Bare Blass

Los Angeles Times Book Review

Eerily, unmistakably, irresistibly pure Blass.

From The Critics

It would be accurate to say that this posthumously published memoir by the legendary American fashion designer is unfailingly superficial. But to regard that superficiality as casual would be to misunderstand both the author and the New York society in which he flourished. On the page as in life, Blass adheres to the same iron discipline practiced by every true member of a court society. The courtier's first duty is to be in style; being amusing is secondary. The candor of naming one's actual feelings is not even a distant third. Blass' book is almost entirely a catalog of brief encounters with famous, wealthy, well-dressed names: Raquel Welch, Babe Paley, Nancy Reagan. His contribution to fashion—wearable, well-cut clothes in fabrics that suit an American lifestyle—is something he mentions only in passing, in the same offhand way he lets it be known that he is strikingly handsome, gay and socially adept. Briskly he tells us he grew up in Indiana, the child of a hardworking mother and a father who committed suicide. It is amazing what restful company an author so witty and circumspect can be. The book's lesson by example—that emotional restraint never wears out its welcome—is one a Jerry Springer Show generation might well take to heart. Author—Penelope Mesic

Penelope Mesic

It would be accurate to say that this posthumously published memoir by the legendary American fashion designer is unfailingly superficial. But to regard that superficiality as casual would be to misunderstand both the author and the New York society in which he flourished. On the page as in life, Blass adheres to the same iron discipline practiced by every true member of a court society. The courtier's first duty is to be in style; being amusing is secondary. The candor of naming one's actual feelings is not even a distant third. Blass' book is almost entirely a catalog of brief encounters with famous, wealthy, well-dressed names: Raquel Welch, Babe Paley, Nancy Reagan. His contribution to fashion—wearable, well-cut clothes in fabrics that suit an American lifestyle—is something he mentions only in passing, in the same offhand way he lets it be known that he is strikingly handsome, gay and socially adept. Briskly he tells us he grew up in Indiana, the child of a hardworking mother and a father who committed suicide. It is amazing what restful company an author so witty and circumspect can be. The book's lesson by example—that emotional restraint never wears out its welcome—is one a Jerry Springer Show generation might well take to heart.

Publishers Weekly

New York Times fashion critic Horyn teamed up with quintessential American designer Blass to write this memoir in 1999. They finished it just weeks before his death on June 12 of this year. Nonlinear in format-Blass skips from telling of a 1949 prize he won for designing a gingham dress with a patent leather belt, to a 1971 fashion show in Fort Wayne, Ind., and then back to his role serving in the armed forces during WWII-the book has the feel of a scrapbook of memories, which is indeed delightful when one considers the colorful life Blass led. Originally from the Midwest, he moved to New York at age 17 and eventually became one of fashion's biggest names. Written in the first person and peppered with snapshots of Blass with Pat Buckley, Nancy Kissinger, Nancy Reagan, Gloria Vanderbilt and others, Blass's memoir is at once a tribute to the designer and, as he writes, "a typical American success story." (Aug.) Copyright 2003 Cahners Business Information.