I asked him what was his ideal of the perfect woman today. He didn’t hesitate. ‘‘Julianne Moore,’’ he said.
‘‘I don’t know. I just think she’s great. Her whole life; the way she is in life. And Jessica Chastain — she’s great, too. Of the younger generation, I love Kristen Stewart. She is gifted. She looks tough but in fact she’s the nicest person in the world.’’
That night, inside the Dongdaemun Design Plaza — a giant silver pebble designed by Zaha Hadid in the market neighborhood of Yeji-dong (‘‘a neighborhood for learning politeness’’) — the city’s fashionistas were out in force to toast all things Chanel, or all things Lagerfeld, since for them the two names are synonymous. These people were logocentric, dressed top to toe in Chanel and nothing but Chanel, and the giddiness at the show could only derive from the presence of the icon and superstar who had made it possible. The audience peered from their colored stools (it was indeed an installation, like being at the center of a molecule cluster) and they couldn’t cheer enough and they believed fame was a kind of breathable ether. When Kristen Stewart entered the room a general but quite tangible levitation occurred, and the ladies in their Chanel togs threw off all decorum and jumped on their seats to take pictures. At the end of the show, Lagerfeld took to the runway and seemed like a vivid piece of defiance, still working and already thinking at that very moment of his next collection.