Epicenter of his own invention
Marc JACOBS tilts his head to the sun like a solar panel and chain-smokes by the pool at Chateau Marmont. It’s a hot Sunday afternoon and the designer has alighted in L.A. to attend the Takashi Murakami gala at the Geffen Contemporary at MOCA that night, where he will be honored. Though he’s acting decidedly low key, people squint and nod his way.
And it’s not just because he dyed his crew cut cobalt blue or has taken to wearing enough Harry Winston diamonds in his ears to finance an Italian wedding. Nor is it the recent weight loss, the shirt open at half-mast or that flawless tan.
Jacobs is an attention epicenter of his own volition. In the last two months, his actions, comments and exhibitionism (he has posed nude for Out magazine) have spilled enough ink to dye that cartoonish coif. And then there are the new tattoos: a red M&M; on his forearm and Carol Anne from “Poltergeist” splayed across his back, to name a few.
There have been catty whispers of a midlife crisis.
If so, one can only marvel that Jacobs, 44, finds the time and energy to act out. (Not to mention work out, which he did for two hours this morning at Crunch.) He’s at the helm of the most important and influential and influential American fashion brand, and he simultaneously designs for Louis Vuitton, the crown jewel of the $62-billion luxury conglomerate LVMH. Add to that his stint in rehab in March.
“Sometimes, I feel totally exhausted,” he concedes, with a sigh and a smile. “Work is 99% of my life, but it is where I am happiest and safest. I like to be productive and creative.”
With all that work, there are delays, such as the two-hour tardiness of his New York show in September for his eponymous label’s Spring 2008 collection. Some critics fumed and Jacobs responded equally vehemently -- in an article printed in Women’s Wear Daily -- by threatening to show his line in Paris instead of New York.
At this point, he’s still on the fence. “They have moved the shows up earlier again, and so I’m not sure where we will show the fall collection,” he says. There is no coyness in his tone when he ominously adds: “If we show it.”
Then, there was the tongue thrust. At the Louis Vuitton show in Paris a month later, Jacobs took his bow and then seemed to wag his tongue in the direction of a prominent fashion critic -- Suzy Menkes of the International Herald Tribune -- who had panned his N.Y. fashion show.
“That’s ridiculous! It was dark, and I couldn’t see who was sitting in the front row,” says Jacobs, who claims that he was mimicking the tongue-wagging SpongeBob on the video suitcase he carried on the catwalk. “I am playful, but I am not that immature or a vindictive person.”
Nor does he shy from controversy. The MOCA exhibit of Murakami’s work has spurred polemics about the collision of art and commerce. A sleek pop-up Louis Vuitton store on the second floor looms in the center of the installation.
“I have no patience for that outrage,” says Jacobs, who brought Murakami to LV as a collaborator in 2002. “People who participate in the store will be watched by other people. It creates all these interesting layers.”
It also creates more dollars for the luxury brand, of course. At the gala, Louis Vuitton president Yves Carcelle mused on being in the eye of the materialist maelstrom. “A gift shop at the entrance would have been ridiculous,” he says. (It was MOCA’s idea to install a boutique.)
Asked about Jacobs’ cheeky behavior, Carcelle -- who hired him as artistic director in 1997 -- chuckles. “The Marc of today is much more mature, though he does play the bad boy,” he says. “Everyone has the right to have a bad day under such pressure.” In other words, c’est le Marc.
In February, Sundance will air the documentary “Marc Jacobs & Louis Vuitton,” an in-depth peek at his creative process. Jacobs emerges as a capricious dervish who is a warm and generous collaborator. He’s equally spirited, but surprisingly forthright and very friendly in person.
“I have such security and self-esteem issues,” he says, as his caramel eyes tear up. “To see this film was both emotionally disturbing and, well, very nice. I look at it and think, ‘I’m a pretty good guy, and I work hard.’ ”
Later, Jacobs pumps his fist as Kanye West performs “Gold Digger” at the gala, looking happier amid the art and celebrity crowd than in the fashion world. New Marc -- who loves to shop and do shots of wheat grass -- fits well in L.A.
When he stands to accept a gift from Murakami, he starts to emote and then suddenly says, “I know this isn’t the Academy Awards. Why am I doing this?” Because life is a stage, of course. Act accordingly.
