‘BRINGING SEXY BACK’
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feeling well.’ He pauses, the emotion catching in his throat. On the night his mother died, he says, he woke up in the early hours of the morning, sensing her passing. He switched off the phones in an attempt to postpone the call that would confirm his fears. That was six years ago; it is a loss he still feels keenly. Berardi is a sensitive soul. He agonises over everything. Small things. Big things. Anything. But it’s not only angst that makes him uncomfortable adopting the mantle of celebrity designer. He recounts how it took him three attempts to get into Central Saint Martins; he felt his face didn’t fit then, and still doesn’t. ‘Let’s put it this way, when I did get in, I was the fattest person there. For the first year, no one talked to me,’ Berardi says, his statement taking me by surprise, given the lithe figure sitting before me. ‘When I did lose weight, my life changed. People would vie to catch my attention. But it makes it very difficult to trust people because you know you are the same person you were when you were 18 stone. It was a bitter pill to swallow. Losing the weight was not a relief.’ He may have shed the pounds, but he claims he still dresses to blend in. ‘It goes back to childhood. I was extremely obese, so I didn’t want people to notice me,’ he says, pointing to the anonymous polo-shirt, jeans and box-fresh trainers he’s wearing today. ‘I look in the mirror and I still see the me who was 18 stone.’ Perhaps this is why Berardi is such an advocate of more womanly figures (his designs range up to size 16 – practically unheard-of in highfashion circles). He has often spoken out about the size-0 debate, discussing the problems he has finding girls who adequately fill his womanly clothes. ‘I love a curvaceous look. I love tits and bums. What can I say? My family is Italian.’ Still, to couch his aesthetic in terms of his Mediterranean heritage would be far too reductive. Instead, his clothes are a distillation of what Berardi believes are the opposing forces of womanhood: vulnerability and strength, poetry and pragmatism, eroticism and modesty. ‘That’s how I see women. They are incredibly romantic creatures, but they are also the ones who wear the trousers,’ he says. ‘A man can be as masculine as he wants, but just by being feminine, a woman can be much more powerful and bring men to their knees. My work is simply a celebration of that.’
‘PEDRO’S ANGELS’
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comfortable with my mother’s circle of friends. I lived in a very conservative village, but it was the women who solved all the problems.’ He stirs more honey into his tea. ‘In this matriarchy, the women would pretend to be serving the men, but behind their backs they would act with a lot of intelligence and common sense. So the man would be king, but the women would be head of government and all the other ministers put together. When my two older sisters started dating boys, my mum was not only aware of it and accepting of it, but she would also lie to my father because he would never have accepted it.’ The young Almodóvar went to a Catholic school where, he has claimed in the past, he was molested; at nine he declared himself an agnostic. He loved the films of Bette Davis, Joan Crawford and Audrey Hepburn, read voraciously and dreamed of a different life in Madrid. He finally left for Madrid at 17, worked at Spain’s national telephone company for 12 years, and wrote, acted and made films on his Super 8 camera by night, becoming a key figure in the La Movida Madrileña movement – part of the cultural renaissance after the fall of the Franco regime. In 1980, he directed Pepi, Luci, Bom, followed by films including Matador (1986), Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (1988), Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! (1990), All About My Mother (1999) and Talk to Her (2002), which would define his blend of humour and melodrama, his sexually liberated themes and his bold visual style. Almodóvar has always taken the aesthetics of his films extremely seriously; from the trademark neon sets to the brightly coloured and leopard-print costumes worn by his female characters over the years, his attention to detail (and penchant for women’s fashion) is obsessive. ‘It’s not a question of the superficiality of fashion; I want to transmit the characters’ emotion through the clothes they wear. I remember a moment in Casablanca when Ingrid Bergman meets Humphrey Bogart again after a long time, and she asks if he remembers the last time they met. Of course he does:
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it was in Paris the day the Germans invaded the city, and while the Germans were all wearing grey, Bergman was wearing blue. He’s [only] talking about clothes, but the emotion he transmits…!’ At a screening of Broken Embraces (which is set in the 1990s), Cruz’s wardrobe inspired audible gasps from female members of the audience, as she sashayed into shot in shoulder pads and pencil skirts (echoing the Almodóvar-inspired power-dressing of this season). It’s clear that the director spent a lot of time thinking about Cruz’s wardrobe for the part. ‘When Penélope is with her rich and powerful lover, she is wearing Chanel,’ he says. ‘In one bedroom scene, she’s in a black Chanel gown with gold chains around the neck. She looks splendorous, but she’s also a woman who is chained to luxury, chained to the man who represents that luxury.’ He pauses for a sip of tea. ‘The middle of the movie is really like a film noir, and so she wears a red John Galliano outfit that’s very inspired by the 1950s, which is the golden period of noir. When she’s shooting [film within a film] Girls and Suitcases, she’s naive and happy and light. By chance, I was walking through Paris and saw this Pierre Cardin dress that was very Pop and geometric – perfect for the Audrey Hepburn style I had in mind.’ In the past, Almodóvar has talked about being a gay man who loves to dress his actresses as though he were dressing up dolls. In one scene, Cruz tries on different wigs, including a platinum-blonde Warhol bob, and is transformed into different versions of Hollywood femmes fatales. ‘It was very hard to choose a wig, as everything suits Penélope, but we had such fun!’ This is not, of course, the first time he has experimented with Cruz’s look to recall strong, sexy cinematic icons. Almodóvar is greatly influenced by Fellini, Italian neorealist cinema and its heroines, Sophia Loren, Claudia Cardinale and Anna Magnani. There’s an iconic shot in Volver in which the camera looks down on Cruz while she’s washing the dishes. It’s one of the sexiest shots of a housewife in recent cinema – and a loving homage to Loren. He also, quite famously, padded out Cruz’s slim bottom in Volver to enhance the sexy-housewife look. ‘Ah, yes! Here’s a woman who’s working the whole day and is tired but also desirable.’ He smiles and looks wistfully down at his own, less-than-svelte physique; he is always on some diet or other. In indigo jeans, white trainers and a Gucci jacket, he obviously cares how he looks more than most directors. ‘I am often asked if I understand women better because I’m gay. You understand women if you pay attention to them! We belong to the same species!’ He then explains that he was, in fact, bisexual through his teens and twenties. ‘When I was twentysomething, I lived with a girl for three years – as both flatmate and lover. I’ve become very familiar with one woman, which is enough for me to understand women and create strong female characters.’ Almodóvar’s films may be a direct reaction against his conservative Catholic upbringing under the Franco regime, but without his female lovers and the women who populated his childhood, he may have been a very different film-maker – one not so pursued by Hollywood women. As he gets ready to leave, I have one last question: how did he make it through those years in a tiny village in La Mancha? Again, he roars with laughter. ‘I knew from an early age that I had to be as strong as Bette Davis in order to survive.’ And with a small, Japanese-style bow and a quick handshake, he is gone. ‘Broken Embraces’ is released nationwide on 28 August.
‘NATALIA’
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success is ‘her strength’, which she says comes from leaving home at such a young age. Photographer Astrid Muñoz says: ‘Natalia tells it like it is, but at the same time she has this “happy little girl” side that makes you want to hug her.’ David Bonnouvrier, Natalia’s agent at DNA Model Management, who has worked with her from the beginning of her career, attributes her success in part to her background. ‘She’s lived a full life, so she brings that to pictures. There’s nothing blank about Natalia.’ Bonnouvrier also cites her determination: her drive is such that she was modelling swimwear when she was four-and-a-half months pregnant; after her last baby, Viktor, she was back on the Louis Vuitton catwalk in three weeks. Then there’s the head for money acquired so early on. ‘All those years selling fruit created a canny businesswoman; she’s a real good bargainer,’ Justin adds. Forthright and direct, Natalia is a force to be reckoned with (she is one
of the few models who have spoken out on eating disorders, participating in a panel discussion at the Council of Fashion Designers of America in 2007). Her philosophy is: ‘If I don’t feel like it, I don’t do something.’ And when she does want something, she doesn’t hesitate to roll up her sleeves, especially when it comes to fundraising. The list of donors for the Naked Heart Foundation reads like a roll-call of fashion land; everyone from Stephen Meisel to John Galliano has dug deep. The model who posed for them has had the courage to turn the tables and ask for a favour in return. Natalia doesn’t suffer from the selective-memory syndrome of so many stars, which is partly what draws people to her. She remains loyal to all her friends and family (looking after them now that she can). Her sister now has a carer, and that first boyfriend – well, she bought him a car to thank him for his support. She’s even honest enough to express relief at what she escaped: the destitution of the friends left behind. ‘I did have two girlfriends at school who were lovely,’ she says warmly. ‘They would give me clothes and feed me. I recently went to visit one of them when I was back home. She’s a single mum now, and it’s really hard. Her mother’s not working any more, and they are having all these problems. In fact, I’m helping them out [now] with money, which is ironic.’ Natalia’s loyalty is, above all, to her family. She and Justin are a close team. ‘He always tells me, “It was love at first sight.”’ But the pair argued on their first date, in 2000, over dinner at Georges in Paris (Natalia thought Justin was dating another girl). In the end, she made him wait two months for their first kiss. ‘It was immediately clear that Natalia was a passionate, emotional woman and wasn’t to be played with,’ Justin recalls. ‘She spoke straight from the heart with sincerity, charm and Russian fire. She was irresistible.’ At their wedding, she demonstrated her endless resourcefulness. ‘My dress was made for me by Tom Ford. I added my own touch at the last minute when I realised that, as we were in a Russian Orthodox church, I needed a veil. I grabbed some netting that was being used to decorate the room and made a veil myself. It made the dress even more special and personal.’ Justin – with whom Natalia now has three children – is an artist known for his eccentric ways (currently, he has a passion for all things to do with moths), but he still finds the time to accompany Natalia on her assignments. He is also the one she credits with ‘predicting a lot of things happening to me when I was saying, “Hey, come on, you’re crazy – I may never get there.” It’s not that I wasn’t sure in myself, but more that I couldn’t imagine a certain level of success.’ The couple work well together, between their homes in London, Sussex, New York and Uruguay. ‘What helped me stay a “normal” person is that I met Justin very young. I was in a serious relationship and had children very early on in my modelling career. When other models were maybe going out to nightclubs, I was bringing up my children and had a husband at home.’ Over the years, I’ve come to think of Natalia as a Matryoshka doll: there are several women within that famous body. At first glance, there is the supermodel – the strangely beautiful face that adorns posters and magazine covers around the world. And then, inside that, there’s a second Matryoshka: the mother of seven-year-old Lucas, three-year-old Neva and Viktor, who is 18 months, all of whom she manages to look after around her career. But the third – perhaps at the very heart of Natalia – is the woman with a goal to open 500 playgrounds and to see a better future for Russia’s children. Today, she has gained a perspective on her fashion career. ‘I treat m o d e l ling differently now,’ she says. ‘I am more of a brand that people want to associate with, which is useful to benefit my charity and other projects.’ It’s 10pm at the Bazaar shoot, and the summer sun has finally set over the fields behind Natalia’s Sussex home. The shoot over, in the darkness, we tramp through the long grass using the lights of our mobiles to guide us to the house. Inside, Justin is waiting; he has prepared a simple supper of spinach and poached eggs, which we eat around the large oak kitchen table. Talk soon veers to the next Love Ball in London in the spring. Natalia wants the event to become an annual Russia-meets-London love-fest, where growing ties and friendships can be celebrated – the face of Calvin Klein perfume is now a poster-girl for Anglo-Russian relations. There’s a knock at the door, and in comes her grandmother (her Babushka) to say goodnight (she lives with Natalia’s grandfather in a cottage next-door) – and
suddenly it feels as though all the pieces in this enchanted life have fallen into place. It was, after all, Natalia’s Babushka who encouraged her to leave Russia. ‘She told me that a new life had to be better than what would happen to me if I stayed.’ How right she was. For more information about the Naked Heart Foundation, visit www.nakedheart.org.
‘DON’T WORRY, BE HAPPY’
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and understanding, ‘but it also clogs up our ability to shake off minor worries’, agrees McMahon. ‘Women also remember negative things in the past and predict they are going to happen again, while males are much more likely to let bygones be bygones.’ How very worrying. So why-oh-why do we do it? (she asks, wringing her hands). Worrying about the paltry and the petty is, of course, indulgent and egocentric – and, in that sense, deeply human. An evolutionary biologist would argue that it is a natural by-product of having a brain that is capable of such high-wire feats as considering the future. Perhaps, too, fretting diverts us from the real story – mortality, oil running out, that kind of thing – and thus runs interference for thoughts that may otherwise seem too overwhelming to comprehend. Worrying, it is also posited, gives us imaginary control over future dangers. A mother who can foresee the cradle falling can do something about it. The issue is, though, that very few boughs break, leaving us with all those wasted witterings jamming our faculties. Some women have found methods to break the cycle of binge thinking. Take Caroline Michel, CEO of literary agency PFD. ‘I’m a great believer in talking things through with someone who can throw a whole new light on what’s worrying you,’ she says. ‘I used to lie in bed and think “if only”. Now I let go and move forward – and I’m a great one for compartmentalising things.’ There’s much to absorb here: letting go, talking through, compartmentalising so that a single worry doesn’t leak over your psyche like spilled ink. As Dale Carnegie, author of How to Stop Worrying and Start Living, says, we should try to ‘live in day-tight compartments… shut the iron doors on the past and the future’. Discussing even idiotic concerns with a friend can certainly dissipate them, just as it’s easier to be in a dark room if you have company. All too often, though, we don’t share our worries – we hoard them, embarrassed at how flimsy they are. The Yale researchers found that one in three of us doesn’t talk to anyone else about their concerns – and yet admitting our ludicrous cares is cathartic, it bonds us as women and humanises us, like admitting we’ve never read Proust. There are countless other ways to still the storm. Some swear by writing things down – once it’s on paper, it’s no longer circling your mind like a hawk – or by chanting a mantra (om mani padme hum is a classic, though my mother prefers ‘lemon meringue pie’). Others sing or whistle; some schedule time for worrying (‘Oh, it’s five to seven – I’ll just have a quick worry, and then we can get back to our game of chess’). Another tactic is visualisation. It works for me. I line up worries as imaginary helium balloons, or rowing boats tied to a jetty, and then let them go, one by one. Better still, according to psychologist Robert L Leahy, author of The Worry Cure: Stop Worrying and Start Living, is to embrace uncertainty, accepting that many aspects of life are beyond your control. ‘Many worried people equate uncertainty with a bad outcome,’ he says. ‘When you accept uncertainty, you can stop worrying. Focus on the things you can control.’ It’s how Nicky Kinnaird, founder of Space NK, manages. ‘I don’t worry about matters I can’t affect; if I can do something about it, I will, but I won’t let it eat me alive if I can’t,’ she says. ‘Exercising first thing is my daily escape – it sets me up mentally for the day. Also, advance planning is everything…’ Planning, exercise – and you can add ‘focus’ to those watchwords. It’s not the presentation you’ve prepared for with detailed notes and a PowerPoint memory stick in your handbag that scares the pants off you; preparation always gives a focus that negates the need for worry. It’s those more twitchy business meetings and conflict-prone situations, where the outcome is less predictable, that give our minds the freedom to roam and worry. If you’re lined up for any business encounter, then mentally prepare by choosing one single purpose and sticking resolutely with it, immune to all else. But perhaps the best method to rid yourself of worry fever is to recognise this vital fact: nobody is looking at you. They’re far too busy thinking about themselves. Leave them to their asinine anxieties and sail on by, perhaps quoting Hamlet, that consummate worrier, for good measure: ‘There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.’
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