Hold The Frills: A Eulogy

I remember when I was growing up passing by a wedding gown shop on my way to school. When you’re a little girl you’re supposed to be enthralled by the princess-look and all the magic that goes with it. But what I saw year after year in that window was mortifying, really. Frills and laces, puffed sleeves and impossible mermaid tails, lots of beads and loads of fabric (I’ve just almost described Lady Diana’s wedding dress which I thought it was a sin!). Instead of making me dream it made me swear to myself that I would never marry looking like an ornate cabbage.

     Princess Diana buried in her own excess  
Photo:Pa Archive/PA

And then suddenly one day, the window started to change before my eyes. Less bells and whistles accompanied the mannequins, less cloth, less ornament, less of everything-even the lighting seemed different. I thought, well, after all I may not need to have my wedding gown bespoke, I can just buy it off the shelf! (author’s disclaimer: she didn’t). That was Pronovias, a world-leading wedding attire company. Made in Spain. And the creative mind behind its rebirth was Manuel Mota, who made stylish yet affordable dresses for every bride that was fed-up with tacky and couldn’t pay a seamstress. And not just for the “novias”, but also for the guests, who could wear them to other formal ceremonies as well. He even dressed the bride’s maids, an unusual phenomenon in Spain (thank God).

Unfortunately after 23 years of tireless work for Pronovias, Manuel Mota died last Tuesday at 46. He took his own life, putting a very tragic, though some might say romantic, end to a prolific career in the fashion world.

Although his name was always under the umbrella of Pronovias, many women who perhaps never knew his name have been saddened by his death, and their daughters’ loss. 

Adiós Manuel, you’ll be sorely missed.

How Spanish is Manolo?

In its native tongue, this familiar rendering of the popular name Manuel conjures up a certain “class”-based image. It could be a lorry driver’s tavern, or maybe the name of a popular matador.

It seems curious to the people of Spain that “Manolos”, when accompanied by that most mundane of articles -the - occupy such high a place in the international fashion world.

To expound on the title of this blog:  understanding the importance  of  being Spanish –or for that matter any  other nationality- is to understand a very specific attitude towards fashion. 

A name to consider: Manolo Blahnik, master “cordovan” and legendary shoe designer. Born in Santa Cruz de La Palma, Canary Islands to a Spanish mother and a Czech father, educated in Switzerland, formed in Paris, catapulted to stardom in London. How much of a Spanish influence is employed, can be discerned, in his designing of shoes? Does he have a “Spanish Style” at all?

Manolo Blahnik. Photo Michael Roberts

He spent his youth in Santa Cruz de la Palma, a volcanic island facing the coast of Morocco. His mother’s interest in learning how to make the traditional Spanish “espadrilles”, hemp and cotton sandals, by hand would have been in contrast to the ethos of a Spain immerging into the modern world.  The landscape-banana plantations and palms, exotic even to the eyes of mainland Spain-and a likely cultural cocktail at home, would surely have engraved a special character in Mr Blahnik.

Feast your eyes on his luscious illustrations, hold in your hands these real shoes inspired by beautiful things; a novel, a tree, a museum, a song, a movie, anything of beauty will do. The upbringing forges the character and the character marks the interests which influence the creative process and at the end, ala, a style is born, a design made into matter. 

There are a few good books published about his work; Manolo Blahnik Drawings, Manolo’s New Shoes and  Blahnik by Boman. A Photographic Conversation is a ravishing book with exquisite photographs of his shoes. All of them count on Mr Blahnik’s participation and the collaborations of many remarkable names in the art/fashion world, from the Herald Tribune fashion critic Suzy Menkes to the photographer Eric Boman.

I deeply regret having missed the rightly deserved exhibition which the Design Museum of London presented on the life and works of Mr. Blahnik in 2003. Much later I enjoyed Sofia Coppola’s interpretation of Antonia Fraser’s Maria Antonietta, (I just love the sly inclusion of a pair of Converse sneakers slipped in among all those taffeta pumps) where Mr Blahnik’s impeccable shoes figured largely in the costume design. It could not have been anyone else but Manolo to have undertaken such a task.

With such a universally permeable and inspirational personality as is Mr Blahnik’s, I am not sure that there is anything more Spanish than French, Italian or even British in his designs. He explained once that he didn’t really need proper training as a shoe designer because he had “very good taste". Perhaps there is a certain “Spanish” flair in that claim? More easily argued when pronounced with such an accent by a guy named Manolo.

Muchas gracias por no cambiar su nombre Mr Blahnik!