Iris Apfel

by Iris Apfel

  We ate at a pub, trying every Irish brew known to man and talking to people around us. We met a young Irishman who had just returned from Israel, where he served as a Freedom Fighter in the Six-Day War. He offered us a ride back to the ship, with a stop at the antique dealer’s first. He professed to have a lorry waiting outside at the ready; Carl and I had visions of grandeur, only to be directed to a broken-down wreck left over from World War I. After a puttering, stuttering ride, we arrived at the antiquarian and stumbled out of the lorry, much to the chagrin of the elegant doorman standing outside. We were three sheets to the wind.

  The shopkeeper, a very ample gentleman, greeted us from behind the counter. On his very large hand, he wore a very unusual ring. It was shaped like a lion in the form of a throne chair.

  Photo Credit: Ruben Toledo

  “THAT’S IT!” I screeched.

  Photo Credit: Ruben Toledo

  “THAT’S THE RING!”

  The gentleman was taken aback and explained that it was the ring of the Wandering Jew which bore the inscription, “Where Is the House of Thy Father?” He had just purchased this extraordiary piece at the auction of King Farouk’s prized possessions on behalf of the lord mayor of Dublin as a gift for the chief rabbi of Jerusalem, an important Irishman who had come home for a visit to much fanfare.

  Photo Credit: Ruben Toledo

  He said the ring was not for sale.

  DEFINITELY NOT FOR SALE.

  I refused to take no for an answer. I threatened not buy any of the silver I’d set aside. I’ve never done anything so nasty in my life—before or since—but I was hell-bent on getting my prize.

  The shopkeeper finally capitulated and allowed Carl to try on the ring.

  THE RING WAS TOO BIG AND IMMEDIATELY FELL TO THE FLOOR WITH A GREAT THUD.

  The shopkeeper saw his chance, and offered to size it and send it to New York along with the acquired silver. I was drunk, but I wasn’t drunk enough to buy that line.

  “Thank you very much,” I said, “but I will take it now and have it sized in New York.” Triumphant, I departed with the ring.

  I gave Carl a beautiful birthday party that night. We were all having a fine time, when suddenly a fellow passenger came along and started telling everybody about the ring. Unbeknownst to us, he had been elsewhere in the shop and witnessed the whole gruesome episode. Everyone wanted to see the ring, so I went down to the cabin to get it. As I came back, they were wheeling out the birthday cake. It was midnight; everybody was dancing and drinking. Carl put the ring on his finger. We didn’t think about it anymore until we got to the cabin at 4 A.M. Strangely, the ring, which had been much too large hours before, was still on his finger.

  Photo Credit: Ruben Toledo

  Photo Credit: Ruben Toledo

  Carl tried to take off the ring, but he couldn’t. Together, we tried to pull it off, but it would not budge. He was on the verge of panic; he thought not being able to get the ring off meant that he was now under an Egyptian curse, as this was the ring of the Wandering Jew. Finally, we decided to wake up the ship’s doctor to help us. Groggy and in his bathrobe, the doctor stumbled into our cabin, took one look at Carl, and pronounced his diagnosis and remedy: he told Carl that he’d had one too many and to sleep it off. He was sure Carl would find the ring on the floor in the morning.

  Well, that didn’t happen.

  THE RING REMAINED ON FOR MORE THAN FIFTY YEARS.

  Carl even had several hand surgeries, and the doctors couldn’t remove it. A couple days before he died, the ring fell off. He put it back on, and it stayed on, but really, it was too loose. When he passed away, the ring fell off again.

  When I look back on it, I can see how the whole ring thing might seem crazy. I never wanted to talk about it, I was sure people would think I was nuts or that I was making up a story. But, whether you believe it or not, it happened.

  I still have the ring. I’m keeping it for myself.

  Photo Credit: Ruben Toledo

  Photo Credit: Michael Vollbracht

  SUCCESS

  If you’re happy, have found love, are surrounded by good people, doing what you like, and giving back to others, that’s SUCCESS. Selling your soul for a buck is not worth the real price you pay—not to me, anyway.

  REGRETS

  I haven’t done everything properly. No one has or does.

  While I may have a few REGRETS, I don’t dwell on them. If I did, I’d be in a booby hatch.

  If your hair is done properly and you're wearing good shoes,

  you can get away with ANYTHING.

  Photo Credit: © Walt Disney Co./Courtesy PhotoFest

  YES, I SAID THIS. And yes, I meant it, but let me qualify my point: you can get away with “anything” within the context of dressing appropriately for your age and the occasion.

  That’s another lesson I learned from Mama, who was always dressed impeccably. Everything was always in its place—from her hair to her shoes. She had her own style, but she always looked poifect.

  The word appropriate seems to have disappeared from the current lexicon—in both the way we dress and act. I remember strolling down Fifth Avenue in the 1950s and 1960s with great pleasure. Everybody looked put-together and crisp. Now when you walk down the street, especially in the summer, you just want to throw up. People are not getting dressed anymore. Everybody looks like a mess, like they’re on their way to a shower bath or who knows where. Flip-flops, sweatpants, leggings instead of trousers, jeans that are twelve sizes too tight, short shorts that expose way too much—they should all just be outlawed. And when you add the accessory du jour, the cell phone, the impropriety is even worse—people have less and less respect for those around them. And don’t even get me started on those selfie sticks. I say invest in a mirror instead and use it.

  It’s upsetting, because when style and good manners go away, the whole culture seems to disintegrate.

  Good hair and shoes count for a lot, but they don’t give you license for a sartorial free-for-all in between.

  Photo Credit: Swarovski: Niall O'Brien for SALT Magazine, Spring/Summer 2014

  Photo Credit: Macy's Merchandising Group Marketing & Creative Services in partnership with Snaps Media Inc.

  Mind Your Peas & Q’s

  I DON’T like BROCCOLI RABE, BRUSSELS SPROUTS, or WATERMELON. I LOATHE CUCUMBER.

  Do not put it on my plate. If cucumber touches anything, I CAN’T EAT IT.

  I SHOULD HATE carrots and spinach. When I was four years old, my dark hair coiffed à la Buster Brown, I lusted for blond curls. One day I confided my secret to a friend of my mother’s. She in turn told me that if I insisted that my mother feed me carrots and spinach every night that I would soon have a head of luxurious golden ringlets. I did as she advised, driving my poor mother over the rails, as she soon became weary coming up with new spins on spinach and cultivating carrot concoctions. After three months of stuffing myself nightly as such, my locks were status quo. It was then that I realized that my mother’s friend must have been a vegetarian witch. I also probably became the youngest cynic on record.

  Photo Credit: Harley Langberg

  M·A·C and Me

  Photo Credit: Courtesy M·A·C

  MY FIRST BIG JOB in beauty and fashion came when I was at the tender age of ninety. M·A·C Cosmetics called me and asked if I was interested in developing a limited-edition line for winter 2011.

  I don’t do any project unless I can be very involved. I like to roll up my sleeves and actually work on it. I created the seventeen-item line, including lipstick, lip liner, eye shadow, face powder, and nail polish. Usually in these collaborations the company will give you a selection of colors and only want a simple response of whether you like it or not. But M·A·C said they’d let me choose all the colors. When I told them I thought some of their lipsticks were too sheer, that they needed to be heavier, to contain more pigment, they experimented in the laboratory and I was involved in the process. They also let me name the products in the coll
ection, which had a bird theme, a nod to the Rara Avis show at the Costume Institute at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The project was a staggering success. The lipsticks sold out online overnight. I was told that people were stealing the testers on display—how flattering!

  I was photographed for the campaign by the great celebrity photographer Steven Klein, and I styled the image myself. Everything in the shot is mine, although the fabulous coat was on loan to me by my dear friend, Ralph Rucci, whose clothes I adore!

  I’m the oldest living broad that ever graced a major cosmetics campaign.

  Photo Credit: Steven Klein/Art Partner

  Nothing makes a woman look so old as trying desperately hard to look young.

  —COCO CHANEL

  A woman is as old as she looks, but a man is never old until he stops looking.

  —My grandfather, ABRAHAM ASOFSKY

  Baby, you’re the only one here with your own face.

  —My husband, CARL APFEL, at a gala dinner

  There’s Nothing Wrong with Wrinkles.

  When you’re older, trying to look years younger is foolish, and you’re not fooling anyone. When you’re seventy-five and you get a face-lift, nobody’s going to think you’re thirty. If you have an abnormality, or you were born with a nose like Pinocchio, or if you’ve been in an accident, God forbid, a plastic surgeon is a blessing. But to go get work done or get injections to try to make yourself look a few years younger is stupid. And the results aren’t permanent, either. Not to mention the fact that something could go wrong; you could end up looking like one of Picasso’s Cubist portraits.

  Use Your Imagination

  Photo Credit: VintageMedStock/Getty Images

  The older I get, the more I see that

  COMMON SENSE IS NOT VERY COMMON.

  CREATIVITY IS A great emotional release; it keeps you happy and healthy.

  You don’t have to be an artist to be a creator, because creativity comes in a lot of forms, like cooking or keeping a house or dressing well. What you need is imagination, to make things up for yourself.

  My family and I listened to the radio when I was young. I had to imagine the setting of the story and what the characters looked like during a radio show. That took creativity.

  Unfortunately, creativity is suffering today because people now have an attention span of about twenty seconds. Art, fashion, and literature have all fallen victim to appropriation, with plenty of copycats riffing on the real McCoy and producing me-too designs.

  I love what I do, which is to create. Besides, I have to work. People tell me I don’t have to, but if I didn’t work I’d never be able to get my creative urges out and it would make me sick.

  I like to do different projects, like my jewelry line, Rara Avis by Iris Apfel for Home Shopping Network, which is sometimes based on my own vintage collection. When I’m peddling my creations on HSN, people call in and tell me I’ve made them think differently about dressing. It makes me happy to create attractive, unique accessories that are accessible to people of all income levels. Just because you can’t afford or don’t want to spend a lot of money on fashion doesn’t mean you have to be deprived. I really feel that’s my mission. A lot of women I’ve met in person say the same thing. If I have influenced them, I’d like to think it’s in a positive way—following your instincts, taking risks.

  The greatest luxury is

  PEACE OF MIND.

  I GET AN ENORMOUS HIGH FROM . . .

  A great GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICH

  Listening to SINATRA’S SALOON SONGS in the wee hours

  Any great rendition of “LUSH LIFE”

  Listening to PEGGY LEE sing “Is That All There Is”

  Cruising a FLEA MARKET

  Reciting “THE LOVE SONG OF J. ALFRED PRUFROCK” by T.S. Eliot. I know it almost word for word.

  CAVIAR, my drug of choice

  Slipping into A FRESHLY MADE BED with crisp, clean sheets

  A CHILLED TITO’S HANDMADE VODKA with a few drops of Angostura Aromatic Bitters

  Eating STUFFED CABBAGE

  Photo Credit: Courtesy of Iris Apfel

  Photo Credit: Courtesy of Iris Apfel

  How to Live to Be 200

  Photo Credit: Liz Von Hoene

  I HAVE NO SECRETS to relay to you, dear reader, on the matter: the man upstairs has been very kind to me, and every year is another gift.

  I never think about my age. Maybe that’s the ticket. I never think about it—it’s a passing thought. It’s just a number,

  Some people eat a lot of yogurt and live to be 127. Some people smoke twelve cigars and drink a bottle of booze every day and they’re still out there, doing their thing. Everyone’s got their story.

  Abraham Lincoln once said, “In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.” Keeping company with younger people is a good idea. They know what’s going on—at least they think they do.

  I’ve found that work is very healthy for me. I love what I do and I put my heart and soul into it. Since my husband died, I work even more to take my mind off his absence, which is good on one hand, but not so much on the other, when I push myself too hard.

  It is true. Gettin’ old ain’t for sissies. You start falling apart, but you just have to buck up and paste yourself together. You may not like getting older, but what’s the alternative? You’re here—embrace it. I say put your experience to work, to give something back to other people.

  That’s one of the things I’m doing with the University of Texas at Austin, where I am a visiting professor. It’s true—they even gave me my own business cards. Hoop Dee Doo!

  That all started when Sue Meller, an alumna and close friend of the university saw Rara Avis at the Peabody Essex Museum. She went crazy over the show and called me. We spoke for a while, and then she asked me if I would be interested in creating an undergraduate program for the School of Human Ecology’s Division of Textiles and Apparel. That sounded exciting, and I love an unusual challenge, so I agreed.

  The school initially wanted me to introduce their students to designers and the fashion market, but I convinced them to expand their thinking, as I had just finished judging the designs of seniors’ graduation projects from the major fashion schools in New York, and I was appalled at the students’ lack of knowledge of the nonacademic fashion world. I told them that students needed to know that there are many other jobs other than designer or merchandiser. Fashion is a huge umbrella encompassing many areas, such as trend forecasting, licensing, archiving, styling, public relations, publishing, museum work, cosmetics, furs, jewelry, and so on. Interesting and lucrative jobs are available.

  The school loved the idea but didn’t know how to implement it.

  “Why don’t you do it?” they said.

  Foolishly, I said yes without having a clue. I don’t know how I did it. I just did it, pulling together a glorious amalgamation of talent.

  The program, UT at NYC, began in 2011 and was an instant success. It exposes the students to a veritable Who’s Who of the entire fashion-industry spectrum. As far as we know, it is the only university program of this scope with this caliber of executive and artistic talent in the industry in the United States, and it has become a valuable recruiting tool. The program has also been endowed in my name; this makes me really proud.

  The students call it a life-changing experience. I’ll admit, though, the itinerary can get very intense; we take the troupe to an average of four or five companies and institutions a day. I work very hard at it and am extremely grateful to my many friends in the industry for never turning me down. Their generosity to the program has been astounding. While many of the students have gotten excellent positions, their achievements have been my greatest reward.

  You only have one trip, and the present is all you’ve got. The past isn’t coming back, and the future isn’t here yet! So live each day as though it were your last. And one day you’ll be right.

  LIFE IS A CELEBRATION!

&n
bsp; There is definitely no road map. Embrace its glamour. Enjoy its mystery. Be open to the unexpected. Stop asking why. And remember that . . .

  Acknowledgments

  MANY WONDERFUL PEOPLE were part of the making of this opus.

  I’d like to thank:

  Inez Bailey, my extended family. Without her help and loving service for almost two decades, this book could never have happened. Her tender loving care for Carl is something I will never forget.

  Juliet Brown, for her great care, patience, and love. Without her I couldn’t have managed to do this complex project.

  Elizabeth Viscott Sullivan, Executive Editor at Harper Design, for her creative vision, dedication, and passion; Lynne Yeamans, Paul Kepple, Max Vandenberg, Susan Kosko, and Dani Segelbaum for the crackerjack book design and production; Rebecca Karamehmedovic, for her ace image research; Matthew Wade Evans, for his assistance with the manuscript; Carmen Bruni, for her great kindness and for giving her time so freely; Barbara L. Dixon, for her help with fine-tuning the final text; Weegie Antle, for her kindness and support; Emerson Bruns, for his sage advice, unwavering gentility, and legal prowess; and John and Kim Wadsworth, for their generous assistance.

  The illustrators Carlos Aponte, Bil Donovan, David Downton, Donald Robertson, Ruben Toledo, and Michael Vollbracht, for creating the artwork especially for the book—I am most honored.

  The many talented artists and photographers who contributed their work: Alique, Eric Boman, Roger Davies, Daniela Federici, Eric Giriat, John Mark Hall, John Huba, Steven Klein, Robert Knoke, Dmitry Kostyukov, Harley Landberg, Keith Major, Luis Monteiro, Norman Nelson, Willy Soma, Nick Stocks, Emma Summerton, and Bruce Weber.