, came in a rainbow of colors. Raspberry, melon, grape and lemon might be combined on a single body-embracing gown. All in all, his collection was quite pretty.

His models opened the show clapping in unison. They strutted down the runway -- flirting, smiling, toying with the audience. And contrary to other designers this past week, Burrows offered proof that there is more than one qualified model of color for hire in Paris.

With all the enthusiasm on the runway, you couldn't help but smile. But there was a nagging reality hanging in the air that left one feeling slightly melancholy.

The designer's show space was not full. Not even close. The name cards on seats read more like a wish list of guests rather than confirmed attendees. Almost entire rows, reserved for major American fashion publications, sat empty. There was no lure of major advertising dollars, after all.

It may be that what made Burrows's work so distinctive in his heyday -- his ability to capture a mood in the culture -- has become commonplace. And what made his shows such a happening -- their partylike, informal atmosphere -- has become outmoded.

Burrows recalls a time when fashion was about looking good, feeling cool and dressing your friends for a night out. Everything else was a bonus. But fashion has been transformed into a precariously balanced inverted pyramid. High finance, theatrics, celebrity, dealmaking and licensing are all perched atop a tiny pile of frocks.

It is the rare fashion house now that survives purely on the sales of its clothes. And designers who thought they would enjoy colorful lives dressing their friends for late-night carousing have gone through detox and are now answering to corporate bosses. Even independent designers finance their pet projects by moonlighting for big companies.

Chloe made a splash with its trapeze-shaped dresses and jackets, but it is the bags that one sees on the streets. Alexander McQueen is an audacious designer, but he survives largely on the strength of his fragrance, his theatrics and the good faith of Gucci Group, his corporate parent. Louis Vuitton dabbles in ready-to-wear, but it is in the business of leather goods.