The Bold Elegance of Geoffrey Beene: A Dive into Radical Chic – Blind Magazine

The ultimate outsider in an elite domain, fashion designer Geoffrey Beene (1924–2004) blazed his own trail, opting to pursue his distinct vision rather than follow the crowd. Born Samuel Albert Bozeman Jr. in a small rural town in Louisiana, Geoffrey Beene embodied a Southern gentility characterized by simplicity, paradox, and sophistication, which became the signature of his creations. 

Combining classical and avant-garde design principles to craft garments of remarkable elegance and structure, “Mr. Beene,” as he was affectionately known, was the ultimate couturier who avoided the allure of celebrity, wealth, and prestige in favor of merely creating outfits for a roster of iconic clients, whose identities he famously chose to keep secret.

However, New York magazine had no hesitation at all. In their flashy 1988 cover feature celebrating the 25th anniversary of the fashion house, they mentioned First Ladies Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Nancy Reagan, and Pat Nixon, actresses Faye Dunaway and Glenn Close, fashion designer Gloria Vanderbilt, and jewelry designer Paloma Picasso as supporters of the illustrious American creator.

That very year, Mr. Beene enlisted the husband and wife photography duo, Constance Hansen and Russell Peacock, known as Guzman, to capture his seasonal collections. This proved to be a fortunate partnership for the fledgling photographers, who had only recently begun their fashion ventures with The Village Voice. 

“We were given complete freedom in our work as it wasn’t a fashion-centric publication,” Hansen recalls fondly of their experience at the downtown paper. 

Neither she nor Peacock remember precisely how their meeting occurred. Allegedly, Mr. Beene had stumbled upon a photograph, tracked them down, and extended them an offer they couldn’t turn down. 

A Southern Gentleman on Seventh Avenue

Between 1988 and 1996, Constance Hansen and Russell Peacock captured collections for Geoffrey Beene intermittently at his 550 Seventh Avenue studio in New York. He stood shoulder to shoulder with America’s great fashion designers — Bill Blass, Oscar de la Renta, and Ralph Lauren — yet his name and legacy had seemingly faded. “He didn’t want to engage in the hustle,” Peacock remarks.

Unlike his peers, Mr. Beene turned down most of the licensing opportunities that came his way. While Halston, Pierre Cardin, and Calvin Klein leveraged their brands through mass-market product lines, he found the experience unsatisfactory. After 25 years managing a couture house while keeping pace with ready-to-wear, Mr. Beene hesitated at the idea of his name being utilized to sell inferior products, especially when he would typically invest half a million dollars on fabric alone for a single show at the Pierre Hotel.

However, that alone was not sufficient to erase Mr. Beene from the limelight. The task fell to John Fairchild (1927–2015), publisher of Women’s Wear Daily, who excluded any mention of the designer from its pages. The confrontation began in 1967 when Mr. Beene declined to provide the publication with an exclusive on the wedding gown he crafted for Lynda Bird Johnson, the daughter of then-President Lyndon B. Johnson. 

The animosity persisted for years, with WWD banned from his shows in retribution. “The values in our society are just absurd,” Mr. Beene opined in 1988. “Can you envision putting so much importance on a fashion show? It’s merely clothing.” 

Dare to Drape

As fashion designers grew their realms through licensing arrangements, branding evolved into the common language of American consumerism. Gloria Vanderbilt and Calvin Klein introduced designer jeans to the marketplace, their names adorning back pockets, while Ralph Lauren expanded into home décor, transforming preppy chic into a lifestyle brand. 

Conversely, Geoffrey Beene adhered to traditional methods, concentrating on bespoke fabrics crafted into wearable masterpieces. Despite achieving success with Grey Flannel cologne, his other ventures proved lackluster. Instead of pushing forward, he retreated to couture and the Beene Bag, his ready-to-wear line.

“He didn’t operate on a grand scale, nor did he aspire to. His focus was sharp on his artistic goals,” says Constance Hansen. “His studio resembled an atelier, characterized by formality that intrigued us since it was all quite novel to us. We too were outsiders, and I believe he appreciated that.”

Utilizing fabrics priced up to $325 a yard, Mr. Beene took bold risks in draping, suspending, sculpting, and shaping silhouettes that were breathtakingly beautiful as they…

were practical. While they manifested as tweed evening gowns, padded boleros, aviator jackets, and monk robes, they were incredibly fashionable, audaciously cutting-edge, and infused with the one ultimate American essential: comfort. 

The trademark of Geoffrey Beene was paradox and astonishment, a vision Guzman captured in their large-scale images as much of the present as they were nearly four decades prior. 

“Mr. Beene would swing between austere monastic attire and pieces featuring lace, fetish, and allure within the same collection,” Hansen states. “He would focus on a dramatically low back or the side of the hip. He relished experimenting with shape and would consistently present something unforeseen.”

Straight Fax

The partnership between Guzman and Geoffrey Beene persisted throughout the 1990s, as Constance Hansen and Russell Peacock rose to become one of the most groundbreaking photography partnerships in the field. From their work with Janet Jackson for the album cover of Rhythm Nation 1814 to their legendary Louis Vuitton promotional cooperation with Grandmaster Flash, Guzman enjoyed autonomy while having an enjoyable time.

The collaboration with Geoffrey Beene felt natural and instinctive. “We were in our 1930’s Berlin phase and he was invigorated about the approaching century, and somehow our two aesthetics interconnected. The common thread was a vibrant minimalism,” explains Peacock. 

Instead of offering explicit guidance, Mr. Beene subtly communicated his inclinations. “We created a piece for Esquire featuring five models, and we made them appear strikingly similar. It was five men in white boxers running,” shares Peacock. “He went wild and sent us a fax declaring it was his top choice.” Hansen concurs. “What I admired about him was he acknowledged your contributions. Mr. Beene was genuine. He was genuinely passionate about designing garments.”