THE EYE

The Musée Yves Saint Laurent in Paris reads like an intimate letter to the French couturier

- Renee Ultado

TUCKED IN A quiet corner somewhere in the 16th arrondissement, a few steps from the Seine and several cartwheels from the Crazy Horse, towers a discreet building housing the Musée Yves Saint Laurent. Where other museums in Paris would have winding queues of impatient tourists, here, there is a red carpet. I stand outside finishing a cigarette, long enough for me to spot a trio of chicly dressed Asian women exiting the doors. A minute later, an old lady in a fur coat and metal forearm crutches limps her way out, a paper bag from the museum souvenir shop slung over one shoulder, and on the other, a patent leather Chanel Boy bag.

Uncanny. Except, the house knows these women. For more than two decades, this building served as Saint Laurent’s atelier where his collections took form, fleshed out from the drawing board to the salon presentations. It witnessed rolls of plush fabric being trafficked in and out, with the designer and his team toiling for hours as these women slid into dresses made specifically to their measurements. Today, it’s a spatial homage to the French couturier and his impressive body of work.

On the way to the cloakroom is the haute couture salon where I am greeted by a crowd seated on golden cabaret chairs, eyes fixed on a television screen streaming an Yves Saint Laurent fashion show. The setup is not unlike the opulent room’s original purpose: here, clients, buyers, and editors from all over would gather to see the house’s latest offerings. Years after operations in this showroom ceased, his designs still sashay down a runway—albeit digitally—but always toward an audience riveted by his genius.