In Milan, A Fashion Hoarder is a Designer’s Best Kept Secret

 

 

 

 

For some, a visit to Milan Fashion Week wouldn’t be complete without a stop at Franco Jacassi’s Vintage Delirium, a boutique that is discovered only by word-of-mouth. A non-descript apartment building in a quiet but fashionable neighborhood gives no indication that just beyond its entrance, lies an unmarked door that leads into Jacassi’s sanctum sanctorum of vintage fashion.

 

It’s hard to really call this a store, though, since there is little in the way of merchandising and not all of it is for sale. It is part museum, part hoarder’s obsession, and an actual sale only occurs when the owner feels ready to part with whatever it might be: a French silk satin negligee, a pin-striped Armani suit, or a saucy little hat made by Schiaparelli.

 

In the dim light of the store, Franco Jacassi is luminous, bursting with passion as he talks about a recent discovery – or even one not so recent. He remembers everything about its provenance. With flamboyant gestures, he gushes forth an encyclopedia of information in a charming jumble of Italian and English.

 

 Franco Jacassi is the owner of Vintage Delirium in Milan. Unlike other specialists in vintage couture, Jacassi collects out of a very personal passion rather than profit, which might be why he’s so unwilling to part with anything.

“Qui ci sono i bottoni — my buttons — I cannot stop,” he says, gesturing to box upon box of all manner of buttons and fastenings. Jaccassi’s enthusiasm over his now-famous button collection is expressed with nearly the same trembling as for the cache of vintage lace he keeps stored in a glass cabinet.

 

“Last month Dolce & Gabbana was here and bought almost all of my best lace for their Alta Gamma collection,” he says — almost ruefully — as if the design duo had come and stolen a dear friend. “But I still have a little bit more.”

 

Of course he does, that’s because the rambling shop is literally filled to the rafters with racks of clothes and shelves bursting with trims, furs, shoes, bags, and buttons, and all inexplicably catalogued in that remarkable head of his.

 

 

Clothes are crammed onto racks on multiple levels and even in a separate basement. Below, a young woman tries on a 1980’s Yves Saint Laurent evening coat sewn with ostrich feathers.

Jacassi’s boutique is really a library, which is why virtually every designer has traipsed through here on more than one occasion looking for inspiration. Gianni Versace, Marc Jacobs, Karl Lagerfeld, Tom Ford… the list goes on. Each has come here to mine the past for inspiration.

 

“Tom Ford bought dozens of these robes to give as presents,” says Jacassi, in reference to a handsome striped robe I had chosen for myself. The robes are dead stock from Milan’s famous luxury purveyor, Corbella Milano. “Next time you’re in one of Tom’s boutiques, take a look at the robes he sells,” he says, arching an eyebrow.

 

As we all know, “inspiration” is a term used very loosely in the fashion world. Prada, for instance, is well known for borrowing freely from vintage textiles found at flea markets, and probably here at Vintage Delirium.

 

Jacassi began his unexpected career in fashion in the early 1980’s, when he was contracted by Loro Piana and Etro to do textile research. While doing his research, he would come across old fashioned stores like Corbella Milano that were closing and doing away with boxes of buttons, laces, trims, and the kind of rich, couture traditions that were already becoming a lost art.

 

Jacassi leaves no stone unturned and doesn’t wait for an obituary. He rifles through the private collections of faded aristocrats and Italian celebrities who are ready to part with their Capucci ruffled gowns, marabou-trimmed bed jackets, monogrammed trunks, and Roberta Di Camerino handbags.

 

 

 

At top, one of dozens of catalogues for the trims Franco Jacassi stocks — until they are gone forever. Below, Jacassi’s fashion obsession began with buttons. Over the decades he has collected thousands upon thousands of buttons stretching nearly as far back as Christ.

Yes, it was the humble button which led Jacassi down a path of nearly obsessive collecting and his desire to protect a long-gone artistry and brilliance found  in increasingly rare bits of fashion. They are also a memory of how we once lived. Today’s haute couture is a rarified world that essentially represents what was once quite common: clothes made by hand.

 

Unlike the 18^th and 19^th centuries, no one changes their clothes four times a day anymore, and accessories. The hat, once a mandatory accessory for men and women is now an almost kitschy effect worn only occasionally by the effete and pretentious. These days, few really know or care about the zen of hand-stitching, and the kind of teeny-tiny handiwork that probably make you go blind.

 

 

An early 1970’s lamé tunic by Gianni Versace pays homage to Bauhaus. Jacassi refuses to part with the piece despite numerous requests, even from the fashion house itself.

A secret stash: Jacassi lifts the cover off of a cardboard box where inside, lies the most perfect cloud of tulle embroidered with white flowers. It is a production run that was never used and it still features the pinned identification tag from the little hands that made it. It could easily have been vintage Dior.

 

But wait, there’s more. In the deepest recesses of a downstairs basement space is Jacassi’s collection of Mila Shön, an Italian designer who was once in great favor by the likes of Marella Agnelli, Lee Radziwill, and Jackie Onassis.

 

 

 

At top, a pristine production run of lace sits in a box waiting for a designer to one day turn it into a confection. “Dolce and Gabbana was here and bought almost all of my best lace.” Below, Jacassi admires one of his vintage Chanel flapper dresses.

“Those aren’t for sale,” says Jacassi, to no one in particular. “I am saving those for an exhibition I want to do. Mila Shön was my first client. People have forgotten her but she was extraordinary.” Again, Jacassi goes into rapture — until he becomes distracted by a question about an amazing early Versace lamé top.

 

“No-no I cannot part with that,” he says, even though I hadn’t gotten to the point of asking to buy it. Jacassi gently brings it down from the shelf. “I had a photographer take pictures of a model wearing it. It is exquisite.”

 

Nearby hang two, quite rare Thea Porter caftans, the kind Kate Moss would wear (as she famously did for her wedding rehearsal dinner in 2011.) A general rule of thumb with Jacassi is that the more recent the arrival of a piece – or its rarity — the less likely it will be sold. Such was the case with an early 1970’s Yves Saint Laurent peasant blouse we discovered (misfiled as it turns out) amongst the racks of Mila Shön.

 

 

 

 

At top, Jacassi shows off a recent acquired  caftan by British designer Thea Porter. Center, an archival photo of a model wearing an iconic Yves Saint Laurent peasant blouse from his fall 1977 collection. At bottom, an even earlier version, which we purchased from Jacassi — after much coercion.

“Oh, I just got that two weeks ago, I don’t think I can let it go.”But after an hour’s coercion and the promise to also purchase the striped robe, it was ours (like I really need a striped wool lounging robe with peak lapels – oh wait, I do.)

 

Jacassi tells the story of a time when Lagerfeld swanned through, dismissing several of Jacassi’s vintage 1920’s flapper gowns and a trove of black trims and flowers that had never seen the light of day. “Later he came back and bought all of my trims and used them on an haute couture collection.”

 

Behind glass, Jacassi’s vintage Chanel dresses have a slightly spooky quality, and one cannot help but feel that the memories of those who wore them are still microscopically locked into their fibers. The sweat of a girl’s sweet sixteen.

 

“Look at this sewing, these stitches. Even today Chanel does not do that.”

 

“Will anyone buy them?” I ask. “No. Maybe. I don’t think so,” and with that he firmly slides the glass doors shut, and the dresses return to their state of eternal repose.

 

>> Watch the video about Franco Jacassi’s recent exhibition, “The Pop Art Atelier.”

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