The Corniche boutique in Edinburgh is selling its vintage archive, which has been amassed over the 50-plus years of the store’s existence by its owner Nina Grant. Stumbling across that archive quite recently was a jaw dropping experience. Unassumingly hanging from two racks, discreetly removed from the store’s current stock, was so much rarity—and almost all of it minty-mint unworn, with a few things perhaps worn only a matter of a few times, at most.
Deep breath, here we go: Rarer than hen’s teeth Kansai Yamamoto and Issey Miyake from the 1970s; equally rare pieces from the ’80s by the late London designer John Flett, a contemporary of John Galliano’s, and someone who would have been a megastar had he not tragically passed away when he was just 27 years old; and, pristine Vivienne Westwood and Jean Paul Gaultier from the ’90s—though if you want a Westwood corset, apologies, that’s already been snapped up.
Take another deep breath, because that was just the start. Further riffling reveals: late ’90s Alexander McQueen, back when he was doing those epic and electrifying shows in London; more cultish Brit labels from the ’80s like PX and Swanky Modes; Yohji Yamamoto at his most poetic/conceptual; conversely, Thierry Mugler at his most wasp waisted/curvaceous; the hypnotic clubby glamour of Rifat Ozbek; and, plenty of Comme des Garçons pieces exemplifying Rei Kawakubo’s fearlessness with the cutting shears. And all of this in a friendly and unpretentious shop, in a city where you are rarely more than 20 paces away from the skirl of bagpipes. Also of note: What’s on sale right now in store and online is only the tip of the archive-berg. Days after Grant and I spoke, she was busy unearthing more.
But let’s pull up for a second. I have my own history with Corniche. I bought for the princely sum of £88 a black Bodymap coat when I was a 17 year old high school student in the ’80s. (I saved the money to buy it by stacking shelves in a supermarket after school.) Grant was in the store the day I bought that coat, and has been there almost every time I’ve dropped by since. That’s the thing with a store like Corniche: You keep coming back because every visit reveals a designer you don’t know amidst the many labels you do.
Grant is one of the unsung stars of retailing, the kind of fearless visionary who has supported so many of the most creative designers of the last few decades. “I’ve been known to cry when I find something I really love,” she says, laughing. “When I visit designers, I ask to see everything, even what’s in the cupboards, because oftentimes it has been put away because they don’t think they will be able to sell it.” Grant took some time one gray Edinburgh day before New Year’s to chat about who is in the archive, the new designers who will make it into it one day, and her own story, which is as compelling as anything you’ll find hanging in her store.
Why did you start selling your archive now, Nina?
It just feels like the right time. I can’t really explain it. There’s not a plan. There has never really been a plan. I have never bought anything just to make money. I am quite proud to have gone down that route—and survived. You go online and you can see that people are selling the bread and butter labels and there might be a few of those that I am doing, and I always think it must be heartbreaking for those designers to see what they’ve done slashed in the sales.
Instead of cutting the prices of things at the end of a season you put them in your archive instead!
I am very emotional about clothes. They are stories. They are memories. So, yes, I am emotional about what I sell. Like John Flett: I remember seeing him selling his collections at Olympia in London. [Olympia was an exhibition space where the designer jeunesse doree sold their wares back in the day.] He was avant garde, yet what he did was also very figure hugging; he loved a woman s figure. I found a fringed skirt that he designed and…there was a huge amount of emotion at seeing this treasure. He was so clever. I also found some Copperwheat Blundell jackets. Most people would have just slashed the price tags and put them in the sale, but we kept them instead. It wasn’t like we didn’t need the money, but we knew those jackets were special, same as the Flett skirt. I could put it in the store now and it would look right. It’s timeless. That’s the important thing about buying a collection: Finding that timelessness.
Before I ask you about who and what you’re selling from the archive, I’d love to know a bit more about your history, and how you founded Corniche?
It all started in the early 1960s when I won the British National Twist competition, which was held in London. I had to make my own dress. With the prize money I went straight to Mary Quant and bought the iconic black/white dress/coat with a matching hat which I still have today. This outfit stopped the traffic. It was quite something for the time. Even in London. Then I left Arbroath [a northern Scottish fishing town] and ran away to the big city; I was a beatnik! Then my brother Bill and I [the renowned British art dealer Anthony d’Offay called the siblings the enfants terribles] bought a derelict nine-room flat in Edinburgh. Through contacts at the Traverse Theatre [then the city’s home of radical artistic goings-on] Lindsey Kemp, the mime artist, came to stay. He was followed by David Bowie and then endless visits from other musicians that were around at the time including Marc Bolan. That led to the start of making loon pants in bright crushed velvet for bands and the brave men of Edinburgh.
So you were designing before you were retailing?
I found some of my original designs made in the ’70s and they were actually really good! The first shop I had [in the early ‘70s] was tiny but it had a large basement which was a hive of activity with my assistant Enza and I cutting and making made-to-measure. After a few days the customer would come back for a fitting which I made Enza do as I was terrified that things may have gone wrong! We were doing mostly leather and suede at this time, in stunning colors like emerald and fuchsia and, of course, black. I would take the train to London to the Alma leather warehouse. I loved walking in there and seeing all the bales of leather in mindblowing colors for the time. And I have bales of cloth lying around from the ’70s including Hurel jersey. [Public service announcement for the UK’s fashion schools: How about a design project upcycling some of Grant’s trove of fabrics?]
How did you go from doing your made-to-measure to selling designer clothing?
At the time of my tiny shop my brother was in Tokyo and was able to go to the catwalk shows of Kansai, Issey, etc, and he bought pieces straight from the catwalk and he sent the delights over to me. I had a bentwood rack with about 10 things hanging on it, and I put some things in the windows. All the guys who ran the jeans stores in Edinburgh came by and just laughed. But I have always said if they’re laughing at our windows we are doing something right. I [also] met Michiko Koshino [the London-based Japanese designer]; her beetle coats were the must-have in London, so I bought those and they were very successful. Then we moved to [her current location on] Jeffrey Street [in 1982], and the business just grew organically.
How was the reaction to what you were doing? Selling all of these incredibly avant garde designers in what was then a pretty conservative city?
Well, it was slow, very slow! But saying that, one of my best friends has shopped with me since the very beginning, and some people who are from Edinburgh, locals, were just in and they have shopped with me since the ’80s. There was a market for me, and we always had a vast choice, from Bodymap to Mugler, a hugely diverse offering. I don’t really like to use the word commercial, but I guess we are: We have always sold, and we’re still here. [As for the archive sale,] a Bodymap cardigan went to someone young, a pair of Yohji trousers to a customer in New Zealand, and one of the Japanese jackets to a girl visiting from China. We are pretty ageless.
You mentioned Mugler; it was a bit more surprising for me to hear that was in the mix….
Mugler I loved. Very sexy and fitted, which is much more my style. But at the same time we had someone like Katharine Hamnett, who was an incredible seller. Hamnett reminds me of the time I was on some late night broadcast thing, talking about fashion, and I went with a local hairdresser, Brian Drumm, and my then-boyfriend Sandy from the [shoe company] Schuh. It went down like a ton of bricks. Brian said to me during it, ‘Who in Edinburgh is going to wear white trousers [by Katharine Hamnett], with our weather?!’ Afterwards, they left in their Porsches and I walked up to the bar Buster Browns. That attitude shows what I was up against [laughs], but still those Hamnett trousers sold really well.
When I first came across your shop I remember you had so many important and influential British designers: Hamnett, Bodymap, John Flett, PX…. Looking back to that time, I get the feeling you were seeking out newness all the time.
Yes, the hunt, you’re absolutely right. I worked with one person who represented young designers in London, and would fly around their stalls at Camden market. We had Olympia in the ’80s, but there is nothing like that now. Just private showrooms where everything is more commercial. I think I found Bodymap at Olympia; I thought it was fantastic. And Hamnett was so wearable, I knew she would be a winner immediately—the heavy cotton drill, the silk shirts which Bowie and Jagger wore.
Another British designer you’re selling in the sale, and have had a long relationship with, is Vivienne Westwood. Talk to me about her.
I tried to buy Vivienne years and years ago, and went out to the East End of London, tramping the streets, up the rickety stairs, and it was chaos. I did an order but never got it! But we have worked with Westwood for a long time, and in fact, there’s that famous quote where she said, in a moment where she maybe wasn’t doing quite so well, ‘Well, at least Corniche is still buying my clothes’. Vivienne was a genius. She didn’t compromise, that’s for sure. This jacket [Grant pulls out a gray astrakhan effect jacket you see on Christy Turlington in this runway image] couldn’t be in any more of a typical silhouette. The enamel buttons…I’ve rarely seen those. It’s everything Westwood. There is nothing I would change about it. It is a stunner. Her knitwear with the orb logo, which looks like nothing now, but with the corsets she did in the ’80s…incredible. It is like I grew up with her. And I loved the chaos of the whole thing.
And you were pretty early with McQueen…..
I wouldn’t have changed that time for anything. I just loved it. His clothes just sum it up. McQueen shows were theater. You felt like you’d seen something special. I didn’t do a whole lot of McQueen though. It was a difficult cut. You needed a long body. It wasn’t the easiest. But that season [fall 1997] of the Prince of Wales checks with the roses…. It was a bit like looking at art, wasn’t it? The same way you can look at a painting and just know.
Speaking of what you love: Rei Kawakubo and Comme des Garçons.
Well, the Comme des Garçons witches collection [spring 2016], that was incredible, that was a very serious buy. Rei would be standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at the showroom. I loved Comme, absolutely loved it. This jacket [in wool, with a snaking zipper and an explosion of fabric at the neck] is beautiful, so clever. I think it is even more clever than anything Westwood has ever done. To get that figure-hugging shape and to have that fabric popping up…. It’s engineering, absolutely. This jacket is probably my favorite of what we are selling from the archive. At home, I only have one wardrobe, but it is pretty packed, and I have kept all of my beautiful pieces, I don’t throw them out. And I have always felt good in a Comme jacket.
What about the designers you’re selling now? Who are the future stars of the archive?
Aleksandr Manamis from Copenhagen—the designer found a painting in an antique shop and used it for the fabric print, and to me the pieces look like works of art. There’s heart and soul in it. I am a huge fan; there’s always a lovely story. And Taiwanese designer Chiahung Su, with the hand-dyed artisanal fabrics, the buttons are old coins, the linings are from kimonos from the 1940s. Every piece is different. They’re young, but if they’d been around in the ‘80s the clothes would have fit right in here.
Visit Corniche at 2 Jeffrey St, Edinburgh EH1 1DT, UK.