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A movie I missed last month was “Lagerfeld Confidential.” It was released during the height of my post-concussion problems and I couldn’t deal with flashing lights or loud noise. Everything seemed slightly surreal-although that might have been the best frame of mind to see the movie.
Lagerfeld has cultivated a singular personage. His ever-present hand-held fan has become something of a personal trademark, as have his black suits, fingerless gloves, ponytail, and sunglasses. Lagerfeld borrows from historical periods, basing many of his designs on fashions from the 17th to early 20th centuries.
Although he says he was born in 1938, a Catholic baptismal record indicates the date of his birth as 10 September 1933. He is exactly 10 years younger than my mother.
Lager is a Scandinavian-German mix, just like me. Given some of his statements and eccentricities-and their parallel to my own-it makes me wonder how much of behavior is genetic. For example, he doesn’t discuss deep hurts or betrayals. He keeps them private. The most he will say is that there have been “a few tragedies I couldn’t possibly talk about.”
We both seem to struggle with forgiveness…or maybe, not. “Forgiveness isn’t something I’m preoccupied with,” he says. “Turning the other cheek is not my trip. The curtain falls: an iron curtain.”
