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House of Dreams

Designer Gianni Versace Opened the Door To a World of Glamour and Celebrity

By Robin Givhan
Washington Post Staff Writer
Wednesday, July 16, 1997; Page D01

Designer Gianni Versace, who was killed yesterday in Miami Beach, always understood that fashion was about much more than clothes. He knew that a simple dress could also make allusions to art, music, architecture and the cult of celebrity.

He was always sure to fill his front-row seats with the personalities of the moment -- not just the famous, but also the infamous. Elizabeth Hurley and Hugh Grant came to one of his shows just after Grant's embarrassing arrest for soliciting a prostitute. Woody Allen and Soon-Yi Previn came when they were couple non grata. Lisa Marie Presley graced his front row in a New York show. Mike Tyson, who recently went on a shopping spree at the Chevy Chase Versace boutique, was a last-minute arrival at another.

He commissioned performers like Boy George and the artist formerly known as Prince to create soundtracks for his theatrical fashion presentations. Prints from such artists as Jim Dine inspired garments in his collection. He designed costumes for the ballet. He created housewares. And, in cooperation with Roy Lichtenstein, he participated in the first Florence Biennial, which explored the link between fashion and the visual arts.

"He was so much more than just the world of fashion," says friend and Vogue editor Anna Wintour. "His eyes and ears and mind were open to everything, which is why he was such a great designer."

Versace, 50, was gunned down yesterday morning in front of his South Beach Miami estate where, according to his New York spokesman, he had flown after his Paris couture show. He was struck in the back of the head by two bullets fired at close range. Police are seeking Andrew Cunanan, a fugitive and suspected serial killer, for questioning in the murder.

Versace's two boutiques on Milan's Via Montenapoleone both closed early after news of the designer's death reached Italy. The boutique in Chevy Chase will be closed today. The owner of the store in Tysons II Galleria is considering temporarily shutting its doors also.

Flamboyant in every way
Versace was one of the few designers whose name had become known outside the fashion industry. He embraced popular culture and exploited its links to fashion. "He understood how to manipulate the press; he kept supermodels on the runway," Wintour says. "He understood the power of celebrities in the front row."

His style was wildly flamboyant, profoundly sexy and often crossed the line into a wonderful, dangerous vulgarity. He unapologetically cut dresses obscenely low or ridiculously high. Stiletto heels were part of his classic repertoire. He was known for his chain-mail dresses, his sexy gowns seemingly held together by safety pins, his daring forays into bondage attire. But he could also cut a perfect suit that blended classic lines with delicate sensuality.

Even as styles veered off into anti-fashion statements such as grunge and monastic chic, Versace remained resolutely on course. Fashion to him was a glamorous, colorful, sensual world and one could never imagine that he would desert that for angst-filled, neurotic musings.

While fashion reports announced that supermodels -- Naomi Campbell, Claudia Schiffer, and others of that rare, larger-than-life breed -- were passe, Versace continued to put them on his runway. In his world, there was no place for a girl -- as the models are called -- who wasn't bursting with attitude, sensuality and the ability to arouse an audience with the sway of her hips.

He liked his male models beefy and beautiful -- as if Michelangelo's David had suddenly come to life. And in his advertising campaigns and coffee table books, Versace's men were photographed with a loving, homoerotic eye.

"I think he's the first great post-Freudian designer," says Richard Martin, curator of the Metropolitan Museum's Costume Institute. "I think part of it was his love for sensuality and sexuality. . . . He had no hang-ups.

"He didn't care if people said something looked like a bondage collection or was too homoerotic or was not politically correct. The most ambitious designers are usually hung up on propriety. But if his dream house was vulgar to everyone else, he didn't care."

Counterpoint to Armani
Versace, along with Giorgio Armani, represented the two dueling temperaments of Milanese fashion. Armani is the master of restraint and decorum. Versace was the ebullient rebel, the master showman.

During Milan fashion week, when designers present their ready-to-wear collections to the world's press and retailers, the inevitable questions would arise about the competition between the two men. And indeed, there seemed to be a constant one-upmanship. If Armani threw a party, Versace would have a bigger one. Armani opened new boutiques in New York with a spare-no-expense soiree including performances by the Fugees. Last year, Versace celebrated the grand opening of his five-story Fifth Avenue store in the landmark Vanderbilt mansion with a bash that included a little serenading by his good friends Elton John and Jon Bon Jovi.

Armani would stand formally at the door greeting each guest. Versace would plunge into the crowd, scanning it to see who had arrived, trying to get a sense of the buzz.

Versace always denied any rivalry, saying that his only competition was with himself. And indeed, any competition was probably a media confection. But there was a perfect balance in Milan fashion that has been disrupted. Part of the glamour has died.

Versace "had the life that he really wanted. And it could be incredibly exciting," says friend Ingrid Sischy, editor of Interview magazine and a curator of the Florence Biennial. "If he wanted glamour, it was the most glamorous. If he wanted peace and roots and an anchor, he had his friends and family."

While Armani showed that good taste and restraint outlive any trend, Versace proved that there is always a place for honest-to-goodness fashion: bold, exuberant and attention-grabbing.

"Gianni Versace, together with a handful of names, symbolizes the success of Italian fashion all over the world," Armani said in a statement. "The news of [his] death has left me in a state of shock. . . . My reaction is one of revolt against such an unnatural and violent death, and one of profound grief."

Versace's was one of the few names that moved outside of the realm of the fashion salon; it was a name that was embedded in popular culture. In part it was because he embraced such diverse messengers. Princess Diana wore his clothes, but so did Courtney Love. He courted such rock stars as Eric Clapton, along with rappers like Tupac Shakur. Society ladies may be mourning his death, but so is the hip-hop community. Diplomats and their children bought his clothes. Drug dealers clamored for them. Some stores had to remove the buttons from Versace garments, lest they be snipped off and stolen.

"He loved elegance and opulence," says model Veronica Webb, but he was "never afraid of saying, 'I'm fly.' "

Versace knew that the power of fashion went far beyond the garments. It had the ability to capture the public imagination, to break down barriers and to electrify an audience. A dress could launch a career, as it did for Hurley. It could help to remake an image, as his feminine, white ruffled dress did for Love at the Oscars.

What a life
Versace lived the high life. He counted among his friends Elton John and Madonna. He moved in a circle of models, rock stars and actors. And like his friends and acquaintances, he was often talked about in hushed tones that were filled with rumor and innuendo. Perhaps it was because of stereotypes associated with his southern Italian background -- Mafia and all that. Or maybe folks simply could not fathom who was buying all of those boldly printed silk shirts, Medusa-head medallions, safety pin dresses and madame suits. It could have been the mere fact that the company had an estimated $563 million in revenue last year. He was dogged by rumors of mob connections. A 1994 story in a London newspaper talked about such a relationship. Versace sued and was awarded a settlement of $150,000 and a public apology.

When asked in March just who does buy those fabulously sleazy and wonderfully made clothes, he smiled and said that the Swiss are great customers, "They're so rich my dear, all those bankers."

In addition to the house in Miami, he had homes in New York and Milan. Just recently, entranced by the rising chic quotient of London, he had talked about looking for a place there, but joked, "I'll need a wife if I buy another house."

Versace's was one of the great, close-knit fashion families. The family-owned company was controlled by Gianni Versace, his older brother Santo and their sister, Donatella. His longtime companion was Antonio D'Amico. Versace grew up in Reggio di Calabria and learned about fashion from his mother, Francesca, who was a boutique owner and dressmaker. His father, Antonio, was an appliance salesman. After working for a series of other design houses including Complice, Callaghan and Genny, he launched his own line in March of 1978 with a military-inspired collection. It was a fast success that grew steadily through the gluttonous 80s.

Donatella was often described as Versace's muse, but over the last year or so, she had taken over design duties for the Versus secondary line. Her role reportedly increased in part because Versace was battling cancer.

He had gotten thin and pale. And when he'd walk out onto the runway at the end of a show, he lacked the energy that was so customary. "There were low times, certainly, but they never lasted," Wintour says. "I think he was worried about his illness but not being positive was not Gianni's way."

When he recovered, he seemed to be more focused on the business -- or at least more willing to talk about it. He would host little chats with journalists before his collections each season. And most recently he was thinking about the future of his business and about possibly taking the company public. "I want to make the company stable for the future," he said back in March. "I don't want to be a personal pawn for some people."

He had been watching the Ralph Lauren initial public offering with great interest and, to some degree, looking forward to the requisite road show to promote such an offering.

Trip to Washington
Versace had been expected to make a visit to Washington this fall: He was going to be honored Oct. 25 by the National Italian American Foundation, which in the past has celebrated designers Valentino and Giorgio Armani.

"That award is given generally to Italians, sometimes to Italian Americans, who have done the most to promote relationships between the United States and Italy," says Dona De Sanctis, director of communications for NIAF. "We felt he was an exciting designer who belonged in Valhalla."

The award will now be given posthumously. "We will probably ask Donatella to accept it in her brother's stead," De Sanctis says. The group will also work with the Versace family to establish a scholarship in the designer's memory.

Versace would have arrived in Washington with his usual entourage of celebrities. The city's reputation for being conservative in its fashion would not have given him pause. Even in his most startling collections, he believed that average women -- with plenty of money -- could find something to wear. He loved to tell stories about running into the 60-year-old gallery owner or the mature housewife who had incorporated some Versace piece into her wardrobe. He once quipped that he was sure that he could even dress a woman as reserved -- fashion-wise -- as Hillary Rodham Clinton. He was probably right.

Strip away the glitz and the brazen showmanship, and what you had was a man who loved and respected art, music, people and the volatility of life. And unlike so much fashion that is hellbent on either commercial viability or pretentious cachet, his clothing had guts.

"He had the wonderful nerve to do whatever he wanted to do," says Webb. "What Versace offered his customers, what he offered you was the one great . . . moment when you looked like you had it all."

© Copyright 1997 The Washington Post Company

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