Ahead of accepting the National Arts Club’s Medal of Honor in Fashion, the iconic designer talks about the years she spent as Anne Klein’s assistant and how she ended up as head designer for the brand. This story is part of My First Job in Fashion , interviews with fashion insiders on the roles that made them who they are today.
I was born into fashion. My father was a tailor; he made suits for men. My mother was in fashion, too — she was a model. Growing up, I swore I would never be on New York’s Seventh Avenue. I wanted to be a singer like Barbra Streisand and a dancer like Martha Graham. I am very active. I’d jump on tables; hang off trees. I am a nature girl. So I’ve also had a little problem with breaking my limbs — I’m a little accident-prone. I’ve put on more fashion shows in a wheelchair than I’d like to admit.
I ended up going to Parsons School of Design, where I failed at draping and they said I’d never be a fashion designer. But Anne Klein hired me in my second year, when I was 21. I remember carrying all of my work for her to see, all of my sketches, and she said, “Walk for me.” She thought I was a model because I was tall. I said, “I am not a model, but a designer.” She looked through my portfolio and hired me.
I had to get the coffee for everybody; I’d make it strong or weak, depending on what time I wanted to leave the studio. I remember when I first walked into the studio, I’d never seen so many clothes in my life. Why do people have all these clothes? I don’t understand it. I wear the same clothes every single day. I want to be comfortable.
Anyway, nine months later, Anne fired me. So I went to work for Patti Cappalli, who had a sportswear line called Addenda. Patti said to me, “Get your passport, we’re going to Saint-Tropez.” We went to Saint-Tropez, and then we went to Paris; we were looking for fabrics, and it was incredible, but after a while, I felt it wasn’t right for me. The first collection I did for Patti was jeans and T-shirts, because her store was on the Broadway side, whereas Anne’s was on Seventh Avenue. Seventh Avenue had a special place in my heart, too, because of my family’s history — my father’s tailoring workshop used to be there.
When we got back from Paris with Patti, I wrote a letter to Anne saying that I’d like to come back. And she took me back. But this second time, I went to work for Anne, she had fired all the designers — it was just me. And to make matters even more difficult, we went back to Paris for the Battle of Versailles.
I was five months pregnant then. Anne was the only woman designer taking part, and, of course, all the guys put us down in the basement to work. The French were holding all the cards — they had the Kit Kat Club and Rudolf Nureyev, and each show was more beautiful than the last.
Americans only got to use the place at 10pm. There was no tea, no coffee, nothing. It was late November, and the palace wasn’t heated — we were freezing our butts off. The curtain that was done in the back didn’t touch the floor — Kaye Thompson, who worked with Halston, fixed it. But we had Liza Minnelli and all the Black models onstage.
Anne was the first one to present. My job was on the floor, helping the models change clothes between looks — it was all wild skirts and tops, I’d just pull them on and pull them off. The French audience was shocked. Back then, most clothes had a lot of buttons, button after button after button. And we’d just shown clothes you could easily throw on and take off. It was so fun and so cool.
A few months later, in March 1974, Anne died of breast cancer. We all knew she was ill, but she didn’t like to talk about it. I had given birth to my daughter just two days before. I remember the last time I spoke to Anne, I was having contractions. We were trying to figure out how many buttons we needed to put on this navy blue coat.
The day after I gave birth, I got a call from Tomio Taki, who ran the company that owned Anne Klein back then. He called me and said, “You’ve got to get to work.” I said, “I can’t get to work. I just had a 10lb baby girl.” But he explained there was no one else who could do the job, because Anne was in hospital and we had a collection to make.
At that point, I had no desire to be a designer. I was going to stay home and be a mother. After I got discharged, some people from Anne Klein visited me at the house that I had just moved into. I thought they were coming to see the baby. I had food ready and was sitting on a big donut. But at 9am, they all came in with the half-finished collection. That’s when we got the call that Anne had passed away.
I had no clue she was so sick. I pulled out my cigarettes, left the house, and got in the car thinking I was going to see Anne. It was not even discussable. She was like my mother — the closest person to me. We traveled the world together and had the best adventures.
Like the time we drove to Saint Moritz to meet with a sweater manufacturer, with Anne’s mannequin secured to the top of our little car. We had a plan to go to the business meeting and then go skiing. Anne and I were wearing floor-length fox fur coats that we had just designed. Now, Anne’s little and I’m tall. I wore short-shorts and a big belt with stones on it, and over-the-knee boots. The whole thing. Anne was much more conservative, she wore just a beautiful full-length coat. Mine was silver, and I looked crazy. Gunther Oppenheim, Anne’s husband, took one look at me and said: “What are you doing, you can’t wear that!” So we went to the store and I bought a taxi cab yellow fake fur coat, instead.
Liza [a member of the Anne Klein team] was a tremendous help for me on the first show I had to do after Anne’s passing. I would say it’s my favorite collection I’ve ever done. It was unique and individual — of shearling coats and velvet, leather and suede. It was everything. It went into the windows of Bonwit Teller on Fifth Avenue.
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Louis Dell’Olio, who I went to Parsons with, came in to help me on the third collection. We worked together for the next 10 years, until I left to create my own brand in 1984. At the time, I had just come up with the Seven Easy Pieces capsule, and that’s all I wanted to design, alongside Anne Klein. But Tomio Taki asked me to fully leave Anne Klein to start my own company, which I officially did in 1985.
It’s crazy, but I ended up designing for Anne Klein longer than Anne Klein herself. One business lesson I took from Anne and carried with me throughout is working during the day and designing at night. Which is a very bad lesson, but I guess it worked for me.
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