PARIS. Yves Saint-Laurent is a name synonymous with luxury – familiar worldwide as a three-letter logo on pricey lipsticks. Costume historians, however, know "YSL" as something much more important, the architect of a revolution in women’s clothing. Now, the visionary behind le smoking (the "women’s tuxedo"), safari jackets and see-through chiffon, has received his own massive Paris retrospective.  

Everything, from the staid venue to its wealth of different media – audio, video, tableaux and photographs – works to remind the viewer of Saint Laurent’s many 'firsts'. Among three hundred stunning examples of his haute couture one discovers many innovations pillaged by later designers: the conical breasts reprised by Jean-Paul Gaultier, the metal body moulds over silk used by Issey Miyake and elaborate, theatrical "theme collections" that became the turf of Lacroix, Galliano and McQueen.  

The exhibition’s staging is epic yet quite innovative, combining grand gestures (such as a sweeping staircase of bourgeois ball gowns) with reverence for couture’s petites mains craftsmanship (one crocheted wedding dress is housed in its own shrine-like niche). There are also islands of celebrity voyeurism – the nude photos of YSL used to promote perfume, Catherine Deneuve’s ‘closet’ and Saint-Laurent’s reassembled office. Through the dizzying diversity of settings and media, two undeniable achievements emerge.

One: Saint-Laurent proved brilliant at merging traditional structures of masculine power (suits, uniforms, trousers) with tailoring’s most feminine tools of seduction. Two: from the mid-60’s through the mid-70’s, he also excelled at capturing the moment of Warhol, disco and drugs, using the unlikely vehicle of couture.

In accomplishing these objectives, YSL evolved his own special signature: a silhouette that, while long and slim, held plenty of force in its poise. What became his trademark shoulder started with a quotation of Coco Chanel’s narrow, high armhole. However, where she had used this trick to create leaner lines, YSL turned it into a fully androgynous show of power. His wider, sharper shoulders were created in partnership with Jean-Pierre Debord, a master technician who worked under him for thirty-eight years.

The exhibition’s lynchpin is the infamous 1971 'Scandale' collection. Its platform heels, tall velvet turbans and louche, low-cut dresses foresaw the high-street vogue for 1940’s retro. However, it also flaunted tarty allusions to the French Occupation. At that time, deprived of hairdressers, Parisiennes had made use of turbans while forced to wear souliers compensés – shoes with high, crude wooden soles. The fury this cheeky collection unleashed is fully revisited in the show, via blown-up copies of its uniformly hostile reviews. Yet, even today, the clothes continue to exude both camp and confidence. They sent a signal Saint Laurent would take fashion wherever he wanted.  

The world that elevated his talent was always aware of the temperament behind it. Despite claims to the contrary by a new tell-all bio (Saint-Laurent mauvais garcon), YSL’s breakdowns, depressions and addictions have long been common knowledge. What has shocked Parisians about the new book is not its allegations of rough sex, hard drugs and bad tempers. The real offence is author Marie-Dominique Lelièvre’s thesis that couture has never been art – that while the artist reinvents our world, a couturier "only dresses it".

This directly contradicts the image nurtured carefully throughout Saint-Laurent’s career, created by the constant work of YSL and his lover, business boss and heir, Pierre Bergé. The image they sought was never one of just ‘an artist’, but of a singular artist who was quintessentially French.

Yves Henri Donat Mathieu-Saint-Laurent, from Oran, Algeria (then the most stylish of all French colonial cities), descended from the baron who oversaw Josephine and Napoleon’s marriage ceremony, certainly did redefine the vocabulary of style. However, with an insistent focus on Proust, on opera, on French visual art – all abundantly visible throughout the exposition – YSL also turned himself into the perfect Parisian.

Thus Parisians regard him, to quote Beaux Arts magazine, as the "creator of the century". Why should he, more than Coco Chanel, be the “last great couturier, who will live for eternity”? As French fashion expert Laurence Perez explains it to the magazine, both stole from men in order to provide for women. But Chanel, she claims, did this out of ideology. Saint-Laurent, the true artiste, did it "out of love"...  

Agree or disagree, this show offers the perfect supporting argument.

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