May 31

Jacques de Bascher

I first heard of Jacques de Bascher when a friend lent me a copy of The Beautiful Fall: Lagerfeld, Saint Laurent, and Glorious Excess in 1970s Paris.

I never finished that book. It bored me stupid, actually.


But the character of Jacques de Bascher caught my attention.

On the far right.

Insofar as being a muse can be called a function, he functioned as a muse to Karl Lagerfeld. He follows a certain dandyish template that I like — let’s call it the charming satanist– and, according to Agenda Inc. the “notorious Moratoire Noir party organized by Jacques de Bascher which introduced the fashion world – for the first time – to the darker edges of the Parisian suburbs and Mapplethorpian quantities of leather.”

I did find his pretensions to French aristocracy to be, well, pretensions to French aristocracy.

Like most people in the book, he’s fairly disagreeable but what he lacks in character is mitigated by what he lacked in good intentions. (One can forgive anything except meaning well.) Pictures do him less justice than words, which, in this case, is a good thing. My favorite is below.

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  1. Karl

    Jacques, I will love you for ever ::::: !!!!!!

  2. Philippe

    Some days ago just upload more than 100 Jacques de Bascher photos here http://www.philippeheurtault.fr

  3. lydie journo

    pour info

  4. Christian-Joseph Lvowski

    Jacques de Bascher, did not pretend to anything else than being himself. he was a dandy indeed, and a genuine aristocrat, a young man who burned his life, and died at 39 years old. The book by Alicia Drake is awfully good, very well documented and beautyfully written.
    The people who knew Jacques, better than just a brief encounter in a disco, know how charming he might be, cultured, funny, and attentive towards his friends. To me, he was a character who came out from a novel, sometimes the novel was not very good, but still, Jacques was a literary character. Yesterday evening, I wore a shirt made for him by Hilditch and Key, just like Aurélien in the novel by Louis Aragon, which he gave me 30 years ago, and I felt happy to be at the Opera with his presence. So many nasty things have been told and written about Jacques, by people who never ever met him, he was neither a saint, nor a devil. The book by Alica Drake is the best testimony of who he was, of his complexity. The worst is “Mauvais garçon”, by Lelievre, a bunch of idiotic remarks. Next week, I shall be in Oxford, the city where Evelyn Waugh set a part of Brideshead Revisited, a novel which suits perfectly to Jacques.

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