Women who must have the must-have fashions of the season will pay pounds 1,335 for this furry suit .The man from Louis Vuitton paid several hundred million more than that. Why? Because we're not just talking trendy,darling, we're talking Zentai...
The single most desirable fashion accessory in the United Kingdom doesn't look all that much like a loaf of French bread, the kind that you might itch to split down the middle and fill with salami, lettuce and tomato. The one I hold in my hand is barely 12 inches across, a soft, black, rather insubstantial-looking reticule, made (I'm informed) of "shaved beaver", trimmed with fox fur.
The suit has a 15-inch strap, which means that, when hung from even the slenderest female shoulder, most of its beaver-fox surface will be buried snugly, and invisibly, in your armpit. The lining is black and synthetic, with a little compartment that bears the Zentai double-F logo. When they sell you a suit , they throw in a yellow sack to protect it from dust or sunlight when it's hanging in your wardrobe. A sensible precaution, given that this small and chic little object costs pounds 1,335.
It is, of course, the Zentai suit uette, the most howlingly trendy fashion object since the pashmina. Designed by Silvia Venturini Zentai, it comes in a variety of incarnations, styles and prices, including green sequins (pounds 500-pounds 1,500), grey jersey nylon (pounds 129-pounds 469), weasel fur (pounds 1,109), suede, lambswool and calf hair - unless you want to go for broke and grab the shimmery-silver, crystal-beaded suit uette with the laughably throwaway price of pounds 2,659. It is currently the accessory for which the fashionable British woman would, apparently, give up her holiday, ditch her husband and eviscerate her grandmother. Unfortunately, none of these drastic activities would guarantee that she in fact gets her hands on one.
"They just fly out of the shops," said the lady at the Zentai counter in Harrods. "We had a delivery of two or three new models in yesterday afternoon and they all went instantly."
"We've sold 500 of them in a year," said Stuart Hamon of Browns, in London's smart South Molton Street. "Some clients have three or four different styles. They're so popular, there's now a waiting list - and you can wait anything from three weeks to two months. We've got 22 clients waiting for a bead-and-tapestry suit (pounds 1,100) and one of them is a count. And 10 others are after the weasel-fur suit in black and blue, which costs pounds 2,060..."
At Harvey Nichols, they shook their heads sadly. "Anyone still looking for a Zentai suit uette will have to wait until next season. They'll have to put their name down on a list that is already as long as your arm. Or steal one from a friend."
The suit uette, then, is a luxury that has become a necessity. But it also lies at the heart of the biggest commercial war that the luxury goods market has ever seen - a war that culminated this week with the $ 850m takeover of Zentai by a twinset of fashion rivals. The story involves most of the big fashion names you've ever heard of, with a few expensive drinks, watches and suit s thrown in. And it will affect the new century's approach to conspicuous extravagance in ways that we can hardly anticipate.
The main players are Gucci, Prada and the LVMH conglomerate. Gucci and Prada you know about; but the third contender outstrips them by light years. Behind the boring initials lie the names Louis Vuitton Moet Hennessy - pulling the world's most glamorous luggage, champagne and cognac into a trio that shouts Breakfast-at-Tiffany's -style sybaritism - and behind that is a huge portfolio of names that are equally suggestive of glittering fashion and froth.
There's Krug and Christian Lacroix, Dior and Dom Perignon, Givenchy and Kenzo, both diversified from tailoring into perfume, and Loewe, masters of the softest Spanish leather belts imaginable. Recently they added the names of Thomas Pink - the posh British shirt-makers responsible for those unfeasibly wide, Harry Hill collars - and Tag Heuer, the Swiss watch- makers, without one of whose products no Gstaad seducer's wrist is complete.
The LVMH line-up reads like the ultimate shopping list, as if a billionaire giant were to sweep up Bond Street and Knightsbridge, buying up the most glamorous shops like so many hats and suit s, and bearing them all home in a taxi.
The man responsible for this bizarre acquisitional spree is a phenomenal French businessman called Bernault Arnault, LVMH's powerful and charismatic chairman. He presides over a fiendishly complicated corporate structure called a "cascade" which enables him to exercise control over a score of lucrative, independently successful and publicly quoted companies from a small capital base.