Vogue on Coco Chanel by Bronwyn Cosgrave

Vogue (1917-1918)

Photographed by Horst P. Horst

Gertrude Lawrence photographed by Cecil Beaton (1929)

Hand-tinted photograph of Coco Chanel (circa 1910)

Illustrated by Lee Creelman Erickson

Illustrated by Bouche | Vogue, September 1957

Photographed by Horst | Creation for the Ballet Russe de Monte Carlo (1939)

 

Photographed by Arnaud de Rosnay | Marisa Berenson

Photographed by Suzy Parker | Chanel, 1954

Photographed by Cecil Beaton | Coco Chanel (1965)

Photo credits: Vogue on Coco Chanel by Bronwyn Cosgrave

Who can think of fashion without Chanel in it? Who doesn’t know the little black dress, the long pearl necklaces, the tweed jacket, quilted bag, black toe cap and thick, low heels and the No. 5? Presumably, no one, except maybe for some with no sense of due style diligence, for an answer to a question like this is more likely positive but uncertain. 

I, on the other hand, have always been persistent and dedicated to the study of style. I, for once, dreamt of working for Vogue, live in Paris and wear Chanel as part of my everyday work wardrobe. I always say I will walk the streets with kitten heeled shoes on my feet, in my LBD. My No. 5, wafting. I carry with me a signboard of ‘Understated but never over elegant’. I will spend my nights alone, maybe a cigar on my right hand and a Chanel boucle green and multi-color gold button coat to keep me company or a tiny slice of opera gateau. I don’t know. Or maybe, I will not spend the night alone just like last night and some nights when I misbehaved. We will talk, long serious talks that might end up in muffled sounds and then laughter. We will get bored at past midnight. He will light a cigarette and I will opt for a bag of tea. Then we will resume with the talking and the rest is up to us.  

Yet, no one knows, no one really knows what truly happened on that night. I really do not think of the four-letter F word as most might expect of me. I poured myself on another F and in return, I let it devour me, piece by piece, leaving me nothing but a tiny spirit. But as I have said, no one really knows and maybe no one really cares or understands but of course maybe someone as potentially as you.

What am I saying here is, the world may not see nor will feel the weight of my last night’s rendezvous, my attempt to somehow cut the invisible thread that separates substance from form, lessons of money and minaudiere. Nothing will be blown out of proportion, I know. And it might not even produce secondary cosmic rays. But just like Coco Chanel, setting women free from the oppression of the corset and Bronwyn Cosgrave, Cecil Beaton, David Bailey and other celebrated photographers and illustrators featured in this book, I want humanity to be free to realize that the fashion industry is more than what most purport it to be. - AC