I am very happy to learn that Pierre Cardin had already decided to use me ,sight unseen, from the Mademoiselle cover and layouts. "I must have ze Super Chick," he has told Francois Lano, referring to my recent spread in Mademoiselle where I portrayed a Space Creature. Everything is about Outer Space and Super Heroes this year. It is all new, never before explored territory.

I am so excited to get to work for the legendary  Pierre Cardin.. He feels that I have the androgynous figure he prefers to show off the immaculate, sleek tailoring, that he has perfected, and that my futuristic space heroine image  has the right vision for his new line. He will make new outfits on me, and perfect some that he had already developed.

I am so glad to learn that my pals Ulla Bomser, Missy Prowell, Wallis Franken and, Alana Collins have been booked too. At least I will have somebody to talk to, I think as I stroll rapidly down the Rue Tronchet, flanked on the south by the incredible Madeleine, a church that looks like a Greek Temple. I stop for a few minutes to check out "La Baggagerie", a boutique that has the most original handbags. I make a mental note to get one next time I go to the agency. Then I look into Vog, another fab boutique. The prices are not bad! The franc is traded at 5 to one US dollar.

I look for a taxi but there do not seem to be any around. In Paris, you don’t flag cabs down like in New
York. You have to find a taxi stand and wait in line. I am in a terrible hurry. I don't dare be late, so I go to the head of the line, hoping to use some charm to convince someone to let me get ahead or share a taxi.  The man at the head of the line readily agrees to let me in line and to share his taxi. He turns out to be the set designer for a movie starring Peter Falk, the star of the wildly popular TV series "Colombo. He invites me to lunch to meet Peter and  his best friend, John Cassevettes at the Hotel George V, just the four of us. I tell him I will be there if at all possible. He gives me his card and I jump out of the taxi, offering money for the fare but he will not not hear of it. He waves goodbye as I wave back, tucking his card into my bag.

Once on the sidewalk in front of LeSpace Cardin, my mind turns back to the situation at hand. I am more than thrilled to be actually modeling for a Paris Couturier. And that it is the incredible Pierre Cardin, whom I like so much for his clean cut lines and futuristic inspiration, is just over the top. .I am well aware that we are in a Space Race according to Time magazine and Life magazine. Astronauts are being featured on covers of news magazines and the whole world is fascinated by the future, keyed up about who will  be the first country to get a man on the moon. Cardin has a passionate love of science fiction, astronauts and the cosmos. He is determined to single handedly ignite the future, although Paco Rabanne and Andre Couregges are feeling the same vibes. His creations have the trimmings of science fiction and space travel. The fashion world is astonished at his space age 3-D shift, and his "white  breasts" dress. Cardin raises skirts 4" above the knee and plunges necklines back and front to the navel. Sexy, yet androgynous and futuristic.

I enter the crowded atelier, a smorgasbord of sights and sounds, everyone chattering in rapid French, including about a dozen artisans, men and women, working on the various stages in the structure of the one-of-a kind garments. The  highly tailored, one of a kind garments are made out of vinyl, wool, and often are augmented by metal rings, carpenters nails, and artificial diamonds. There are knitted cat  suits that I love, taut leather trousers, and close-fitting helmets, that I hate, and bat-wing jumpsuits.  Cardin's fashions have been shown in Vogue and Bazaar on the top models of the world.

About eight very elegant and very  French mannequins parade around, in skirts, shifts, and pantsuits while seamstresses make little tweaks. Each one is a woman with great personality and style. .Each one has her admirers and fans. Many are wives and mistresses to powerful men.  All are saving their money and buying Real Estate. One by one they are sent for final inspection by the Maestro himself.  He is not above shouting and ripping stitching apart if the model is unfortunate enough to be the bearer of a garment not finished to his liking.

 I jumped at the sound of his voice as he rejected latest  style.  I could pick out a few words and understood that it was not done to his satisfaction.  The model, a sullen brunette, returned, not at all upset, and the ladies removed the garment to comply with Cardin's wishes., murmuring and tsking, with a few high itched "oo la las". The mannequin  lit apungent French cigarette, puffed on it vigorously, and made a few jokes with the other girls. For all his temper and eccentricities, Cardin  is still beloved and respected by those who work with him, including the models. His creations proclaim a powerful talent and he is becoming globally renowned. With an instinctive genius for marketing, he will become one of the most recognized names on the planet.

None of the models acknowledged my presence. .I continue to look around, determined to make the best of this situation. Cardin's unwavering quest for the Future Look has led to the production of brilliant fashion shows and I am excited to be able to participate in one.  I remember that in 1963,  while I was still in high school, he brought out the "Cosmo Corps" collection featuring  never before seen colored tights and roulette  trousers. And in ‘64, he had presented a collection of mini-shifts, bisected and  bi-colored outfits, with zigzags or  diagonal strings of his greatly beloved scallops.

Left: Linda Morand and Alana Collins (Hamilton-Stewart) in Cardin

 

I am finally approached by a demure French girl and politely led to a cabine, which is French for dressing room, lined with mirrors and lights above a long make-up table and stools. There are many hats and other accessories hanging on the walls and stuffed on the abundant shelves. There are still more tailors and seamstresses, hunched over their sewing machines, working on the final touches of exquisite garments.

I am told by a rather rude, middle-aged woman to undress down to my underwear. I deftly shed my  pea coat, bell- bottoms and poor-boy sweater,  all navy blue, and lay them over a near-by  Louis the Sixteenth chair. I am wearing a special model-garment called a body stocking, which is a flesh-colored opaque dancer's leotard. A few haughty French mannequins look me up and down, turning up their noses and mumbling under their breaths. They are not thrilled with the House of Cardin for bringing in foreigners to take the spotlight off them. The never hesitate to ridicule us and try to  make us feel bad.  We are not too concerned.  It is just a short time gig for us, one of many.

Most of the French mannequins have great figures  and distinct good looks, but they are not what you would call photogenic. A nose just a  tiny bit too long, a chin that is a tiny bit weak, a face that may be over the age of twenty-six, these may look just fine in person, even adding a bit of charm and character, but they are not good in photographs where being photogenic is a juxtaposition of features.  Even a few centimeters can make a difference.  A face that is beautiful and charming in real life, may not be photogenic. Live modeling is not about photogenic, but Cardin and the other designers wantmodels that will show up well in the snapshots taken by the World Press at the end of the runway.

One model is  very friendly and very pretty. Her name is  Hiroko. She is Asian, and strangely
enough for a model, very petite, but exquisite in every way. The other mannequins do not seem to like
her either. I have heard that Cardin has built the entire collection around her, his eye on the vast  markets in the Far East.

For the last few years, Cardin has astonished the world with his innovations. As a couturier, he has been restively creative, experimenting with the concept of abstraction, exaggeration, technique and
technology. As such he is almost more of an architect that a designer. With all the media attention,
Cardin needs girls that will look good in the glare of the flashbulbs at the end of the runway as the world press shoots with still cameras and film cameras.

He decides he will have the current crop of new young American cover girls. So the opportunity is
opening up for American photo models to conquer the sacred runways of Paris. Forget about the fact
that we have no idea how to walk properly. All that matters is that we will look pretty on camera. The
regular house mannequins are still used for private showings. They hate us for taking their places at the main press show, and we cannot blame them. But in New York, we have to put up with the influx of
Swedish, Danish, German and British models. The American client were scooping them up. It is the survival of the fittest.

I stand around the dressing room clad in my body stocking and tights when Wallis Franken shows up. I am so glad to see her.  Wallis is a fellow American from Manhattan.  She had just arrived from New York, via Greece, where she had shot a layout for an American magazine with another top American  Ford model, Joan Thompson. We chat animatedly while she strips down to her body stocking and tights too.  Soon Ulla Bomser and Alana Collins come in too.  Ulla is a very top model who's is seen everywhere.  Alana is  very beautiful and a lot of fun, always having a good story to tell. Her ambiion is to marry a movie star.

Still in my body stocking and tights, I am finally led into the main atelier where assistants surround Monsieur Cardin himself. He is a fairly good-looking Frenchman of a certain age and flamboyantly gay. He seems to be in a bad mood. I step onto a sort of podium. A young woman comes in with a pile of sketches. She seems to be nervous and a little afraid of him. Cardin grabs one large sketch and with a charcoal stick he makes a few sweeping changes. After a matter of two or three lines, he shoves the oversized sheet back at her, all the time chiding her in a rapid stream of French. She scurries away. I figure Cardin often gets easily upset and is volatile and fiery in his speeches.

Next he has me try on a suit made of stiff white nubby fabric.  It is a sleeveless dress with a jacket that has a kind of wide, stand-up mandarin collar. It has large semi-circular cut-outs on the sides, long sleeves and three covered buttons down the front. Unfortunately, it is to be shown with a bucket shaped helmet, which obscures most of my face. Kind of a Space-Age burka, except the skirt is too short. I am upset about having my face covered, but it is his vision and I cannot do anything about it.

Then another clerk shows him a pile of sample fabrics. He chooses a white vinyl swatch and some dark green jersey, remarking that there is nothing suitable. He does not acknowledge my existence, as I stand there shivering, whether from cold or fright I do not know. However, I am an old pro at being
ignored while in my underwear, having survived the fittings at American Vogue with Diana Vreeland, who never once looked me in the eye. She just looked at the garment as if I were nothing but a clotheshorse. That's what I was, I guess. But now I am living a dream. Imagine me, the skinny dork from Long Island, walking the runways of Paris! Besides Cardin I have been booked by Jean Patou, and Louis Feraud and for several magazines for photos including Vogue Patterns. It sure beats a "real job."


Cardin  begins by draping a canvas type fabric around me, actually cutting and pinning it on my body. I learn that this premiere garment is called voile. It is fascinating to be in on the construction of an haute couture garment. I do my best to keep still. I have plenty of practice from all my bookings at McCall's Patterns in New York. I remember loving the fittings, because they paid a dollar a minute. Here the pay is much less, but I do not even worry about it. The experience is worth the pay cut. Occasionally he speaks to me, asking me, in a charming French accent ,if it is comfortable, but mostly he concentrates on his "sculpture," chattering away in rapid French, to his assistants, who surround him like ministering angels..

Next, II try on a black long sleeved body suit and a purple tunic with four square cutouts on the front,
a dropped waist with a silver buckled belt. It is remade to fit my proportions exactly.  (see group shot
above)

Finally I get to wear my favorite, a shocking pink body-skimming A-line shift with cut in arm holes. It has a cute little matching hat. To everything, Pierre Cardin  adds his own intuitive ideas. He knows exactly what he wants, and he surely gets it. Only trouble is, he changes his mind often.  The hours stretch by.  

The grueling fitting is finally over, and I rush back to the hotel on foot,  referring to a map the agency had given and  me. quickly reaching the charming French hotel that the agency has found for me and Susan Brainard, another American model. I like her very much and plan to become great friends with her. Ulla Bomser, the Danish model who is  very popular in New York and London is in the next room. She is my friend from New York and has offered to show me the ropes in Paris.

I am exhausted and need a little nap. Eileen Ford has invited me to dinner later that night at Castel, the most exclusive and hottest restaurant/night club in Paris. I plan to make an early night of it, because I  have to work early the next morning for American Vogue with the notorious Bert Stern.

And I have got Peter Falk's friend's number...........To be continued