Elsa Schiaparelli
The Schiaparelli Silk Road
Schiaparelli and Dali, Circa 1949 via Architectural Digest
“You can use your own language and the language of art to forge new dialogues and barter along new paths of exchange.”
- Rhea Khanna
An Article By Guest Writer: Rhea Khanna
It takes brawn to pry open the strongly locked jaws of nine-to-five niches. To pull apart the tightly woven walls of individual fortes, and tear down the dams tempering cascades of creativity! Or, sometimes it takes an Italian woman. An Italian woman with an omnivorous vision and the courage to throw a shoe on a hat.
Shoe alchemist in question? Elsa Schiaparelli—iconoclastic fashion designer and founder of prominent couture house, Schiaparelli, and the woman who not only dared to step out of her lane, but widened it into a boulevard for the kind of creative exchange no one had ever seen before—and maybe even sees today. That's right, it was Elsa who, in the 1930s, opened up channels of exchange between art, fashion, and innovation, establishing what I like to call the Schiaparelli Silk Road. A figurative trade route that ferried art and fashion across each other’s boundaries, and challenged what we believed belonged in the gallery space and what could belong outside.
As one of Coco Chanel’s greatest rivals and first designers to introduce the wrap dress, divided skirts (a forerunner of culottes), visible zippers on clothing, and even the first fashion show set to music, it’s no surprise that Elsa Schiaparelli moved mountains while changing the landscape of fashion forever. However, Elsa was never a woman who defined herself by her “field" or "territory," but rather a curiosity of spirit and a keenness for fantasy. And fantasy doesn’t stay within vocational bounds.
Gripped by the freedom and brazenness of the Dada and Surrealist art movements, Elsa devoted herself to the cause of artistic exploration with no less vigor than any artist or patron.
And in doing so, she demonstrated that there was no art “world” to be inside or outside of, but that art was a language that she could translate—that anyone could translate. And as it is with any other language, there are so many ways to form thoughts, sentences, and words with it. And for Elsa, sentences were spoken through a number of her Surrealist-themed collections like “Zodiac,” “Pagan,” and “Circus,” all featuring designs that called forth the individual and collective subconscious.
A close friend of surrealist heavyweights Man Ray, Leonor Fini, and of course, Salvador Dali, Elsa ultimately began working with each one of them, establishing herself as the mother of modern day collaboration (turns out, #collab isn’t just a millennial thing) and maven of the hybrid genre of wearable art.
Evening Coat, Designed by Elsa Schiaparelli and Jean Cocteau, 1937 via VA Museum
Evening Jacket, 1937, Elsa Schiaparelli and Jean Cocteau, via The Daily Art Magazine
Some of Elsa’s most notable collaborative projects include her and Jean Cocteau’s set of evening jackets embroidered with illusionary figures, a fur bracelet made by Meret Oppenheim—a precursor to the artist’s iconic artwork, Breakfast in Fur, and abstract jewelry and one of a kind bronze trims by sculptor Alberto Giacometti. However, some of her best-known collaborative designs were produced with Salvador Dali, who proved to be one of her strongest and longest-standing creative partnerships.
Starting their shared journey with a powder compact designed to mimic a rotary phone dial, the two cultural mavericks went on to create history’s most unconventional and pioneering designs that altered the relationship between fashion, art, and modern audiences forever. And by forever, I mean forever ever. Like “Louis Vuitton X Takashi Murakami” or “Yeezy X Vanessa Beecroft” are the spring flowers to the Schiaparelli-Dali autumn ever.
The duo’s fearlessness manifested in a number of radical designs, including the renowned 1937 lobster dress—a white silk evening dress featuring a large lobster on the skirt, made famous by the Duchess of Windsor, the 1937 shoe-hat that was inspired by a photograph of Dali balancing his wife’s slipper on his head, and the iconic 1938 tears dress—an evening gown with trompe l'œil (or printed on) rips and tears, paired with a veil with real tears cut out of the fabric. Intended to give the illusion of torn flesh, the dress was inspired by Dali’s painting, Necrophiliac Springtime that Elsa Schiaparelli happened to own herself.
The Lobster Dress, 1937, designed by Schiaparelli & Dali, via the Philadelphia Art Museum
Tears Dress, 1938, designed by Schiaparelli & Dali, via the VA Museum.jpeg
So, to all of us who might be afraid to have an opinion about art every now and then, Elsa dedicates her legacy to us—or I like to think so, at least. She showed us that you don’t have to have an art history degree to enjoy or engage with art, to have an opinion about it, or even influence it. You can use your own language and the language of art to forge new dialogues and barter along new paths of exchange. In fact, Elsa always found a way to influence art even beyond her scope in fashion as well—not only did she assist Man Ray with his Dada magazine Société Anonyme, she was also a muse and model to artists like Picasso and Man Ray himself.
As a fashion designer who envisaged art beyond canvases and galleries, Elsa Schiaparelli opened a path toward a more holistic notion of creativity. She found the thread that runs through humanity, dyed it her signature shocking pink, and spun it into a constellation of resplendent artistry that continues to prove its tremendous tensile strength today—I’m thinking it’s a nylon mix? So, here’s your reminder to spin your own thread—the sturdiest nylon mix on the market—and track your own constellations today. There’s no need for “co–star” when there’s a Schiaparelli spindle at hand.