Prada, Fall 2001
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In the early 1980s, Prada turned industrial black nylon into a symbol of luxury. She lured status seekers into spending stratospheric sums on humble backpacks bearing the triangular Prada insignia. With the launch of women’s ready-to-wear in 1988, she coerced the public into casting an admiring gaze on hues of puce, pea-soup green, safety orange, and a shade of brown best described as swamp water. She made wallpaper prints, doily lace, and teddy-bear fur sophisticated and smart. And she sent models on a runway power march wearing clothes inspired by blue-collar uniforms and carrying frame handbags that spoke of grandmothers and linen hankies.
“I didn’t want to be restricted to the rules [of high fashion]. I was looking at the colors and homes and other places and elements that were not part of the elitist world of my clients,” Prada says. “I also struggled instinctively against the cliché of a beautiful, rich woman.” She adds: “I have nothing against a beautiful, rich woman—just the cliché of it.”
Prada’s work reflects her own struggle with fashion, an ambivalence that many women share—particularly those in positions of power. Her style expresses a high-minded disdain for society’s restrictions and a repudiation of idealized beauty. “Those were the two topics that I realized I was always working on,” Prada says. “I realized my job is to define—well not to define because that’s so pretentious—but to understand: What does it mean? Beauty, today, for a woman?”
The Curator Wears Prada, Robin Givhan (via un–title-d)