With due prostration and heartfelt grief I dedicate the following to the memory of L’Wren Scott. And to those who hold that this is uncalled for, insulting even, I answer: yes, it is, and so I beg you, allow me, bear with a woman writing, struggling to make sense of the things that so inexplicably affect her. And fuck off. Scott never knew of my existence. I didn’t of hers, up to the moment, when, shortly before I started working on a series of stories, I read a news item, dated March 18, 2014 (a Monday), reporting her tragic death. If my ignorance of L’Wren Scott was such that I had not even been aware that an actual person went by this beautiful name, I knew everything a woman needs and ought to know – cut, fit, quality – about the L’Wren Scott fashion label, now defunct. I have a perfect body, and I own four of her dresses (and a skirt), and they (and the skirt) are among my wardrobe favorites, because they are cut for perfect bodies. When I consider the perfect dresses in my walkthrough closet they signal loneliness, a loneliness into which Scott’s expansion to the greedy eye of the world seems to have collapsed. It is just a sentiment I have, and I cannot quite explain it, or even vouch for its genuineness, which is dubious, as is true for all my emotions and most of my words. So often we want to mean so much to others, and we just cannot, cannot even come near, cannot even make our longing for nearness known. Don’t you feel that way, sometimes?
For diversion I started an email conversation with my friend who owns the loft at Union Square. She had sent me a Mail Online link (https://www.dailymail.co.uk; readers are kindly dissuaded from visiting this website of the ruthlessly populist Daily Mail and Mail on Sunday) to a health item extolling the medicinal blessings of caffeine to migraine patients. At the time I suffered from frequent spells of migraine (timed, not prompted, except by long-distance travel), but – or rather: hence – it didn’t come as news to me that a moderate intake of coffee has some mitigating effect. As I explained to my friend, coffee doesn’t do anything once the migraine is full-blown (nothing does), nor is it (or anything else) suited to prevent it from reaching that stage. But once the attack is subsiding in accordance with its own pattern coffee does seem to speed up full recovery (as do, more likely than not, other substances). My friend didn’t comment on this – herself not being a migraine sufferer, why would she? – and our email conversation changed tracks to focus on the demise of L’Wren Scott, which I had found mentioned in the “Don’t Miss” sidebar of the Mail Online health article, furnished with links to further reports.
Among my favorite wardrobe pieces I count two midi length dresses and a high-waisted midi length skirt by L’Wren Scott. They are quite fitted and very becoming to my tall and slim silhouette. Not given to following society news, the vicissitudes of famous people and fashion blogs (as opposed to buying expensive clothing, which I stock in enormous amounts), I had no idea that L’Wren Scott is a name an actual person went by (as was unveiled in the Mail Online report, she substituted L’Wren for her given name Luann). She was a former fashion model and the girlfriend of Mick Jagger, who (Mick) was in Aussie, about to rock it, at the time of her death. Scott died in suicide, a thing (suicide) I’ve been naturally, rationally and consistently relating to since my adolescence. She had strangled herself with a scarf tied to a doorknob. I cannot quite picture that MO (even if I have pictured, and carried out trial runs on, so many others). According to the Mail Online it was “revealed” [and I think the article said: on Facebook, which I avoid as I would the plague] that she was embarrassed about her failing business and owed more than $ 6 million to creditors.” $ 6 million isn’t a lot, one is tempted to think, not in L’Wren Scott’s business, not with her talent and the label’s reputation and its prospects in the luxury market. But from my own experience I know that there is a lot more depth and complexity to financial troubles, and the emotions they rouse, than meets the eye. And the trouble appeared to be more than just financial in nature. It was reported that Scott had “harmed herself” not long before and that she had had a history of depression.
I experienced a feeling of guilt, which I could not, cannot, explain, and I immediately ordered a L’Wren Scott sleeveless purple silk-satin dress that sold on Net-A-Porter, the last one they had in an It 40 (a US 4), for just over $2,500. It’s in the picture that goes with this post. Oughtn’t I have expressed, however, somehow, perhaps even signed up to some form of the so-called social media to express, my intense admiration for L’Wren Scott’s couture, and, while at it, pointed out that Victoria Beckham’s body-consciously cut dresses (I proudly own two) owe every inch avoided in the waist and through the hips to her? Could I have made a difference?
Later that same day (March 18, 2014) I called my favorite salesperson at my favorite Dolce & Gabbana store and told him how upset I was and that I had paid tribute to L’Wren Scott by purchasing a $2,500 dress carrying her label. He commisserated over her death but thought it apposite to add that he wasn’t particularly partial to L’Wren Scott’s line of clothing.
Well, fashion is a tough business, and, being part of it, in the competitor’s ranks, one has got to stand one’s ground, even if one’s part is that of a shop assistant.