Manolo lovers feel financial pain at the pump

from LA Times
By Monica Corcoran, Los Angeles Times Staff Writer

Designers and retailers push the envelope on shoe prices even as the dollar flounders.

THIS spring, nearly every top designer has a " Cinderella" slipper, a shoe priced so high that it should come with a handsome prince -- or an hour with a male escort, at least. Christian Louboutin's webbed suede and button sandals sell for $1,345, while Versace offers a $1,400 satin pump festooned with nothing more than a few tassels. Dior's platform slingback with beaded heel runs $1,030, while Balenciaga's pink and brown braided gladiator sandal goes for $1,375.

Then, there's the $1,045 Lanvin flat (pictured on the cover) that should land at Barneys in Beverly Hills any day now. Already, women are salivating for this sandal adorned with a couple dozen leather-covered studs. Run, don't walk. There's a waiting list.

"Footwear is having its runway moment," says Marshal Cohen, chief analyst for New York market research firm NPD Group. Designers are "raising the cachet of the brand by having one extravagant style, and that one makes the other pairs seem more reasonable."

In other words, the glass slipper has shattered and consumers have resigned themselves to splurging. Case in point: You pick up a sandal and sigh with relief when it costs less than your monthly car payment. And those sale endorphins surge when you see $1,000 platforms marked down to $675.

Pièce de résistance styles aside, the going price for a luxury designer pump has climbed from $350 in 2004 to $500 in the last year. Mary Janes, an "it" style for spring, range in price this season from $575 for a sleek patent leather pair by Gucci to $690 for suede ones with zaftig curves by Prada.

Miuccia Prada recently was quoted as saying, "The obsession with handbags has finished for now. It feels over. It's about shoes."

Celebrities such as Kirsten Dunst pout for Miu Miu ads that highlight accessories, and starlets name-check their mules on the red carpet. Christian Louboutin's iconic crimson undersoles -- as eye-catching as fresh spilled blood on asphalt -- have become status symbols. Every new season brings a new style, and with the reign of jeans and casualwear, a breathtaking shoe separates the chic from the chaff.

That's not exactly good news for shoe junkies. A pair of sandals could set you back as much as a shoulder bag. Right now, a turquoise Prada satchel sells for $535 on the Neiman Marcus website, and the designer's wavy ankle-wrap sandal sells for $550.

"I will literally think, 'Do I spend $600 on shoes or get new plumbing?' " says Carlota Espinosa, vice president of online sample sale retailer HauteLook.com. "They keep raising prices to see if people will pay more. And there's no law that says they can't."

Nor is there any way to justify the steady and exponential boost in price. Cohen traces the trend back to 2002, when everyone was crying foul over $300 jeans. "Denim stole all the attention, so no one noticed that footwear prices were quietly rising," he says. "The retailers saw that women were passionate about shoes and looked at footwear as an investment."

Pumping up prices
SUNSET PLAZA boutique owner Tracey Ross felt the sting about five years ago. "When Chloé came on the scene, I remember noticing it," she recalls. "All of a sudden, every line started designing a shoe collection that was more elaborate and more expensive." That's about the time that Lanvin entered the scene.

Simultaneously, the dollar started to atrophy, which drove prices up even more. Because the best shoes are made in Italy, U.S. retailers take a bath when buying and importing European footwear.

"Right now, everything from the price of leather to factory costs are about 20% more because of the euro," says Neil Weilheimer, executive editor of Footwear News. "The prices have been creeping up, but we're seeing the most dramatic increases because of it now."

The dollar is at a five-year low against the euro, but a euro on steroids isn't solely to blame. Thanks to "Sex and the City" character Carrie Bradshaw -- the patron saint of footwear fanatics -- shoe designers have become demigods. Even bachelors in Duluth, Minn., know the name "Manolo" and certain people can probably pronounce "Christian Louboutin" more easily than " Albert Camus."

Some blame Louboutin for spiking prices. Even his sequined ballet flats sell for $880.

"He started the trend when he introduced the platform," says John Rutenberg, who recently retired from Barneys in Beverly Hills after 15 years as a shoe sales associate. "He wanted to pull ahead of Manolo Blahnik, and his platform sold for $395 in 2004. Now, it costs $730."

Louboutin -- who fetches up to $2,700 for a pair of crystal-studded pumps -- refuses to take the blame for footwear inflation.

"This is not in the hands of the designers," he says from Paris. "It's the retailers. If Neiman's or Barneys decide that people are used to spending $700 on a pair of pumps, why would they lower that price?"

Great question. Not surprisingly, spokespeople for Neiman Marcus and Barneys declined to comment on the great shoe price debate. But Rutenberg says Barneys shoppers aren't flinching at the prices. "Danielle Steel spends $4 [million] to $5 million a year at Barneys on shoes for herself and her children," he says, adding that the Beverly Hills store "sells $22 million in footwear per year."

Evelyn Ungvari, owner of the boutique Diavolina on Robertson Boulevard, says that she would gladly drop the prices on her shoe selection if the dollar rallies back to health.

"I feel horrible when my girls come in here and say, 'I can't spend this much on sandals,' " she says, seated amid $775 Pierre Hardy peep-toe pumps and $595 Gil Carvalho gold sandals that zip up the back. "They think it's my fault, but I am paying these high prices too."

Ungvari has smartly stocked her shop with a variety of styles to suit every budget. Gladiator sandals by Dolce Vita priced at $124 are just a few strides away from Givenchy's $395 patent leather version.

Other small shoe purveyors are seeking out alternative suppliers to stay afloat. "A boot we had last season for $495 would have to sell for $695 this fall and so we're not carrying them," says Beth Whiffen, owner of boutique Il Primo Passo in Santa Monica. She's looking to Spain, rather than Italy, for more reasonable lines. "Our customers spend up to $495 without any price resistance. That's the breaking point."

Still, retailers -- be they sleek behemoths or quaint boutiques -- mark up shoes 2.4 to three times the wholesale price. (On clothes and bags, the average markup is generally twice the wholesale price.) A pair of shoes that wholesale for $200 to $250 retail for $600. Exotic skins such as python, eel and stingray ratchet up costs even more. The same goes for ornate accents such as the mirrored heels on those ballyhooed Balenciaga sandals or the sculpted flower stem heel on Prada's latest pumps.

But like the real estate market, the shoe market could be in for a correction. NPD Group reports that in 2005, footwear sales were up 11%. That figure dipped to 5% in 2006 and wilted to 2.5 % last year. Now, with a recession looming, the industry can expect some scuffs.

In the meantime, don't fault Lanvin or the retailers for your financial blisters. "This is a free market," says Milton Pedraza, chief executive of the Luxury Institute, a retail research firm in New York. "The consumers are to blame for paying these prices."

Who's up for a revolution? Wear comfortable shoes.

The LANVIN Kentucky Tote Bag

His future is now

Nicolas Ghesquiere
click to enlarge

Jay L. Clendenin / Los Angeles Times

Fashion, says designer Nicolas Ghesquière, means “putting together many, many things, crossing the universe ... .” His space-age vision thrilled on the Paris runway. Now, Nicolas Ghesquière is ready to take on L.A.

IT'S a cloudless day in L.A., and Nicolas Ghesquière is showing me around his greenhouse. It's actually the new Balenciaga store in the pool blue shadow of the Pacific Design Center, but it could well be some otherworldly garden. Here, in this spectacular tinted glass space on Melrose Avenue, the color-daubed dresses and tops from his spring collection hang like hothouse flowers.
"When you drive by at night, it looks like the whole store is blue and moving," Ghesquière says, gazing out at the cacti in front of the Space Age meets California Organic building, which he designed with French artist Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster.

For a Parisian, he's really got this L.A. thing down. The truth is Ghesquière, 35, is no stranger to this city, where he has been shooting the Balenciaga ad campaigns for four seasons, holing up at the Bel-Air for a week at a time and planning the store, the second Balenciaga location in the U.S. He even has a list of favorite spots: Matsuhisa, Sunset Tower, the Polo Lounge, Arcana bookstore in Santa Monica.

"I understand why people live here," he says. It makes sense that this student of science fiction and the most technically innovative designer of his generation would feel at home in the land of Schindler and Lautner, the special effects capital of the universe, where the lines between faux and real are forever blurred. His work is a fusion of Old World couture and the eternally modernist sensibility that this metropolis represents, of French elegance and casual athleticism.

If you're wearing a flippy skirt, gladiator sandals, ankle boots or a big, ethnic-print scarf, no matter what label they have inside, you're wearing them because of Ghesquière. And come fall, when you're piling on your mother's costume jewelry, you'll have Ghesquière to thank for that too. Chunky crystal necklace and bracelet sets were all over his show in Paris last month, which was one of the best of the runway season. His most accessible yet, with its austere black dresses and longer hemlines, the fall collection had a mature look that suits the times and broadens Balenciaga's reach.

This may be the age of Ghesquière, but when he arrived at Balenciaga a little more than a decade ago, the house had little currency except for a few perfume licenses. Spanish master Cristobal Balenciaga, revered for his sculptural volumes, retired in 1968. The consummate couturier, he refused to do ready-to-wear. And for a while, Ghesquière mostly expanded on his designs.

In 2001, he launched an "it" bag, the Lariat, with its multiple zippers and stitched handle, that is still a retail hit. But even that couldn't save the brand from losing money. Ghesquière and the head of Balenciaga's parent company, Gucci Group Chief Executive Robert Polet, charted a course toward profitability by creating the Edition line of reissued couture originals, and the Capsule collection of less expensive, runway-inspired pieces, which now forms the bulk of the business. Both are available at the L.A. store, along with menswear.

Ghesquière has found his own voice, and made Balenciaga the most trend-setting French fashion brand, and the only fashion brand besides Prada that consistently affects every level of the market. Now, he's aiming to conquer Hollywood, with a staff person to help with celebrity requests -- Nicole Kidman, Jennifer Connelly and the Olsen twins are fans -- and a VIP room that looks like a spaceship. No doubt, the name Ghesquière -- that's JESS-scare-- will soon be on everyone's lips.

What goes around . . . It's hard to believe it's been only six years since the designer hit his lowest point, making headlines for copying a 1974 collage vest by Bay Area artist Kaisik Wong seam-for-seam. Nevermind that he was seasons ahead of the fashion pack, presaging an interest in wearable art that has since made Rodarte shine.

Now, Ghesquière is himself one of the most copied designers, with lines from the cerebral Proenza Schouler (long, lean jackets, flippy skirts and domed hats from Fall '06) to the cheap-chic Zara (ikat scarves and schoolboy blazers from Fall '07) "borrowing" from him.

Without elaborate set pieces, he has created some of the most dramatic fashion-as-theater runway moments in recent history -- all at the company's tiny Left Bank showroom. Ghesquière is a master at orchestrating excitement. His models move around the runway hurriedly, giving guests barely enough time to take in the multicolored Lego-like plastic shoes, C-3PO metal plate leggings and baroque pants suits. No wonder you always leave wishing you could see the show again.

Which is why, when you meet him, it's surprising to find that he is completely disarming, the antithesis of a rock star designer. He's small in stature, but his crystal blue eyes give him presence. What he enjoys most about coming to the U.S., he says, is that women aren't afraid to approach him. "Here, people come up to you at Barneys and say, 'I love that you did this,' or 'I have your bag.' I have to say that is really nice."

Ghesquière should be humble, because it's not often a designer lands the top spot at a French fashion house without having ever attended design school, plucked out of the back room where he was designing uniforms for a Japanese licensing partner.

He grew up in Loudun, France, a small town about three hours outside of Paris, where he spent less time on his studies than on his drawings -- fashionable portraits of Marvel comic strip heroes the Fantastic Four and '80s icons such as Grace Jones. When he was 15, his father, a golf course manager, helped him send a few sample sketches to Agnés B, and the label took him on for a month during the summer. "In 1987, Paris was the cool place. It was the moment of Jean Paul Gaultier, Claude Montana, Thierry Mugler and Azzedine Alaïa. It was the beginning of fashion as pop culture."

Ghesquière had barely finished high school when he scored an internship at Gaultier in 1990, then at the cone-bra height of his popularity. "It was about coffee and not much drawing," he says. "But I was looking at everything . . . I learned that fashion is putting together many, many things, crossing the universe of arts, movies and music." "Fashion used to be very subversive," he says. "Now it's about brands. If you want a name, you have to build a brand."

The fall season in Paris saw the beginnings of a backlash against fashion as big business, with a return to minimalism and nary a handbag on the runway. "There are so many shows, I feel like they are just throwing clothes on the catwalk," Ghesquière says. "I'm not naming names, but you think they should edit." Ghesquière has never shown handbags on his runway. He's too cool for that. But he knows that now that Balenciaga is going global, it's going to be even harder to stay above the fray. "For me," he says, "the craft is really what's making a difference."