A PRESTIGE HONG KONG WORLD EXCLUSIVE
THE DOUBLE LIFE OF KARL LAGERFELD
by Stephen Short

An interview with the Kaiser of Style, Karl Lagerfeld, is as rare as snow in Hong Kong. Stephen Short flew to Paris to chat with the legendary designer, who over the decades has consistently surprised the world with his fashion creations. Never one to do things in half measures, a few years ago he shed more than 40kg in 13 months, then published a best-selling book about his diet. Lagerfeld’s exclusive collaboration with Prestige Hong Kong includes self-portraits, photographs of models in his designs, sketches - even a miniature version of the legend.

After a year of chasing Karl Lagerfeld, the world’s busiest and most iconic designer, for a Prestige Hong Kong cover story, I’m told he’ll meet me “late afternoon” on January 16 in his bookshop and studio, 7L, at 7 rue de Lille in Paris. It says much about Lagerfeld’s schedule that late afternoon means 8pm. The occasion is a photo shoot for Chanel’s spring/summer haute couture collection, which he designed as the label’s artistic director and will shoot that evening with Russian model Vlada Roslyakova. The crew of make-up artists, hairdressers, technicians and assistants - who arrive before Lagerfeld - includes Gerhard Steidl, Lagerfeld’s close friend and publishing partner.

As we await the great man’s arrival in a space between the bookstore and studio, we eat a catered meal with wine, served by a waiter and prepared by a chef whose clients include Mick Jagger. We wait and we eat. Steidl tells me that he and Lagerfeld often exchange faxes at 4am (Lagerfeld hates the Internet) and that the artistic director is more consumed by his passions for photography, book publishing and exhibitions than by fashion these days, despite his many fashion commitments. As we wait and eat, phones ring. His arrival is imminent one moment, delayed the next. The endless ex-changes go on and anticipation rises. One feeling is palpable above all: a huge swathe of collective respect awaits Lagerfeld’s arrival.

And then, unannounced, the icon stealthily enters the room and politely greets everyone in three languages - French, German and English - within 10 seconds. He’s all there: the white mane tied in a ponytail, the 10cm-high starched collar by Hilditch & Key, the black tie, the fingerless biker gloves, the aviator shades and the Kris Van Assche slim-fit slate-grey trousers. High Fashion’s Highness, born in 1938, looks immaculate, stunning and electric - all passionate intensity, a revelation at hand - and you can’t take your eyes off him. He steps up to me and offers his hand in glove. He has big, powerful, masculine hands and clean, square nails. “How do you do,” he says. I expect his German hand to granite mine to pulp. Au contraire. For a leonine presence, he shakes hands with a lamb’s softness.

That’s 9pm. For the next four hours he goes to work with the crew, his model and his creations. There’s little in the way of spontaneity, but when you’re Lagerfeld and the cause is Chanel, the machinery’s so well oiled there doesn’t need to be. Every 20 minutes the waiter brings him a tray bearing a fresh glass of water or Coke Zero, from which he takes two short sips. Lagerfeld doesn’t instruct the model much - he knows her and doesn’t have to - but quickly points and shoots his way through the different looks. He’s seldom interrupted, except by Steidl to discuss aspects of the photographs. After every Lagerfeld shoot, Steidl takes the photographs immediately to Germany for processing and printing. At around 10.30pm, Lagerfeld leaves - no one’s sure why or where he goes - then returns 30 minutes later to resume the shoot.

It’s not until way past midnight that Lagerfeld’s ready to converse. When we finally sit down, he says he is tired, would rather not talk too long and has to take a private jet to Rome later that morning. He’s alert and polite, his speech declamatory in style. He speaks in paragraphs, controls the conversation from the outset and punctuates his thoughts with a ubiquitous and infectious “hmm?” It’s approaching 3am when we finish talking, at which point he gives me a present. “Please, it’s not important, just something funny,” he says. “You will laugh.” It’s a Karl Lagerfeld action figure. Always a master of surprise, he then shows me a just-completed sketch of himself as a teddy bear for German soft-toy company Steiff, yet another Lagerfeld reinvention. As I thank him for his time, he takes off his sunglasses, his eyes fiercely clear, and shakes my hand. “I’m always late, but once I’m there it’s okay, hmm?”