Tim Blanks Remembers L’Wren Scott-------
STONES LOVER FOUND HANGED, the headlines shouted in letters two inches high this morning. The U.K. tabloids had already subsumed yesterday’s tragedy into the longest-running saga in rock ‘n’ roll. As, first, stylist to the stars, and then consort to Sir Mick, L’Wren Scott was well-practiced in the intricacies of celebrity, so she would have understood those headlines, maybe even managed a sardonic aside about them.
From all I ever saw, it was hard to imagine anything that would faze her. She had the unflappable calm of a film noir femme fatale, never a hair out of place, knife-edge precise in her sharply tailored clothes, with the Mojave-dry drollery to match. She was a brilliant time, as brilliant, in fact, as the time she herself always seemed to be having.
L’Wren was also clearly a perfectionist. A perfectionist demands perfection, first and foremost, from herself. Today’s reports suggest the mounting business losses that were threatening the closure of her company had plunged her into the depression that unhinged her from life on Monday morning. It’s difficult to jibe that notion with the woman I knew. Like I said, unflappable, always amusing and amused…and also so entranced by the finest things in life that it’s hard to imagine L’Wren unable to find escape—and relief—from prosaic business woes in the connoisseurship of the beauty that inspired her. Consider the last two shows she staged in London, the embroidered Japonaiserie, the Klimtian gilding so perfect to the last stitch. Hindsight offers hints of otherness. She sounded a little unsettled by just how badly she’d broken the bank with her Spring 2014 collection. But every last cent was there on the catwalk.
The tabloids will co-opt her story with another narrative, but that last collection stands as a beautiful—and beautifully appropriate—memorial to L’Wren Scott, designer.