Jean Patou: magical mystery couturier A new book tells the story of Jean Patou, the brilliant, enigmatic couturier who dressed (and some allege rather more furtively undressed) the jet-set ladies of le tout 1930s Europe One night in 1928 the couturier Jean Patou was attending a party at which le tout Paris had gathered. Something was bothering him. Across the room he spotted a gaggle of women who clearly thought they were the last word in chic. Dressed head to toe in Mademoiselle Chanel, they wore skirts so short that, according to the equally disapproving editor of American Vogue, Edna Woolman Chase, everyone was "seeing a good deal more of the ladies than was appropriate in the drawing-room." All those knobbly knees and chunky calves weren't so much shocking as downright ugly. This wasn't style, it was fashion hardened into ugly cliché. Rushing back to his salon, Patou feverishly began to design dresses that restored elegance to the female form. The garçonne look championed by Coco Chanel - tubular, with a low waist and short skirt - had been all very well during the Flapper Age. Now, though, it was beginning to look as though it was trying too hard. Determined to produce an "architecture" that flattered the female form, Patou raised the waist so that it fell at the slimmest part of the body, and lengthened hemlines. Day dresses now covered the calf, while evening gowns trailed along the floor. The result was a long, fluid silhouette to emphasise height and slenderness. When it was shown later that year, Patou's right-hand man, Georges Bernard, couldn't help crowing. "All the women are squirming about in their chairs tugging at their skirts," he said. Already they feel démodées! Even though Patou changed the course of fashion history in 1929, his name hasn't lingered as brightly as that of his chief rival, Coco Chanel. Dying at the age of 49 in 1936, he didn't live long enough for his personal mythology to weave itself into modern consciousness. Chanel, by contrast, lived until she was 87. None the less, there's no doubting his legacy. His name remained synonymous with sophisticated couture for decades after his death. Designers who worked for the house during its illustrious years have included Karl Lagerfeld, Christian Lacroix and Jean Paul Gaultier. It wasn't until 1987 that Jean Patou finally closed the doors of its salon for the final time. Sketch for a dress, circa 1932 Now, though, Patou's reputation looks set to be reaffirmed with the publication of Jean Patou: A Fashionable Life . The author, Emmanuelle Polle, was granted unprecedented access to Patou's personal and professional archives by his heirs. Using diaries and letters, she has pieced together the extraordinary story of his glamorous life and mysterious death. She has also sourced hundreds of images of Patou's designs, which reveal just how dramatically he refined the visual language of 1930s fashion. Typical of these designs is a beaded evening gown from 1932 in palest pink that was made for the socialite Lady Norton Griffiths. The pleated drapery, which knots over the bust but leaves the torso daringly bare, was inspired by bronze statues at the Naples National Archaeological Museum. But, as Polle makes clear, Patou's elegant simplicity did not exclude fabulous decoration. His ateliers excelled in impeccable embroidery, adding gossamer stitching and sparkling crystals to the finest silks and satins. The result was what we might today call pared-down luxe. The fact that Patou drew inspiration from the arts and crafts of the classical period is explained by the fact that for several years during the First World War he had served as a soldier in the eastern Mediterranean. It was here too that he fell in love with a sun-drenched palette that could not be further from Chanel's austere neutrals. His chosen shade for his 1924 season was a decadent green known as "absinthe Patou," while in 1929 it was a sunset-tinged "rouge capucine." Countess Arrivabene marries in Patou, 1929 Jean Patou was born in 1880, the only son of a prosperous Normandy tanner and cloth-maker. He refused to enter the family business but none the less absorbed know-how that would prove invaluable in his fledgling couture business. While other designers bought textiles off the peg, Patou commissioned his own, developing unique colours that were impossible to copy. He also followed his father's lead in being quick to diversify: in 1935 he launched the perfume Joy, a heady mix of rose and jasmine that he boasted was the most expensive scent in the world and remains a top seller today. As a final guarantee of exclusivity, Patou registered his signature in 1925. From then on his monogram appeared on all the clothes he designed. Far and away Patou's best advertisement, though, remained the women who wore his clothes. He dressed some of the most exciting celebrities of the day, from Louise Brooks to Josephine Baker. With legs now hidden under a shimmering sheath, erogenous interest shifted to other parts of the body. Patou cut deep Vs in the reverse of his dresses, allowing those of a daring disposition to show off not just their shoulders but the entire length of their back. The effect was both subtle and mysterious, since it was only when a woman moved away that her bare flesh became visible. A sweater designed to be worn long over the hips with a belt An instinctive showman, Patou always made sure to embody his own brand values. Given to uttering epigrams such as "to be truly soigné a man should have 80 suits," the handsome bachelor was described by the American press as "the most elegant man in Europe." His high-octane lifestyle ensured that he remained lodged in the gossip columns. He loved to gamble, and was often to be spotted tearing around smart resorts at the wheel of his convertible sports car, wearing gloves and a leather helmet. Expansive though he was in business, Patou remained guarded about his private life. He had a reputation as a ladies' man, with a particular tendresse for women of the aristocracy and international jet-set. In the late 1920s he became especially close to the beautiful young Countess Nicoletta Arrivabene with whom he was spotted in Switzerland, Rome, Venice and on the French Riviera. Rumours flew that they were about to be married. A lavish wedding took place on 24 April 1929 in Saint Mark's Square in Venice with the bride dressed in an exquisite long white robe by the designer. To many people's surprise, though, the groom was not Patou. Instead, the Countess had married Count Edoardo Visconti di Modrone, brother of the film-maker Luchino Visconti. Whether Patou was gay or unable to commit to marriage remains uncertain. On 8 March 1936 his body was found in his suite at the George V hotel in Paris, where he had been living temporarily. The death certificate refers to an embolism, and his diaries reveal that in the preceding weeks he had made several appointments with doctors. Suicide, however, remains another possibility. Crippled with debt following the collapse of the all-important American market in the early 1930s, the company had been in liquidation since the previous summer. Or perhaps Patou's death was simply a tragic accident: one insider reported that the couturier, tired after a busy day, had carelessly allowed his electric razor to slip into the bathtub. Yet another rumour, this time originating from within the extended family, has the designer spending his last hours in the arms of a mysterious female lover of whom not a trace has ever been found. Just as in life, Patou managed to go out in a blaze of intrigue, speculation - and more than a dash of glamour.