Some of my greatest blessings and closely-held memories spring from time spent in Paris, first during a university-led summer tour, then during European excursions with my parents, then in adventures with friends and colleagues. After introducing my husband to the “Paris Experience” early in our marriage he soon became as enthusiastic as I am about it. Martin and I are eager to embrace Parish almost any time of the year, and as it would happen, our trips have often coincided with French Fashion Weeks in September, January, and in the spring with the fanfare and media storm of designer runway shows.
One Parisian afternoon during Fashion Week, as Martin and I strolled down the Left Bank next to the Seine, the unbelievable happened. I was talking about something and not paying full attention to my surroundings, but my husband was. Right in front of us were three fellow pedestrians whom I dismissed on first notice. In the middle was a black-clad man with a grey pony tail, black sunglasses and black leather finger-less gloves, flanked by two tree-top tall young men oozing chic and attitude. As I continued my monologue, Marin tuned into the scene. When we walked past the men and begged their pardons, my non-fashionista husband whispered hard in my ear, “THAT’S KARL LAGERFELD!” In that moment as Lagerfeld himself coolly turned and nodded at us, all I could think was “Wake up and shut up, Margaret! That’s HIM!!” Talk about casting a shadow over me—“throwing shade” in more current lingo—DAMN!
In case that name doesn’t ring a bell (or a loud gong) the late Karl Lagerfeld built his empire on the shoulders of Coco Chanel, the iconic French WWII-era designer whose creations forever simplified and yet elevated women’s ideas about personal style. Think skirts and trousers paired with elegantly detailed cardigan sweater-jackets, strings of pearls, gem-encrusted cuff bracelets, the ever-present silk camellia pin, and a whisper of Chanel No. 5 or No. 19 or No. 22 or Coco Mademoiselle or Gabrielle Essence. The list goes on.
After Chanel’s passing, Lagerfeld took her legacy, honored it, enhanced it if that’s even possible, and challenged new boundaries in the true spirit of Madame Chanel herself. In so doing, Lagerfeld continued to cast a huge shadow on the international fashion world from haute couture runways to the pret-a-porter/ready to wear racks of clothing in stores across the retail spectrum. Pretty heady stuff, when you consider not only women’s and men’s attire and fragrances, but fine jewelry, leather goods, world-wide boutiques and online sites. Lesser-known on the Lagerfeld landscape: his bookstore on Paris’s Rue de Lille in the 7th arrondissement, named simply 7L.
Several years ago I discovered 7L and came away with a few treasures including a little black book (of course, it’s black) called Karl on Karl. It’s a novelty read, a fun little volume of his observations on style, luxury, and life in general. One in particular intrigued me, “You can’t jump over your own shadow.”
Lagerfeld attributed that sentiment to the lifelong influence of his Prussian bloodline and upbringing, something stringent and harsh that stayed with him through the Paris years and his decades on the world stage. It wasn’t indulgent or posh or even comfortable. He accepted that shadow that he couldn’t jump over. Some things are just a part of you. They don’t go away, whether you like them or not. As Karl knew, sometimes they’re not chic and desirable, but they’re yours.
My shadow self has always been the same one: an ever-present feeling of loneliness that’s the flip side of an obviously sunny disposition and openness to embrace life. Is it because I was raised like an only child with siblings significantly older than me and a lot of time by myself? Is it because I’ve always been very independent and ready to do things my own way without understanding the loneliness that path could entail? Is it because I don’t care about fitting in as much as expressing my true self? All of the above, most likely. Would I change it if I could? Sure, but I can’t, so I’m focusing on accepting it.
The other afternoon as I stitched a needlepoint project, I decided to listen to one of my favorite music albums, Joni Mitchell’s Court and Spark from the late 1970s. It’s rife with wistful lyrics and haunting melodies with lasting messages, one of which is that you cannot ever get away from yourself, shadows and all, no matter what you do. In the song, “Down to You,” Mitchell sings, “Constant stranger, you’re a kind person, you’re a cold person too… you’re a brute, you’re an angel, you can crawl, you can fly too, it’s down to you. It all comes down to you.”
As excited as I was to see the one and only Karl Lagerfeld in the flesh walking along the Seine in Paris, the message in his little book of “Karlisms” speaks to me a lot louder than actually seeing him: “You can’t jump over your own shadow.” I walk with mine, my constant stranger always by my side, now knowing I’m not the only one with a shadow that lingers.