GQ — RICK OWENS IS STILL OUT THERE — OCTOBER 2018 — BY JOHN JEREMIAH SULLIVAN

OCTOBER 2018

HIS CLOTHES ARE RESOLUTELY IMPRACTICAL AND HIS LIFE IS SOME SORT OF HIGH-WIRE-PERFORMANCE-ART FANTASIA, BUT STILL, THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT RICK OWENS THAT CREATES CONVERTS. MEET THE MOST FASCINATING DESIGNER ON THE PLANET.

THE PALACE DOORS FLEW OPEN. IT WAS HIM. IT WAS RICK OWENS, THE AMERICAN-BORN DESIGNER KNOWN TO HIS FANS AS THE LORD OF DARKNESS. AND HE WAS DRESSED: LIKE RICK OWENS. LONG BLACK COAT. TALL BLACK BOOTS. LONG BLACK HAIR. THE SLANTING EARLY-EVENING SUN LIT HIS FACE. I SHOULD MENTION IT WAS UNCOMMONLY GORGEOUS IN PARIS THAT DAY. IT WAS WINTERTIME, BUT THE DAY WAS A LITTLE TELEGRAM FROM SPRING. LIGHT GLINTED OFF GOLDEN DOMES. GIANT CLOUDS WERE LETTING BIG SHAFTS OF LIGHT THROUGH. OWENS PUT ON HIS SUNGLASSES AND LOOKED OUT AT EVERYTHING, AS IF PARIS WERE A FARM HE WAS GLAD HE’D BEEN WISE ENOUGH TO PURCHASE.

I SHOULD ALSO MENTION THAT I’D BEEN LATE TO MEET HIM, THERE AT THE PETIT PALAIS, WHERE HE WAS GOING TO SHOW ME HIS FAVORITE PAINTINGS. LATE ENOUGH THAT THE MUSEUM GUARD WOULDN’T LET ME IN. (‘BUT I NEED TO MEET UP WITH A FRIEND INSIDE!’ I TOLD THE GUARD. ‘OHHHH’—HE MADE A SAD FACE—’TON AMI!’)

I WALKED UP TO OWENS ALREADY APOLOGIZING. BUT IT SEEMED HE’D FORGOTTEN OUR APPOINTMENT ENTIRELY. HE SMILED SWEETLY, LOOKING, IF ANYTHING, SLIGHTLY ABASHED TO HAVE BEEN CAUGHT ENJOYING HIMSELF LIKE THAT, IN AN UNGUARDEDLY SUNNY WAY. I EXPLAINED THE WHOLE CATASTROPHE AND HE LAUGHED.

I REMEMBERED I’D BROUGHT A PRESENT FOR HIM, A RED WOODEN FOUNTAIN PEN MADE BY A COMPANY CALLED LAMY. OWENS IS MARRIED TO THE FAMOUS ART- AND FASHION-WORLD FIGURE MICHÈLE LAMY—THE COUPLE HAVE BEEN AT THE HEART OF AVANT-GARDE PARIS FOR MORE THAN A DECADE, EVER SINCE THEY ARRIVED HERE FROM LOS ANGELES. I FIGURED THEY’D BOTH BE DELIGHTED BY THE COINCIDENCE OF THE NAME. ‘YEAH,’ HE SAID, NOT SMIRKING BUT SORT OF POLITELY HALF SMILING, ‘THIS IS THE FIRST THING THAT COMES UP WHEN YOU TYPE THAT NAME INTO GOOGLE.’ HE HANDED THE PEN BACK TO ME.

HE ACTUALLY HANDED IT BACK TO ME.

NOTE NOW: HE HAD BEEN SWEET (ABOUT MY LATENESS) WHEN ANOTHER MAN WOULD HAVE BEEN A DICK. HE HAD BEEN TRUTHFUL AND DIRECT (ABOUT MY SAD, APOLOGETIC GIFT) WHEN ANOTHER MAN WOULD HAVE BEEN FALSELY SWEET OR CRYPTO-CONDESCENDING OR ELSE INDIFFERENT.

‘DID YOU GET TO SEE SOME GOOD ART?’ I ASKED.

‘YES, AS A MATTER OF FACT,’ HE SAID. ‘I HAD AN EXPERIENCE THAT COMPLETELY CHANGED EVERYTHING I THOUGHT I KNEW AS A DESIGNER. TO TELL YOU THE TRUTH, IT SORT OF KILLS ME THAT YOU WEREN’T THERE.’

I TRIED TO MAKE MY CHEEK MUSCLES HOLD, BUT MY FACE COLLAPSED INTO WHAT I KNEW WAS A STRICKEN LOOK, THE FACE OF SOMEONE SUDDENLY SICK IN THE BOWELS.

HE SMILED AGAIN. HE’D BEEN JOKING, OF COURSE.

‘NO,’ HE SAID, ‘BUT I DID SEE A PAINTING THAT GAVE ME A THOUGHT FOR WHERE I MIGHT GO WITH MY NEXT COLLECTION.’

‘SERIOUS THIS TIME?’

‘YES,’ HE SAID. THERE HAD BEEN A SPECIAL EXHIBITION OF PAINTINGS MADE IN PARIS BY DUTCH ARTISTS. ‘I SAW THIS INCREDIBLE RUFF,’ HE SAID. HE PULLED OUT HIS IPHONE AND SHOWED ME A PORTRAIT OF A WOMAN SITTING AND SEVERAL CLOSE-UPS OF AN EXTRAORDINARY WHITE GARMENT SHE WAS WEARING. A DRESS MADE OF WHAT APPEARED TO BE THOUSANDS OF FOLDS OF WHITE MUSLIN, CINCHED IN SO TIGHTLY AT THE WAIST IT APPEARED, AT JUST THAT ZONE OF HER TORSO, TO HAVE BECOME A CORSET. THE DRESS EXPLODED AT THE NECKLINE INTO THIS RUFF, WHICH HAD CAPTIVATED OWENS.

‘I’VE BEEN DOING A BLOB THING FOR A WHILE NOW,’ HE SAID. ‘BULGES AND BLOBS.’ IT WAS TRUE. MANY OF HIS LATEST PIECES SEEMED TO HAVE GROWN TUMORS. THE CLOTHES HAD SWALLOWED THEIR OWN FANNY PACKS AND WORE THEM LIKE DEER LUMPS IN A PYTHON. THEY WERE FUTURISTIC, BUT FROM A RUBE GOLDBERG FUTURE WHERE WE HAD TO TURN ABSURD TO SURVIVE.

HE ZOOMED IN ON THE RUFF. DETAIL, REVELATORY, GLORIOUS. ITS DRAPERY WAS ALMOST INDIFFERENT, SCARF-LIKE. IT WAS SENSUAL. ‘I WANT TO TAKE THAT AND DAMAGE IT,’ OWENS SAID.

AT THAT MOMENT, THREE KIDS CAME RUNNING UP THE STAIRS, STRAIGHT TOWARD US. TWO YOUNG WOMEN AND A GUY WITH SHORT DREADS. THERE WERE A LOT OF STEPS, SO WE WATCHED THEM RUNNING FOR A WHILE. THE GUY HAD A FRENCH ACCENT BUT SPOKE IDIOMATIC ENGLISH: ‘RICK, MAN! RICK! CAN WE GET A PICTURE?’

‘SURE!’ SAID OWENS. IT WAS AS IF HE’D JUST BUMPED INTO AN OLD FRIEND. SOMEBODY HANDED ME A CAMERA. THE PICTURE WOULD BE BETTER, THE KIDS EXPLAINED, IF I WERE TO TAKE IT. I TOOK A FEW. THE KIDS WORE WIDE, BRIGHT SMILES. ‘THANK YOU, RICK!’ THEN THEY RAN OFF.

‘SHOULD WE GO?’ SAID OWENS. HE WAS LOOKING OFF, DOWN THE STEPS. THE BLACK CAR THAT DRIVES HIM AROUND WAS SUDDENLY PARKED THERE. IT HAD PULLED UP CLOSER THAN IT SEEMED LIKE CARS COULD PULL UP, ALMOST TO THE FOOT OF THE STEPS. THERE WOULD HAVE BEEN SOMETHING BATMAN ABOUT IT EVEN IF OWENS HAD NOT BEEN DRESSED LIKE AN EXTREMELY HIP ANDROGYNOUS BATMAN. WE DESCENDED THE STEPS TOGETHER—HE IN BOOTS AND FLOWING COAT, I IN MY PANTS AND WHATEVER—AND CLIMBED INTO THE CAR. PEOPLE WERE WATCHING. I WONDERED WHO THEY THOUGHT I WAS. HIS BROTHER-IN-LAW.

DRIVING THROUGH PARIS, CROSSING BRIDGES, SMOOTHLY AND QUIETLY MAKING SHARP CORNERS ON NARROW STREETS. HOW DID HE FEEL ABOUT THE FAME THING? DID IT BOTHER HIM THAT HE COULDN’T GO OUT AND WALK AROUND LIKE A NORMAL PERSON ANYMORE?

‘I DON’T REALLY HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT,’ HE SAID. ‘I’M NOT THAT KIND OF FAMOUS.’ ‘REALLY? BUT WE’D BEEN ON THE STEPS FOR, LIKE, 30 SECONDS WHEN THOSE KIDS CAME RUNNING…’

‘OH, WELL,’ HE SAID, ‘I GUESS THAT’S TRUE. OKAY, SURE, WHEN I’M OUT IN THE CITY, PEOPLE EVERY SO OFTEN APPROACH ME AND SAY NICE, POSITIVE THINGS. IT’S NOT HARD TO LIVE WITH.’ HIS SPEECH RHYTHMS REMAIN AMERICAN AND CALIFORNIAN. THERE’S EVEN SOME DUDE IN HIS VOICE—NOT SURFER-SKATER, SOMETHING MORE EVENLY TOASTED. HE HAS NEVER LEARNED FRENCH BEYOND THE TOURIST LEVEL, DESPITE HAVING LIVED IN PARIS FOR ALMOST 20 YEARS. HE IS UP-FRONT AND UNDEFENSIVE ABOUT HIS BAD FRENCH. ‘WHEN WE FIRST CAME TO PARIS,’ HE SAID, ‘IT WAS IMMEDIATELY ESSENTIAL TO HAVE A TEAM OF PEOPLE AROUND ME WHO COULD REALLY COMMUNICATE WELL. WE COULDN’T AFFORD FOR ME TO FUCK UP. SO I HAD A BUBBLE AROUND ME. AND IT’S BEEN THERE.’

‘SO WHY COME TO PARIS AT ALL?’ I ASKED. ‘IS IT THAT YOU HAVE BETTER RESOURCES HERE? MORE HIGHLY SKILLED PEOPLE?’

‘NO.’

‘OR FOR BUSINESS REASONS? THE ‘FASHION ECONOMY’?’

‘NO,’ HE SAID. ‘IT’S THE POETRY. THERE’S JUST A POETIC WEIRDNESS TO THE FASHION HERE THAT DOESN’T EXIST ANYWHERE ELSE. THERE’S A SENSE OF ABSTRACTION AND ALMOST DADA. THERE CAME A POINT WHERE, TO BE THE DESIGNER I WANTED TO BE, I HAD TO GET SMARTER. AND THE STUFF YOU SEE HERE IS JUST ON A DIFFERENT LEVEL. ‘

THE NEXT DAY, I STOPPED BY OWENS’S STORE IN THE PALAIS ROYAL, NEAR THE LOUVRE, AND SAW THE EERILY CONVINCING WAXWORK OF HIM THAT STANDS NEAR THE COUNTER, STARING IMPASSIVELY, WEARING A MACHO SKIRT. LATER, IN HIS WORKSHOP, I ASKED OWENS TO TRY TO REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME HE’D TAKEN AN INTEREST IN A PIECE OF CLOTHING. HE CLOSED HIS EYES FOR A SECOND. ‘I WANTED JEANS WHEN I WAS 12,’ HE SAID. ‘MY MOM BOUGHT ME POLYESTER JEANS. I LOOKED AT THEM AND THOUGHT, ‘THESE LOOK DIFFERENT. SOMETHING’S WRONG.’ ‘

‘DID SHE NOT WANT YOU TO HAVE DENIM ONES?’

‘SHE CONSIDERED JEANS TRASHY,’ HE SAID.

I WAS EATING HIS MOTHER’S COOKIES. CONCEPCIÓN OWENS—CONNIE—HAD FLOWN TO PARIS TO VISIT HER SON AND HAD AIRMAILED HUNDREDS OF THEM TO HIM BEFORE HER ARRIVAL. (‘IF I DIDN’T MAKE HER SHIP THEM,’ HE SAID, ‘SHE WOULD CARRY THEM IN HER SUITCASE.’) OWENS’S FATHER HAD MET HER IN MEXICO, WHERE HE’D TAUGHT ENGLISH FOR A FEW YEARS, AND THEY HAD EVENTUALLY SETTLED DOWN IN PORTERVILLE, IN CALIFORNIA’S SAN JOAQUIN VALLEY. IN MEXICO, AS A YOUNG WOMAN, CONNIE HAD WORKED AS A SEAMSTRESS AND LEARNED HOW TO CUT PATTERNS. SHE MUST BE NUMBERED AMONG OWENS’S FIRST FASHION INFLUENCES, ALTHOUGH THE TRANSMISSION SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN INDIRECT.

THE COOKIES WERE GREAT. I ATE ABOUT 12. OWENS ATE NONE. HE IS HEALTHY AND LOOKS AS HE ENTERS HIS LATE 50S AS IF HE WERE A DECADE YOUNGER. HIS HAIR HAS PERHAPS THINNED SLIGHTLY, BUT HE KEEPS DYEING IT COAL BLACK AND WEARING IT LONG. HE MADE A MOVIE OF THIS, OF HIS SELF-DYEING PROCESS AT THE SINK, AND POSTED IT ON THE WEB. IT IS BEAUTIFUL. HE’S A BEAUTIFUL GHOUL. HIS FACE IS CUBIST; IT HAS PLANES. HE IS SPANISH-LOOKING, AS IN GALICIAN OR CATALAN, BUT MAYBE I THOUGHT THAT ONLY BECAUSE HIS FACE IS CUBIST. HE SAID HE TAKES A 45-MINUTE NAP EVERY DAY AT ABOUT ONE IN THE AFTERNOON. HE WON’T SCHEDULE FLIGHTS IF THEY INTERFERE WITH IT.

OWENS DESCRIBES GROWING UP IN PORTERVILLE AS FAIRLY STULTIFYING. HE UNDERWENT ‘THE WHOLE CYCLE OF BEING RAISED IN A VERY CONTROLLED WAY AND REACTING IN MY TEENS BY GOING OUT OF CONTROL. ALCOHOL AND DRUGS. VERY FLAMBOYANT AND EXTRAVAGANT.’ AND THEN HE MOVED TO LOS ANGELES, WHERE THINGS GOT FULL FREAKY.

FIRST HE ATTENDED ART SCHOOL (ABSTRACT EXPRESSIONIST PAINTING), THEN HE WENT TO TRADE SCHOOL (SEWING AND PATTERNMAKING), THEN HE TOOK A JOB AT SOME SORT OF SWEATSHOP, MAKING ‘CHEAP FASHION KNOCKOFFS.’ ALONG THE WAY, HE TRANSFORMED HIMSELF, AND THE CITY TRANSFORMED HIM, INTO (IN HIS OWN WORDS) ‘A SKINNY WHITE VODKA-SWILLING GOTH.’ IT WAS IN L.A. THAT HE MET A PERSON WHO WAS DESTINED TO BECOME, AFTER HIS MOTHER, THE MOST IMPORTANT WOMAN IN HIS LIFE, A CREATURE AS SUI GENERIS AS HE.

I DON’T KNOW QUITE HOW TO TELL YOU WHO MICHÈLE LAMY IS. SHE’S AN ELF WITCH PRIESTESS. SHE’S AN UNACKNOWLEDGED LEGISLATOR IN MULTIPLE CULTURAL SPHERES. A$AP ROCKY CALLS HER HIS ‘FAIRY GODMOM’ AND CREATIVE MENTOR. SHE IS SCARY AND SEXY AND NICE. SHE IS MARRIED TO OWENS. WHO IS BISEXUAL. I MEAN, HE IS OWENS, BUT… ANYWAY, THEY ARE IN LOVE. THAT’S GETTING AHEAD OF THE STORY, THOUGH. THE QUESTION OF WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THEY ARE IN BED TOGETHER IS ONE TO WHICH A PERSON MIGHT RESPOND, ‘GOD ONLY KNOWS!’ BUT GOD COULD NEVER BE TACKY ENOUGH TO PEEK AND MIGHT NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT HE WOULD SEE IF HE DID.

LAMY HAD MOVED FROM FRANCE TO L.A. IN THE 1970S, AND IN 1996 SHE HAD OPENED A RESTAURANT THERE, LES DEUX CAFÉS, SO NAMED BECAUSE IT WAS MADE FROM TWO BUILDINGS JOINED TOGETHER, A JAZZ CLUB AND A CRAFTSMAN HOUSE SHE’D HAD TRANSPORTED TO THE SITE. YOU ENTERED THROUGH A BACK PARKING LOT ON A DINGY STRETCH OF NORTH LAS PALMAS. THE PLACE BECAME SO HIP IT WAS CREDITED BY AN L.A. CITY COUNCILWOMAN WITH HAVING BROUGHT FILM AND POST-PRODUCTION STUDIOS BACK TO HOLLYWOOD. LAMY DANCED THERE FOR HER CUSTOMERS SOMETIMES. WHEN SHE WAS THE RIGHT KIND OF DRUNK. WHEN SHE FELT LIKE IT.

WAS IT THERE, AT SUCH A MOMENT, THAT OWENS FIRST SAW HER? HE ISN’T SURE. OWENS’S L.A. YEARS WERE ALCOHOLIC AND SMEARED. ‘I WAS A SLOPPY, BITCHY DRUNK,’ HE SAID. ‘I WAS MEAN. I HATE THAT. BUT I WAS.’ THERE IS MUCH HE CAN’T RECALL. IT GOT TO WHERE HE NEEDED TWO SHOTS OF VODKA TO GET OUT OF BED IN THE MORNING. HE WOKE UP UNDER A FREEWAY OVERPASS. THERE WERE THREE-DAY BLACKOUTS. HE WAS MORE THAN ONCE NEAR DEATH. HE WOULD OFTEN ‘LOSE THE CAR.’ HE SAID, ‘YOU KNOW, IT’S FUNNY, I STILL HAVE DREAMS: ‘OH FUCK, I BURIED A BODY THERE…’ OR ‘OH, MY GOD, I RAN OVER SOMEBODY THERE…’ I MEAN, FOR ALL I KNOW…’

IT WOULDN’T BE CORRECT, I DON’T THINK, TO SAY THAT LAMY STABILIZED OR ‘TAMED’ HIM WHEN THEY GOT TOGETHER. SHE HAD HER OWN WILDNESS. BUT SHE WAS LESS SELF-DESTRUCTIVE AND KNEW HOW TO PULL THEM BOTH BACK FROM LEDGES. HE’D NEVER BEEN IN A REAL RELATIONSHIP BEFORE. ‘PUT IT THIS WAY,’ HE SAID, ‘I’VE NEVER BROKEN UP WITH SOMEBODY ELSE.’

‘MEANING YOU WERE NEVER CLOSE ENOUGH TO SOMEBODY THAT BREAKING UP WAS NECESSARY?’ I ASKED.

‘RIGHT,’ HE SAID. ‘THEN, AT A CERTAIN POINT, I FELT LIKE, ‘SOMEONE IS MISSING IN MY LIFE.’ AND SOMEHOW I HAD ENOUGH SELF-PRESERVATION IN ME TO REALIZE, ‘I NEED THIS.’ ‘

BEFORE SHE BECAME HIS WIFE, SHE WAS HIS BOSS. THAT’S WHAT PEOPLE DON’T KNOW ABOUT LAMY. THE ONE THING SHE NEVER TALKS ABOUT BEING IS THE THING SHE MOST WAS: A FRENCH FASHION DESIGNER. IN 1983 THE LOS ANGELES TIMESREPORTED THAT PATTI DAVIS, DAUGHTER OF RONALD REAGAN, WAS WEARING LAMY, INCLUDING A T-SHIRT ‘WITH SEAMS THAT SHOW ON THE OUTSIDE.’ IN 1987 SHE GROSSED $6 MILLION IN RETAIL SALES. IT IS STRANGE THAT YOU CAN READ ABOUT HER FOR DAYS AND NIGHTS AND NEVER SEE THIS MENTIONED, THAT SHE USED TO DO WHAT OWENS DOES NOW. THAT SHE GAVE HIM HIS FIRST REAL JOB AS A DESIGNER. THAT SHE INFLUENCED HIS APPROACH TO DESIGN IN A VISIBLE WAY. OWENS DIDN’T TELL ME THIS, AND I DOUBT HE’D AGREE, BUT MY SENSE IS THAT IN SOME SUBTLE AND COMPLEX WAY, THEY NEGOTIATED A SHIFTING OF POWER OVER THE YEARS. POSSIBLY IT WAS DONE WITHOUT SPEAKING. SHE WANED SO HE COULD WAX. NO, NOT ‘WANED.’ SHE EVOLVED. AS DID HE. BUT IF, AS PEOPLE USED TO SAY, BEHIND EVERY GREAT MAN IS A GREAT WOMAN, IT’S ALSO THE CASE THAT GREAT WOMEN WILL SOMETIMES FIND MEN TO WORK THROUGH, TO BROADCAST THROUGH.

THEY MOVED IN TOGETHER, INTO A WEIRD CLUSTER OF BUILDINGS ACROSS THE STREET FROM LES DEUX. OWENS’S DESCRIPTION OF THE DECOR WAS ALSO THE BEST DESCRIPTION I’D EVER ENCOUNTERED OF HIS AESTHETIC SENSIBILITY. ‘IT HAD AGE MARKS,’ HE SAID. ‘PAINT PEELING OFF, LINOLEUM THAT LOOKED LIKE DARK MARBLE. SUPER-GORGEOUS CURVY FELT-COVERED COUCHES. BIG MIRROR. LONG, BEAUTIFUL GRAY WOOL CURTAINS. THEY HAD A MURKINESS. IN THE BEDROOM THERE WERE THESE FELTED WOOL BLANKETS HANGING IN THE WINDOWS. THERE WERE GATES IN THE BACK THAT LED OUT TO THE ALLEY. HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD WAS REALLY SKETCHY THEN. THERE WAS THAT OUTLAW VIBE WE BOTH LOVED.’ HE MADE THE PLACE HIS STUDIO. FOR SOME TIME THE FREAKIEST L.A. FREAKS DANCED THROUGH THE ROOMS.

OWENS WORKED LIKE A MANIAC EVERY DAY, FORGING A STYLE THAT WAS PART DISSOLVING LUXURY, PART ELEGANT SLEEPING BAG. THERE HAD BEEN PUNK-CHIC BEFORE, BUT THESE CLOTHES FREAKED PEOPLE OUT (THEY STILL FREAK ME OUT)—AND THEY WERE TRULY CHIC. OWENS COULD MAKE HIS MODELS LOOK LIKE UNTOUCHABLE QUEENS (HE HAD NOT DONE A MENSWEAR LINE YET), THEN TRANSFORM THEM, IN AS LITTLE TIME AS IT TOOK TO DO A BACKSTAGE OUTFIT CHANGE, INTO DAMAGED ALIEN ALLEY RATS WITH VACANT EYES AND DISTENDED TORSOS. CRITICS HAD A HARD TIME SAYING WHICH WAS MORE SEDUCTIVE, THE DAMAGE OR THE DIVINITY. BUT TO HAVE A DESIGNER SO AUTHENTICALLY LOW—NOT EUROPEAN BUT AMERICAN, NOT NEW YORK BUT CALIFORNIA, NOT L.A. BUT SMALL-TOWN, NOT DIAMONDS AND TANS BUT TATTOOS AND NOSE RINGS—GO SO HIGH, SO EXPERIMENTAL? THAT WAS SOMETHING NEW.

ONE OF HIS EARLIEST DESIGNS, FROM 1994, WAS A NYLON T-SHIRT THAT HAD A ROW OF BEADS SEWN INTO THE FABRIC OF THE SLEEVES, SUCH THAT THE BEADS THEMSELVES WERE NOT VISIBLE, ONLY THE LUMPS THEY MADE. WEARING THE SHIRT, YOU LOOKED LIKE YOU WERE SPROUTING AN EXOSKELETAL SPINE ON EACH ARM. LITTLE MOVE, MUCH EFFECT. EMPHATIC, STRANGE, SKILLFUL. AND PEOPLE NOTICED. ROCK STARS AND MOVIE STARS STARTED WANTING TO WEAR HIS GEAR. BUT IT WAS ALL THE OPPOSITE OF OVERNIGHT SUCCESS. WHEN HE HAD HIS FIRST SERIOUS RUNWAY SHOW, HE WAS ALMOST 40. THAT’S 140 IN FASHION YEARS. WHEN HE WON HIS FIRST BIG AWARD, HE TOLD REPORTERS HE FELT ‘LIKE A VAMPIRE.’

THE ENERGY IN L.A. CHANGED WHEN OWENS AND LAMY GOT ROBBED AT GUNPOINT ONE NIGHT. THE ROBBER RIPPED ALL OF LAMY’S RINGS OFF HER FINGERS. ‘AND SHE WEARS A LOT OF RINGS,’ OWENS SAID. ‘WE WERE NEVER COMFORTABLE THERE AGAIN.’ THEY MOVED THE NEXT DAY, INTO THE CHATEAU MARMONT, WHERE THEY STAYED FOR A YEAR.

‘YOU MUST HAVE SEEN CRAZY SHIT THERE,’ I SAID.

‘I WAS THE CRAZY SHIT,’ OWENS SAID.

HE GOT SICK OF DRINKING. HE WAS AMONG THE GENETICALLY FORTUNATE WHO WIND UP HATING IT MORE THAN THEY LOVE IT. HE HAD ALWAYS BEEN USING IT, TO GET SOMEWHERE. WHEN IT STOPPED MOVING HIM FORWARD, HE SWITCHED CHANNELS, OPTING FOR SOMETHING CLOSER TO STRAIGHT-EDGE, STILL HEDONISTIC BUT SAYING YES TO LIFE. TO LIFE AND DARKNESS.

ONE EVENING OWENS TOOK ME TO THE OWENSCORP SHOWROOM IN LE MARAIS, WHERE THE COLLECTION THAT HE HAD JUST DEBUTED AT PARIS FASHION WEEK WAS HANGING. IT WAS THE FIRST TIME I’D BEEN THAT CLOSE TO FASHION IN THE RAW, EXAMINING CHOICES AS IF THEY COULD STILL BE UNDONE. AT FIRST I WAS MOSTLY APPRECIATING THE COLORS, THE PALETTE, WHICH OWENS SAID CAME FROM A HORROR-MOVIE POSTER: ‘IT WAS A WEREWOLF MOVIE FROM THE ‘30S. I SAW IT ON ITUNES. IT WAS A PERFECT BLEND OF WHITE WITH THAT ORANGE AND JUST THE RIGHT AMOUNT OF THAT BLUE.’

OWENS, IN DISCUSSING THIS COLLECTION, HAD TENDED TO TALK IT DOWN SOME. ‘I’M VERY CRITICAL OF THIS COLLECTION,’ HE’D SAID, ‘BECAUSE THERE’S A SUSPICION IN ME THAT I PHONED IT IN. I DIDN’T INVENT ANYTHING NEW. IT WAS EXTENDING. I’M REPEATING MYSELF, BECAUSE I’M NOT THAT COMPLICATED.’ I MAYBE KNEW WHAT HE MEANT. THE COLLECTION WAS MORE SUBDUED THAN SOME OF HIS OTHER WORK, BUT IT ALSO TRANSMITTED A DEEP, CLEAR INTELLIGENCE. NOTHING WAS BORING. NOTHING SEEMED DONE INDIFFERENTLY.

ABOVE MY HEAD, ON A LARGE VIDEO SCREEN, THE RUNWAY SHOW IN WHICH THESE PIECES HAD FIRST BEEN SHOWN, DAYS EARLIER, PLAYED ON A LOOP, SO I COULD TURN MY EYES UP AND SEE WHAT THESE CLOTHES LOOKED LIKE ON HUMAN BEINGS. THAT WAS THE MOST IMPRESSIVE THING. THE DRAPING. OWENS HAS LONG BEEN REVERED AMONG FASHION AFICIONADOS FOR HIS DRAPING. IT WAS ONE OF THE THINGS HE’D MENTIONED WHEN I’D ASKED HIM WHY THE RUFF IN THE PORTRAIT AT THE PETIT PALAIS: ‘THE WAY IT’S DRAPED—IT’S KIND OF AMISH AND KIND OF VOLUPTUOUS.’ DRAPING IS ABOUT THE BODY. THE REASON OWENS IS ABLE TO GET AWAY WITH THE STRANGE DISTORTIONS AND EVEN DEFORMITIES THAT MARK HIS CLOTHES IS HIS UNDERLYING FEEL FOR THE HUMAN SHAPE, FOR HOW FAR IS TOO FAR IN A GIVEN DESIGN. WHEN HE GOES TOO FAR, YOU KNOW HE MEANT IT.

I SHOULD MENTION: THE WAY THE EMPLOYEES’ FACES LIT UP WHEN WE WALKED INTO THE SHOWROOM! ROWS AND ROWS OF THEM SITTING AT LONG BLACK TABLES. STARING WITH RAPTURE. HUNGER. PRIDE. ALSO A KIND OF FEAR THAT MADE THEM GLOW. THEY WERE LIKE INSTRUMENTS WHOSE HIGHEST STRINGS HAD JUST BEEN PLUCKED.

I LOST COUNT OF THE NUMBER OF PEOPLE HE INTRODUCED BY SAYING, ‘SHE’S BEEN WITH ME SINCE…’ OFTEN THE PERSON’S JOB HAD CHANGED OVER THE YEARS. I MET ONE WOMAN WHO WORKED IN SALES, AND OWENS SAID, ‘SHE STARTED OFF MODELING FOR US IN L.A.’ THIS WAS TRUE OF A SURPRISING NUMBER OF FOLKS—THAT THEY HAD JOINED THE TEAM DURING THE CALIFORNIA DAYS.

AFTER A FEW MINUTES, OWENS ANNOUNCED THAT WE WERE GOING TO LOOK AT A NEW JACKET HE HAD MADE. A MAN NAMED GIULIO MET US AT THE TOP OF THE STAIRS. HE WAS SLENDER, WITH LONG BROWN HAIR JUST TOUCHED BY GRAY AT THE SIDES, AND HAD A FACE OF EXTRAORDINARY BEAUTY, FINE-BONED AND FEMININE. ‘GIULIO HAS BEEN WITH ME SINCE 2001,’ OWENS SAID, ‘SINCE I WAS JUST MANUFACTURING, NOT DOING SHOWS.’

WE WALKED DOWN A HALLWAY, PAST A SERIES OF EMPTY ROOMS. NATURAL LIGHT SPILLED IN FROM SMALL WINDOWS HIGH ABOVE. WE CAME TO A SPACE WITH A GIANT MIRROR. GIULIO TOOK A JACKET OUT OF A BAG AND HELD IT AS OWENS SLID INTO IT, LOOKING FOR A MOMENT SLIGHTLY VULNERABLE IN THE WAY MEN ALWAYS DO WHEN SOMEBODY ELSE IS DRESSING THEM. THE JACKET WAS LONG—IT SEEMED TO ELONGATE HIS TORSO, SHORTEN HIS LEGS. HAD THERE NOT BEEN SOMETHING PERFECT ABOUT IT, A PERSON MIGHT HAVE THOUGHT IT WAS CUT ‘WRONG.’ AS IT WAS, IT LOOKED ELEGANT. IT HAD WEIRD BEAUTY. PARTLY I SAY ‘WEIRD BEAUTY’ BECAUSE THOSE ARE MY TWO FAVORITE WORDS TO USE TOGETHER AND EVIDENTLY WILL BE UNTIL I GO TO MY GRAVE. PARTLY I SAY IT BECAUSE OWENS HIMSELF HAD DONE SO, THE DAY BEFORE. ‘I’VE ALWAYS RESISTED RULES BASED ON BIGOTRY OR SUPERSTITION OR CONVENTION,’ HE’D SAID. ‘WHAT I’M DOING IS I GO, ‘I THINK THIS IS WEIRDLY BEAUTIFUL, DON’T YOU?’ LET’S THINK ABOUT OTHER VERSIONS OF BEAUTY THAT AREN’T SO CLICHÉD.’

WHILE OWENS SCRUTINIZED HIS REFLECTION, GIULIO STOOD BEHIND HIM TAKING PHONE PICS OF HIS BACK. HE WOULD TAKE A COUPLE, THEN HAND THE PHONE TO OWENS, SHOWING HIM THE ONE PERSPECTIVE ON THE JACKET THAT OWENS COULDN’T GET. OWENS DIDN’T LIKE IT. THE JACKET, I MEAN. HE WAS DISSATISFIED. HE WAS MAKING GRUMPY FACES. ‘SEE THIS PUCKER UNDER THE ARMPIT,’ HE SAID. I LOOKED. I DID SEE IT. ‘THEY TOOK AWAY TOO MUCH,’ HE SAID, ‘AND NOT IN THE CORRECT WAY.’ HE AND GIULIO STARTED TO REMINISCE ABOUT ANOTHER TAILOR WHO HAD BEEN BETTER, WHO WOULDN’T HAVE MADE THIS MISTAKE.

OWENS MADE GIULIO TRY ON THE JACKET. GIULIO’S SMILE BECAME SHEEPISH BUT REMAINED BEAUTIFUL. ‘I LIKE IT BETTER ON YOU THAN ON ME,’ OWENS SAID. HE LOOKED DOWN AT GIULIO’S BOOTS. ‘ARE THESE NEW? THEY LOOK GREAT.’ GIULIO GAVE A NONCOMMITTAL ANSWER, LIKE HE COULDN’T REMEMBER WHEN HE’D BOUGHT THEM. ‘SOME PEOPLE HAVE SHOES FROM A FEW YEARS AGO,’ OWENS SAID. ‘I DON’T LIKE LOOKING AT THEM.’

I ASKED IF THAT HAPPENED OFTEN, THAT HE WOULD RUN INTO PEOPLE WEARING HIS CLOTHES AND FIND HE DIDN’T LIKE THEIR STYLE. ‘EVERY SO OFTEN,’ HE SAID, ‘I’LL BE AT A PARTY AND GET INTRODUCED TO SOMEONE AND THINK, ‘YOU’RE WEARING MY GREATEST REGRET.’ ‘

OWENS EXCUSED HIMSELF TO PRESIDE OVER A STAFF MEETING. WHEN IT WAS DONE, AND AS EVERYONE WAS GOING HOME FOR THE DAY, OWENS PULLED ASIDE ONE EMPLOYEE, THE FIRST PERSON I’D SEEN WHO WASN’T WEARING OWENS. OWENS MADE INTRODUCTIONS. TURNED OUT THE MAN WAS IN CHARGE OF DISTRIBUTION IN A MAJOR ASIAN COUNTRY. OWENS STEPPED FORWARD AS THOUGH TO SPEAK WITH HIM MORE PRIVATELY, AND I RETREATED BACK TO A NEARBY BENCH. OWENS CHANGED HIS BODY LANGUAGE. HE PUT HIS HANDS ON THE MAN’S SHOULDERS THE WAY MEN SOMETIMES DO WHEN THEY WANT TO ASSERT POWER. ‘[MAN’S NAME],’ HE SAID, IN WHAT SOUNDED LIKE A PHILOSOPHICALLY QUIZZICAL TONE, ‘HOW COME WE’RE NOT BIG IN [MAJOR ASIAN COUNTRY]?’ IT SEEMED CLEAR TO ME AND, I BELIEVE, TO THE MAN THAT WHAT HE’D MEANT WAS ‘WHY THE FUCK IS IT THAT DESPITE THE LARGE AMOUNT OF MONEY I PAY YOU, MY BRAND IS NOT DOING AS WELL AS IT MIGHT BE IN [MAJOR ASIAN COUNTRY]?’

MORE MUTTERING PASSED BETWEEN THEM, NOT ANGRY BUT STERN. OWENS REMOVED HIS HANDS. ‘THANK YOU, RICK,’ SAID THE MAN. ‘YOU ALWAYS HAVE GOOD WORDS.’ THEN HE QUICKLY LEFT. OWENS SAT BACK DOWN.

‘THAT WAS ME YELLING,’ HE SAID.

I SAID IT HAD BEEN GENTLE YELLING.

‘I THINK ABOUT AGGRESSION A LOT,’ HE SAID. ‘I’M ALWAYS CAREFUL ABOUT IT NOW. BUT I’M ALSO CONSCIOUS THAT SOMETIMES YOU NEED TO BARK A LITTLE BIT.’

OWENS ON A BENCH IN PARIS, 2018: ‘I CATCH MYSELF THINKING, ‘WHAT DO PEOPLE WANT FROM ME?’ I HAVE TO FORCE MYSELF TO SAY, ‘NO, WHAT DO I WANT?’ ‘

LATER, WHEN ASKED WHAT KIND OF ART IS MOVING HIM LATELY: ‘LAND ART.’

ASKED WHY: ‘YOU SEE SOMEBODY REACHING FOR SOMETHING BIGGER, LEAVING THEIR MARK, AND IT LOOKS HEROIC. BUT THERE’S THIS SLIGHT MELANCHOLY. BECAUSE THOSE ARTISTS ARE DEAD.’

WHEN ASKED WHAT HE THINKS ABOUT WHEN HE’S DESIGNING: ‘I’M THINKING OF MY LIFE. I’M THINKING OF THE WAY I LIVE. I’M THINKING I WANT BRANCUSI TO WEAR ONE OF MY DRESSES WHILE HE’S MAKING A PIECE OF ART. I’M THINKING OF BRANCUSI. I’M THINKING OF EISENSTEIN DRAWINGS. I’M THINKING, ‘I LIKE THE WAY THAT LOOKS.’ ‘

WHY, ALL THOSE YEARS AGO, DID OWENS GIVE UP PAINTING FOR FASHION? ‘CLOTHES ARE ABOUT CODES. THAT’S WHAT FASCINATES ME MOST.’

ASKED WHAT GOES THROUGH HIS MIND WHEN PEOPLE SEE HIS FREAKY PRE-COLLECTION RUNWAY SHOWS AND SAY, ‘BUT WHO WOULD ACTUALLY WEAR THIS?’: ‘I DON’T KNOW IF I REALLY MEAN IT TO BE WORN. THE COMMERCIAL STUFF IN THE END IS GOING TO BE WHAT DEFINES ME. THE RUNWAY SHOWS ARE A FANTASY. THAT’S ME PROJECTING. AND THE STUFF THAT’S THE FURTHEST FAR-OUT GIVES VALUE TO EVERYTHING ELSE.’

THE INSTRUCTIONS HE GAVE TO THE AFRICAN-AMERICAN ALBINO MALE MODEL WHO WALKED FOR HIM AT NEW YORK’S FASHION WEEK IN 2002, THE YEAR HE WON THE PERRY ELLIS AWARD FOR EMERGING TALENT: TO WALK EXTREMELY SLOWLY AND TO WINCE WITH EACH STEP.

ON THE INEVITABILITY OF CLIMATE DOOM: ‘THAT’S FINE. AREN’T WE SUPPOSED TO TURN INTO GAS? WE’RE NOT GOING TO LAST. DO WE THINK WE’RE SUPPOSED TO?’

ON THE #METOO MOVEMENT: ‘OF COURSE I STAND WITH THE WOMEN, AND ANYTHING I SAY IS GOING TO BE WRONG, BUT…IT HAS MADE ME THINK, ‘WAIT, I FORGOT, LIFE IS REALLY CRUDE, A LOT OF CRUDE MACHINATIONS, A LOT OF CRUDE URGES.’ PEOPLE ACT LIKE WE’RE MORE HIGH-MINDED AND SOPHISTICATED, AND WE’RE KIND OF NOT. DO WE THINK WE’RE ENTITLED TO LIVE WITHOUT MISBEHAVIOR? THERE’S AN ELEMENT OF MALICE THAT IS PART OF THE WAY THINGS WORK.’ (HE’LL PROBABLY TAKE SHIT FOR THIS ONLINE. I’M ALMOST HESITANT TO QUOTE IT FOR THAT REASON, AND BECAUSE I HAD BAITED HIM INTO GIVING AN OPINION IN THE FIRST PLACE. I INCLUDE IT BECAUSE IT WAS THE ONLY THING I HEARD ANYONE SAY ABOUT #METOO DURING THOSE MONTHS THAT I’D NEVER HEARD BEFORE.)

THE NEXT THING HE SAID: ‘I’M DISTURBED EVERY TIME I LOOK AT THE NEW YORK TIMES AND SEE ‘[EXPLETIVE].’ YOU KNOW HOW THEY DO THAT, PRINT ‘[EXPLETIVE]’ INSTEAD OF ‘SHIT’ OR ‘FUCK’ OR WHATEVER? FOR US STILL TO BE SO SQUEAMISH AND INDIGNANT ABOUT HUMAN BEHAVIOR.’

ON ONLINE COMMENTS ABOUT HIS WORK: ‘THE INTERNET HAS ERECTED THIS MOB OF OPINIONS THAT CAN BE VERY CONSERVATIVE, NOT POLITICALLY—OR NOT NECESSARILY POLITICAL—BUT STATUS QUO. YOU SEE HOW QUICKLY EVERYTHING DEVOLVES INTO AGGRESSION, PEOPLE DEBATING PROSAIC THINGS. HOW THE LOUDEST DOMINATE. I DO KNOW THIS: THERE ARE A LOT OF PEOPLE OUT THERE I’M DELIGHTED TO BE OFFENDING.’

ON HIS OWN SUCCESS: ‘THE GENIE IS OUT OF THE BOTTLE. I’M NEVER GOING TO BE NICHE AGAIN. I’M COMMERCIAL ESTABLISHMENT. I WOULD LOVE TO BE WEIRD AND UNATTAINABLE AGAIN. THAT’S WHAT I WANTED TO BE—TO LIVE IN POVERTY BUT BE LIKE GIACOMETTI.’

ON HIS ASOCIAL TENDENCIES AND INCREASING AVOIDANCE OF PARTIES: ‘I FORGIVE MYSELF FOR NOT BEING MORE GREGARIOUS. THE FUNNY THING IS, WHEN I DECIDE NOT TO BE, I’M NOT SHY. BUT I’VE ELIMINATED THAT WHOLE WORLD. AT A CERTAIN POINT, I HAD TO ASK MYSELF, ‘WHAT’S OF MORE VALUE?’ I HAVE MY PARTNERS, MY BUSINESS PARTNERS. THAT’S MY COMFORT LEVEL.’

ON THE POSSIBILITY THAT THE MAIN REASON HE CAN GET AWAY WITH AVOIDING PARTIES IS THAT ON ANY GIVEN NIGHT HE AND LAMY ARE HOSTING A TOTALLY FASCINATING DINNER PARTY THAT’S PROBABLY AS CLOSE TO AN 18TH-CENTURY SALON AS PARIS COMES THESE DAYS: NOTHING, BECAUSE I DIDN’T ASK HIM THIS. IN MY HEAD IT HAD SOUNDED RUDE OR SOMETHING.

ON WHETHER THE NAME HE’D COME UP WITH FOR THE NEW COLLECTION, SISYPHUS, HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE WORD ‘SISSY’: ‘WELL, IT’S FUNNY YOU SAY THAT, BECAUSE I DID FOR A WHILE REFER TO THE MEN’S AND WOMEN’S COLLECTIONS AS SISSY MEN AND SISSY WOMEN.’

DID IT, THEN? ‘NO. I WAS THINKING OF KING SISYPHUS.’

BUT WHY WAS HE THINKING ABOUT KING SISYPHUS? WAS IT RELATED TO A SENSE OF FRUSTRATION WITH THIS MOMENT IN HISTORY, A SENSE OF UTOPIAN URGES PLAYED OUT, PERHAPS? ‘I WAS THINKING ABOUT DECLINE—ECOLOGICAL DECLINE, POLITICAL DECLINE.’

ALSO: ‘MY FATHER HAD RECENTLY DIED. WE HADN’T SPOKEN IN A COUPLE OF YEARS. HE’S THE ONE WHO DECIDED TO STOP TALKING. I WAS THINKING ABOUT HIM, ABOUT HIS AGGRESSIVE, ECCENTRIC GENES. I SEE IT IN MYSELF: JUDGMENT, CYNICISM.’

JOHN P. ‘JACK’ OWENS WAS, IN HIS SON’S WORDS, ‘AN AGGRESSIVE MAN WHO NEEDED TO DOMINATE.’ HE GREW UP IN ATLANTIC CITY, MET RICK’S MOTHER IN MEXICO, AND MOVED TO CALIFORNIA IN THE LATE ‘50S. THERE, IN 1961, THEY HAD RICK, A SCORPIO BABY WHO RECEIVED THE MIDDLE NAME OF SATURNINO. HIS FIRST LANGUAGE WAS SPANISH. PORTERVILLE, A FARM TOWN THAT LIES ON THE DRIED-UP BED OF OLD TULARE LAKE, WAS NOT AN ARTISTICALLY PROMISING PLACE TO GROW UP. BUT ARTISTS GROW UP IN THEIR HEADS, AND OWENS’S HEAD HAD WORKING MATERIALS IN IT. JACK IMPOSED ON THE SELF-DESCRIBED ‘OVERLY SENSITIVE’ BOY AN ECCENTRIC PROGRAM OF CULTURAL HOME-SCHOOLING, HAVING HIM READ CERTAIN CLASSICAL AUTHORS, SHOWING HIM JAPANESE PRINTS AND DRAWINGS. LED ZEPPELIN THE BOY DISCOVERED ON HIS OWN.

JACK WORKED IN THE COUNTY WELFARE DEPARTMENT. FOUR DECADES HE SPENT DOING THAT. AND AS IS THE CASE WITH MANY PEOPLE WHO HAVE THAT JOB, HE MAINLY INTERVIEWED MEN AND WOMEN APPLYING FOR BENEFITS. MY FATHER-IN-LAW HELD THE SAME JOB FOR ABOUT THE SAME NUMBER OF YEARS. YOU’RE BASICALLY SITTING THERE BEING LIED TO AND SCAMMED BY PEOPLE ALL DAY, PEOPLE YOU WANT TO HELP. IT’S NOT THEIR FAULT. OUR WELFARE SYSTEM IS SET UP SO THAT OFTENTIMES ONLY LYING WILL GET YOU THE THINGS YOU GENUINELY NEED. BUT IT TAKES A TOLL ON THE PSYCHE. ‘IT EMBITTERED HIM,’ OWENS SAID. ‘HE WAS VERY MISTRUSTFUL, WHICH ADDED TO HIS CYNICISM.’

OWENS RETURNED TO THE SUBJECT OF HIS FATHER MANY TIMES DURING THE DAYS WE SPENT TOGETHER. THE THINGS HE SAID USUALLY CONTAINED A MIXTURE OF ANGER, RUEFULNESS, AND LOVE. IT WAS INTERESTING TO READ BACK THROUGH MY NOTEBOOK AND SEE THAT ON ALMOST EVERY PAGE, THERE WOULD BE AT LEAST ONE SENTENCE ABOUT HIS FATHER. THE DEATH WAS RECENT, IS. THE SHADOW VAST. HIS FATHER, I CAME TO FEEL, HAD BEEN A KIND OF ANTI-MUSE. EVERYTHING OWENS HAD DONE WAS A DIRECT STRIKE AGAINST HIS EXAMPLE. BUT OF COURSE, LIKE ALL ANTI-MUSES, HE WAS ALSO A MUSE, EVERY BIT AS MUCH AS LAMY. SOME MUSES WE WORSHIP; OTHERS WE HAVE TO DESTROY. ‘HE WAS AN INTELLECTUAL BULLY,’ OWENS SAID, ‘LOOKING FOR A CHINK IN PEOPLE’S VALUE SYSTEMS. HE WAS CHARMING. HE’D GAIN YOUR TRUST, THEN SAY, ‘WHAT DO YOU THINK OF ABORTION?’ HE NEEDED TO HAVE THE DISCUSSION, HE NEEDED TO ANALYZE IT, HE NEEDED TO REALLY BE THOROUGH AND HAVE FOOTNOTES.’

AN OBVIOUS ISSUE BETWEEN THE TWO HAD TO DO WITH SEX. JACK OWENS HAD MAJOR PROBLEMS WITH HOMOSEXUALITY, AND SEXUALITY, AND HIS ONLY CHILD WAS COMPLICATEDLY QUEER. ‘MY FATHER BRUTALIZED ME—NOT PHYSICALLY. EXCEPT ONCE,’ OWENS SAID.

IN THE TRADITION OF GREAT AMERICAN AUTODIDACTIC CRANKS, JACK STARTED WRITING LETTERS TO THE EDITOR. OR PERHAPS I SHOULD SAY LETTERS TO THE EDITORS. OF THE PORTERVILLE POST AND THE PORTERVILLE RECORDER. TO WHOM HE ADDRESSED MULTIPLE SCREEDS AGAINST ‘GAY LIBERATION IDEOLOGUES’ AND OTHER AGENTS OF MORAL TURPITUDE, SUCH AS THE PORTERVILLE PUBLIC LIBRARY, WHICH INSISTED ON SUBSCRIBING TO AND OFFERING FOR ITS PATRONS’ ENJOYMENT COPIES OF COSMOPOLITAN,’WHICH HAS BECOME PORNOGRAPHIC,’ JACK OWENS WROTE. HE ADVISED CONCERNED READERS, ‘SEE RED-HOT READ, AN ONGOING FEATURE….’ REACHING OUT ABOUT THIS MATTER, HE HAD CONTACTED ‘AN ASSISTANT LIBRARIAN, THE LIBRARIAN HERSELF, HER SUPERVISOR, THE MAYOR, THE CITY MANAGER, THE VICE MAYOR, AND AS MANY LOCAL CHURCHES AS HAVE AN E-MAIL ADDRESS…’ DESPITE THIS THOROUGHNESS, ‘MY POSTS ARE SIMPLY IGNORED.’ HE INVITED LIKE-MINDED CITIZENS TO ‘ACCOMPANY ME IN GOING INTO CITY HALL’ AND ‘CONFRONT THOSE RESPONSIBLE.’

THE FIRST TIME JACK SAW ONE OF OWENS’S SHOWS, IN 2003, HE TOLD HIS SON, ‘I COULDN’T BELIEVE ALL THOSE PEOPLE WERE INTERESTED IN COMING TO SEE YOU.’ HE DIED IN 2015, AT AGE 95.

OWENS SHOOK HIS HEAD. ‘I EXPECTED HIM TO FIND SOME LEVEL OF SERENITY,’ HE SAID, BUT HE NEVER DID. EVENTUALLY, ‘THINGS CHANGED, AND I DEVELOPED A STRONGER VOICE THAN HIS.’

DINNER CHEZ OWENS-LAMY, AT THE PLACE DU PALAIS-BOURBON. IN CASE THE OVERLAPPING NAMES ARE CONFUSING: THE PETIT PALAIS IS THE MUSEUM, WHERE I SHOWED UP LATE; THE PALAIS ROYAL IS WHERE THE STORE I VISITED IS LOCATED; THIS WAS THE PLACE DU PALAIS-BOURBON, WHERE HE LIVES. A CALIFORNIA VAMPIRE MOVES AMONG PALACES IN THE CITY OF LIGHT.

YOU ENTER A BLACK GATE AND ASCEND A GIGANTIC MARBLE STAIRWAY. IT’S DARK. AT THE TOP OF THE STAIRS THERE’S AN ALUMINUM DOOR. YOU ADVANCE UPWARD, AND AN ASSISTANT, IN BLACK RICK OWENS, SHOWS YOU INSIDE. THE BUILDING USED TO BE THE SOCIALIST PARTY HEADQUARTERS. OWENS AND LAMY SAID THE INTERIOR HAD BEEN ‘NASTY’ WHEN THEY’D FIRST MOVED IN. EVERYTHING CLUTTERED, GUNKED UP, WALLPAPERED, PANELED. THEY STRIPPED IT. THE STAIRCASE LED TO A SPACIOUS, BLOWN-OUT INTERIOR: OPEN, STARK, COLDLY WARM, LIKE LIGHT DURING AN ECLIPSE.

AT DINNER, I SAT NEXT TO LAMY. SHE SMOKED CIGARETTES CONSTANTLY. MANY OF THE MINI-BIOGRAPHIES ONE CAN READ ON THE WEB OR IN MAGAZINES INCLUDE THE CLAIM THAT SHE WAS BORN IN ALGERIA OR HAS BERBER BLOOD. THIS IS WITHOUT MERIT—SHE’S FROM THE JURA MOUNTAINS, NEAR THE SWISS BORDER—BUT HER CAST AND COMPLEXION ARE DARK ENOUGH TO RENDER IT PLAUSIBLE. TATTOOS ON HER FINGERS. HENNA IN HER HAIR. STRIPE OF KOHL ON HER FOREHEAD. HER BODY IS TRIM FROM BOXING, SO THAT ALTHOUGH SHE’S CLOSE TO 75, SHE HAS A FIT YOUNG WOMAN’S ARMS. OWENS HAD ONCE CALLED HER ‘AN OLD-FASHIONED SALONISTE’: ‘THAT’S THE PART SHE LOVES—ORCHESTRATING.’

ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE TABLE FROM LAMY SAT CONNIE OWENS, STILL ON THE VISIT THAT HAD GIFTED ME WITH THOSE UNFORGETTABLE COOKIES. LAMY AND CONNIE NEVER SPOKE, THAT I SAW, BUT I SENSED A STRANGE CLOSENESS BETWEEN THEM. OWENS ACTED VERY LOYAL AND LOVING TOWARD HIS MOTHER. I ASKED HER IN SPANISH WHAT IT WAS LIKE HAVING HIM FOR A SON, AND SHE SAID HE WAS THE BEST SON IN THE WORLD.

ALSO AT THE TABLE THAT NIGHT WAS A RAPPER FROM ESTONIA CALLED TOMMY CASH. OWENS WAS INTO HIM. TOMMY HAD A MUSTACHE SO FAINT AND SMALL IT WAS LIKE THE MUSTACHE ON THE MONA LISA. HE WAS ROCKING HIPNESS BUT SEEMED OPEN AND FRIENDLY, TOO. TOMMY’S GIRLFRIEND WAS NAMED ANNA-LISA. SHE WAS ALSO ESTONIAN. SHE TALKED ABOUT HOW THEY HAD BASICALLY BEEN A FOREST PEOPLE, THE ESTONIANS, THE LAST HOLDOUT OF PAGANISM IN EUROPE. HER FACE WAS VAGUELY LIKE THE FACE OF AN ANIMAL I COULDN’T PLACE, POSSIBLY A PORCUPINE. ‘DO YOU RELATE TO THAT?’ I ASKED. ‘DO YOU FEEL THAT YOU ARE A FOREST PERSON?’



‘YES,’ SHE SAID.

AT ONE POINT, I FOUND MYSELF DISTRACTED BY A LARGE POTTED PLANT THAT LOOMED BEHIND MY SEAT. ITS LEAVES KEPT SCRAPING MY HEAD AND OBSCURING MY VISION. EVENTUALLY, LAMY SUMMONED AN ASSISTANT/SERVANT TO COME AND TRIM THE FRONDS FROM AROUND MY HEAD. NOBODY KNEW THE TRUTH ABOUT LAMY, YOU FELT—NO ONE BUT OWENS—AND YET SHE SEEMED UTTERLY LACKING IN GUILE. YOU ARE LOOKING THROUGH SO MUCH TO SEE HER WHEN YOU SIT BESIDE HER. THE MAKEUP, THE RINGS, THE TATTOOING, THE HENNA, THE MOTIONS OF HER HANDS, WRISTS A-CLATTER, IT’S ALL A KIND OF COLORFUL SHAKING, BUT AT THE VERY CENTER ARE THESE EYES OF A COLOR I’D NEVER SEEN BEFORE. BASALTIC, BUT I’VE SEEN BASALTIC EYES. THESE WERE DIFFERENT AND DARKER, AT LEAST IN THAT LIGHT. GUNMETAL. THEY’RE THE SECRET OF HER SEDUCTION, THAT MUCH WAS CLEAR. BY THE TIME YOU SEE THROUGH EVERYTHING AND FIND THE EYES, YOU’RE DONE. SHE HAS SEEN YOU.

I ROLLED A JOINT, AND SHE ASKED ME HOW I ROLL THEM: ‘WHAT RATIO?’ I ANSWERED, ‘NINETY-TWO PERCENT WEED AND EIGHT PERCENT TOBACCO.’ SHE TOLD ME THAT IF I REVERSED THE RATIO EXACTLY, SHE MIGHT SMOKE ONE. SO I DID, AND SHE DID.

TOMMY ASKED ME TO TAKE A ‘FAMILY PORTRAIT’ OF HIM AND ANNA-LISA WITH RICK AND MICHÈLE. OWENS HARANGUED ME AS I MOVED AROUND WITH TOMMY’S PHONE, TRYING TO GET A GOOD ANGLE. ‘COME ON, FLOW WITH IT,’ HE SAID. ‘DON’T BE LAZY. TRY TO FEEL IT.’ I MOVED FASTER, LAUGHING.

‘OKAY,’ OWENS SAID ABRUPTLY, ‘THAT’S ENOUGH.’

LATER IN THE EVENING, TOMMY SHOWED US SOME VIDEOS. ANNA-LISA HAD ART-DIRECTED THEM. THEY WERE CAPTIVATING. ‘I REALLY LIKE THE MUSIC,’ OWENS WHISPERED TO ME AT ONE POINT. ‘LISTEN TO THE MUSIC.’ HE WASN’T DISSING THE RAPPING. HE JUST ESPECIALLY LIKED THE MUSIC. AND WHEN I TUNED IN TO IT, I HEARD HOW FRESH IT WAS. HIGH-TECH BUT RAW. SPACIOUS, DECEPTIVELY MELODIC. (WEEKS LATER, OWENS INVITED TOMMY TO WALK FOR HIM ON THE RUNWAY IN PARIS TO THE ACCOMPANIMENT OF AN INSTRUMENTAL VERSION OF ONE OF HIS BEST SONGS, ‘PUSSY MONEY WEED.’)

MY TURN CAME, AND I MADE THEM WATCH A DANCE VIDEO I’D BEEN OBSESSED WITH, KHALEYA GRAHAM DANCING TO KENDRICK LAMAR’S ‘HUMBLE.’ I HOPE IT FREAKED THEM OUT. IT MAY HAVE BUMMED OUT TOMMY CASH SLIGHTLY. HE MAY HAVE FELT LIKE I WOULD FEEL IF I WERE TO DO A READING AND THEN SOMEONE WERE TO GO UP AND READ SOME CHEKHOV. BUT I REFLECTED THAT IF SO, IT COULD BE USEFUL. PERHAPS IT WOULD PUSH HIM. I TOLD TOMMY I WOULD PUT HIM IN MY STORY, AND HE GOT VERY HAPPY AND SORT OF WATERY-EYED, LIKE, ‘LIFE IS MAGICAL,’ EVEN THOUGH HE WAS ALREADY GETTING FAMOUS. HE DIDN’T NEED ME.

OWENS DIDN’T SPEAK MUCH THAT NIGHT, BUT AT ONE POINT HE SAID, ‘MICHÈLE, ISN’T JOHN CHARMING?’

‘YES, RICK. HE IS VERY CHARMING.’

‘YEAH? WELL, HE’S A JOURNALIST, AND HE’S GOING TO TWIST EVERY WORD WE SAY TO HIS OWN ENDS. DON’T FORGET.’

‘OKAY, RICK.’