The Good Life
It is all well and good for Ralph Lauren to say, “For me, what works are looks that go on forever.”
But what about the men and women with private archives of his clothes, whose closet rods sag under the weight of the Indian blanket jacket with tooled silver buttons (1991), the collarless, striped silk shirt (1987), the suede jeans (1986), the Gatsby tuxedo (1974), the velvet debutante gown (1992) and Annie Hall tweed jacket (1977)? How much timeless style can a dedicated hoarder handle?
“We go through it every year--should we keep all this stuff at home or give it away?” says Jerry Magnin, who owns the Beverly Hills Ralph Lauren / Polo store. His wife and business partner, Lois, is the kind of natural beauty who dwells in Lauren’s imagination when he creates. (“I always think about, ‘Who’s my girl? What does she look like? Who’s she with?’ ” the designer says.) Ten years ago, Lois was with her newborn son and worrying about looking right in her new ankle-length black cashmere turtleneck dress. “I’ll wear it again this year, I’m sure,” she says. “With Ralph’s clothes, I always wind up keeping them and I’m never sorry,”
Lauren fans understand classic clothes to be those things that never get stuffed into bags destined for the thrift shop. That’s as good a definition as any, and it goes some distance toward explaining how Lauren has stayed at the forefront of American fashion, and been one of its greatest exporters, for almost 30 years.
No other 20th century American designer has been as influential as this perpetually tan, often sockless 56-year-old with the soft voice tinged by a New York accent. Would there be a Gap, a Banana Republic, a Talbot’s, a J. Crew or Tommy Hilfiger if Lauren hadn’t taken familiar American and British styles and presented them in worlds consumers longed to inhabit?
As casual style and the demand for value began to eclipse high fashion in most of the country in the late ‘80s, companies turned to Ralph Lauren, a master of relaxed yet luxurious clothes. When they aped his looks, from rugged to aristocratic, he was forced to expand his $4.4-billion business to recapture customers drawn to less expensive imitators. This year, he introduced two new lines: Polo Jeans Co., sportswear aimed at young men and women, and Lauren, traditional women’s clothing priced lower than the top-of-the-line Collection.
English country estates, Western ski lodges and wind-swept Cape Cod beaches are the sets on which Lauren has always staged visually opulent, romantic fantasies. Those backdrops paved the way for new designs that stray far from the grand manor.
“I always see a movie running in my head,” Lauren says during a recent interview in his baronial New York office. “The movie is not extreme. I’m the star of the movie and it’s a vision of what a particular world represents to me. I love certain environments and a certain taste level.”
In 1967, he named his company Polo, after the rich man’s game, and revolutionized advertising by marketing a lifestyle to sell a product. The concept and its execution were bold. Until Lauren inserted bulky portfolios in magazines, atmospheric tableaux of an ideal world graced by handsome people (they looked more like well-bred families than mere models), fashion ads had been bought one page at a time.
“Everyone wants to reach for something a little higher,” says Michael Gould, chairman and CEO of Bloomingdale’s, which buys more from Lauren than any other supplier. “Part of Ralph’s genius is he understood that life is aspirational.”
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The first Polo shop opened in London in 1981, followed by sites in Beverly Hills and, five years later, Paris. Today, there are 130 Polo / Ralph Lauren stores worldwide, as well as boutiques within department stores across the country. The flagship store on Madison Avenue is in one of New York City’s historic mansions, faithfully and lovingly restored. Its curved mahogany staircase has been duplicated on Rodeo Drive, where the soundtrack plays classical music, romantic standards and jazz. An irresistible clutter of props, artifacts from Lauren’s dreams, nestle among the clothes.
“Manufacturers make products,” he says. “I make dreams. When I was growing up, I wanted those dreams for myself. Now I live them. I don’t see clothes. I see the world.”
Getting dressed in the world Lauren sees isn’t difficult. “He makes the perfect blazer, the perfect trouser, beautiful coats,” says Saks Fifth Avenue President Rose Marie Bravo.
Lauren admits that he didn’t originate these enduring wardrobe elements. “I was inspired by Brooks Brothers when I was a kid. I learned from them. I didn’t create chinos. I didn’t create loafers. I wasn’t the first guy to do those things. There was a LaCoste shirt before there was a Polo shirt, and it was a classic. But it only came in four colors. I brought it out in 16 colors and used different fabric. I made a contribution by expanding ideas, expanding concepts and building a whole world in a different way.”
In addition to Brooks Brothers’ Ivy League uniforms, Lauren finds inspiration in the gods of American mythology: the cowboy, the captain of industry, the patrician athlete and his society belle. He internalized style as personified by Hollywood icons like Gary Cooper, Steve McQueen, Grace Kelly and James Dean, then reinterpreted it.
“It’s easy to parody him, but ultimately, like Martha Stewart, there’s real talent there, and real merchandising talent,” says a retailer whose store does not carry Lauren’s clothes. “His eye is like a steel trap for the nuances of American clothing, which is really the best stuff in the world. He does jeans, denim shirts, the best antique cowboy boots, but he’s able to take away the corny associations and just make them great.”
By the late ‘80s, with American dress code relaxing, other companies began offering their own polos, khakis and blazers at prices dramatically lower than Lauren’s.
“I see my stuff being bought every day, under other people’s labels,” he says. “I never thought it was flattering to be imitated. I’ve worked too hard for that. I asked myself, ‘Why should I let someone else copy what I’m doing? Why not do it myself?’ . . . There is a customer who hasn’t been able to afford Ralph Lauren who has good taste.”
Polo Jeans Co. represents, the designer says, “a jeans mentality.” In other words, fleece pullovers and tight, zip-front bicycle shirts complement traditional denim pieces, as well as pleather, for an urban sensibility. Prices range from $22 for a T-shirt to $425 for a leather jacket. The stores that carry the instantly successful new Lauren line say they appreciate the designer’s attempt to lure back shoppers who know and like his merchandise from the outlet stores. A wool jacket costs $220, cotton chinos, $52.
“One of the biggest challenges we have is addressing what is wearable,” Bloomingdale’s Gould says. “There’s always a customer for classics, and the fact that the new Lauren line is wearable, reasonably priced and selling so well has to be saying something about what the customer is thinking.”
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Twenty years ago, a 45-year-old woman was rarely in as good shape as a 30-year-old. She didn’t wear jeans anymore and was less interested in functional clothes for active sports.
“Women have changed. There is an energy that influences what they buy. At one time a designer was one thing, and if you were someone who sold jeans or ski clothes, that meant something else. Today you have to move on every level.”
In another major business move this year, Lauren bought his signature collection business back from the company that had licensed it. Ownership of the division represented the ability to control, and improve the business, which had been plagued by production and delivery problems.
“We always loved the clothes . . ,” says Bravo of Saks, “but the shipping problems were maddening. We knew that once he would be intimately involved in the business aspects of the collection, the problems would be solved. He is someone who demands perfection, and he gets it.”
She isn’t the only one to have noticed how Lauren’s renowned attention to detail produces results.
“I always wanted to be a movie star,” Lauren admits. “Now I think my life is so much better than what I wanted. A few years before he died, Cary Grant came to my house for lunch with his wife. He said he’d always wished he was Cary Grant, and that my life is the real example of what people think his was. The interesting thing is, I’m more Cary Grant than Cary Grant.”
That seemingly idyllic life, complete with five homes (a Fifth Avenue apartment, a Long Island beach house, a 12,400-acre Colorado ranch, an estate in Westchester, N.Y., and a Jamaican retreat), two sons and a daughter in their 20s, and a 31-year marriage to a woman who is still one of the best models for his clothes, also contributes considerably to Lauren’s work. “What I do is what I am,” he explains. “What I design is what I live. I like sports, I like riding, I like the West. I collect classic cars.”
It seems fitting that Lauren, who so successfully portrays an image of the American good life, has one himself.
“I have a great life. I have lots of material things, and I’m thrilled with that. But when you sit down, and you think about what do you feel good about, you have to be able to say, ‘I feel good inside. I like my job. I like what I create. I like the newness and freshness of what happens. I love that I’ve been able to do what I believed in and be successful at it.”
