Vivienne Westwood (A Personal Recollection)

Vivienne Westwood (1941-2022) [1]

 

 

I only met Vivienne Westwood once: on 14 June 1982, when I interviewed her at her studio at 25 Kingly Court, Soho, whilst working as an intern in the features dept at 19 magazine ... [2]

 

I wasn't particularly well-prepared. For whilst I had a rough idea of what questions I wished to ask, I only had a notepad and pencil to scribble down the answers, as the tape recorder I was promised by my editor wasn't provided. 

 

(Apparently, the fashion department had objected to my having arranged the interview without consulting them first and so my meeting with Westwood was to be an unofficial assignment ...)

 

Nevertheless, Vivienne - and that was how she told me to address her - was kind and friendly. Indeed, at times she even seemed a little flirtatious, telling me I had nice eyes and that she admired my enthusiasm. She was 40, but looked younger; I was 19 and a bit star-struck.

 

Softly-spoken, she had retained her East Midlands accent. Often, however, she seemed to be speaking as from a script, with many of her sentences beginning with the words Malcolm says ... indicating that she was still very much in love with him (or, at the very least, still smitten by his ideas). 

 

Asked why many of her new designs were so loose and baggy, she patiently explained that the prospect of clothes falling off was always very sexy. She also fed me lines about wanting to make the poor look rich and the rich look poor and how a man on a mountain top tapping two sticks together makes a much bigger noise than all our electronic music. 

 

When my ten minute time slot was over - she was doing several interviews that afternoon - she shook my hand and asked once more for my name, expressing her hope that we would meet again one day. Sadly, however, that never happened (by the time I got to know McLaren the following year, his personal and professional partnership with Westwood was rapidly disintegrating).

 

As for the article I wrote based on my short interview, that was never published - despite the fact that my editor thought highly of it. 

 

Again, I'm pretty sure the fashion department had a hand in this decision, although I was later told it was because I was an unpaid intern and didn't have membership of the NUJ. Either way, it was a pity because one of Vivienne's assistants had given me some fantastic photos to use with the piece (which I foolishly submitted along with the typed text and never saw again).  

      

If, in later years, Westwood became - like so many of the punk generation - increasingly irritating and irrelevant, the fact remains she was an astonishing and massively influential figure. It was always a joy to wear her clothes - I still have three of her suits hanging in my wardrobe - and always a thrill to walk through the door at 430 King's Road, even long after it had ceased to be the centre of events. 

 

And speaking of the Worlds End store ... With Westwood's passing coming just six months after that of Jordan's and twelve years after Malcolm's, it is time now, I think - without wanting to sound too Audenesque - to finally stop the spinning hands on the giant 13-hour clock and shut up shop ... [3]

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Screenshot from the BBC News Channel announcing the death of Vivienne Westwood (29 Dec 2022) The image is very much how she looked when I met her in June 1982 and may well have been taken in at her studio around this date.

[2] This recollection is based on entries in The Von Hell Diaries (Volume 3: 1982). 

[3] I suppose that decision will be up to Andreas Kronthaler, who I suspect will almost certainly wish to continue the Westwood brand, over which he has exercised creative control for many years.       

 

Rosebud

Illustration of the clitoris by Fiona Tung / The Varsity

thevarsity.ca

 

 

I. 

 

I've never actually watched Citizen Kane (1941) from start to finish; like W. H. Auden and Kenneth Williams, I'm not a fan of Welles's masterpiece [1]; nor, to be honest, do I particularly like his other work (apart from the TV ads for sherry and Sandeman's port).

 

However, I am aware that the key to understanding the psychology of its protagonist Charles Foster Kane - a fictional character inspired by real-life publishing tycoon William Randolph Hearst - is the single word that he utters on his deathbed: Rosebud. 

 

Audiences eventually discover that this is simply the trade name of a sledge that Kane loved to play on as a boy. 

 

In other words, we are asked to accept that, in Kane's subconscious mind, Rosebud signified childhood happiness and reminded him of his mother's love, which, for a film that is supposed to be the greatest ever made, is almost laughably trite - as Welles himself acknowledged when interviewed in 1960:

 

"I'm ashamed of Rosebud. I think it’s a rather tawdry device. It’s the thing I like least in Kane. It’s kind of a dollar book Freudian gag. It doesn’t stand up very well. " [2]

 

 

II.

 

Perhaps looking to add a little more interest and intrigue to the origin of the term, Gore Vidal suggested in an essay published in 1989 that Rosebud was actually the pet name that Hearst gave to his mistress's clitoris [3]. 

I don't know if that's true - and I don't know if Vidal himself really believed it to be true. It seems doubtful; for one thing, how would Welles have had knowledge of this secret term used between lovers? It's difficult to imagine that either Hearst or Marion Davies would have shared such intimate information with him. 

 

In a letter to the New York Review discussing his claim [4], Vidal admits that, whilst he had met both parties, neither Hearst nor Davies ever volunteered this detail. However, he points out that the latter was an alcoholic who liked to surround herself with celebrity friends and fellow drinkers, sharing stories about their lives, and that one of these friends was Herman Mankiewicz; i.e., the man who co-wrote the screenplay for Citizen Kane ...

 

Of course, that still doesn't prove that Rosebud was in fact Hearst's hypocorism for Davies's clitoris. But, as Vidal says, if it was that would certainly explain in part Hearst's furious response to the film - which he attempted to suppress - and his deep hatred of Welles.

 

Ironically, of course, it could be that Welles himself had no idea of any of this. He always gave Mankiewicz full credit for coming up with the idea of Rosebud and it's possible the latter didn't tell Welles the real significance of the term (that he was essentially playing a joke not on Hearst, but on Welles).

 

I suppose we'll probably never know for sure the full meaning of Rosebud - if it is, in fact, anything other than the trade name of a sledge [5]. And in that sense the joke's on all of us who waste time thinking about it ...

  

 

Notes

 

[1] After watching the film on 29 Jan 1942, a 15-year old Kenneth Williams described Citizen Kane in his diary as "boshey rot". See The Kenneth Williams Diaries, ed. Russell Davies, (Harper Collins, 1993), p. 2.

 

[2] Click here for the section from the interview with Welles on the CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation) in which he explains his dislike of the Rosebud device used in Citizen Kane. 

 

[3] Gore Vidal, 'Remembering Orson Welles', The New York Review (1 June 1989): click here. 

 

[4] Gore Vidal's letter on what might be termed the Rosebud controversy, was written in reply to a letter sent to the Editors of The New York Review by Jay Topkis (17 Aug 1989): click here. 

[5] A gay friend tells me that Rosebud actually indicates that Kane had a liking for sodomy and that Welles was a closeted homosexual; for it seems that the term refers not only to the clitoris, but to the anus (and/or the pinkish-red rectal tissue protruding from the anus following a prolapse due to frequent penetration of the latter).

 

 

To watch the official 1941 trailer for Citizen Kane, written and directed by Orson Welles, click here. Unlike other trailers, it doesn't feature any footage from the actual movie, but offers itself as a short spoof documentary on the film's production.