On Chic
AN indefinable quality
“Chic is a kind of mayonnaise, either it tastes, or it doesn’t” — Karl Lagerfeld
In the image conscious world of interior design one often hears the word “Chic” thrown around with abandon; but what does it really mean? To some it feels outdated, outmoded, affected even, a remnant of the world of Evelyn Waugh (1903-1966) and Nancy Mitford (1904-1973); it’s certainly not “cool” to use the word “chic”, but then, arguably, a person, or an interior that is chic, is not necessarily “cool”, though the twain can overlap. Its definition of course varies from user to user, much like the ever fluctuating issue of what constitutes good and bad taste. The Oxford English Dictionary defines chic as “Artistic skill and dexterity; ‘style,’ such as gives an air of superior excellence to a person or thing,” although to my mind, this is not quite right; also “‘Stylish,’ in the best fashion and best of taste.” It’s a quality, presumably, that is purely concerned with aesthetics, and has nothing whatsoever with a person’s personality or beliefs; indeed historically a lot of deeply unpleasant character traits have been overlooked in the case of those considered to be chic. The paradigm example being Gabrielle Bonheur “Coco” Chanel (1883-1971) — thought by many the very archetype of what it is to be chic, both with regards her personal appearance and her interiors, which were undoubtedly “stylish in the best fashion and best of taste”, and remain so today. Chanel was of course a Nazi sympathiser, and not only that, she had an affair, during the German occupation of Paris, with Baron Hans Gunther von Dincklage, a German spy and agent of the hated Gestapo. Chanel was, by all means, a deeply unpleasant character. Yet, today, this is overlooked by a good many people who are in awe of her very individual and original sense of style.
Coco Chanel on the famous mirrored staircase (rumored to have been designed by Jean Michel Frank) at her rue Cambon atelier
One of the bathroom at the Morgan Hotel, New York, designed by Andrée Putman, clad entirely in black and white caustic tiles
It’s essentially a quality very specific to an individual and unlike “luxury”, it need not be in any way expensive or rarefied. There are numerous interiors that have been put together on a more meagre budget that are undeniably chic (Andrée Putman’s virtuoso use of cheaply made black and white caustic tiles at the Morgan Hotel, New York, immediately springs to mind); whereas at the other end of the spectrum, the majority of contemporary interiors churned out by the prime residential sector are relentlessly tacky and anything but (the same can be said for the inexplicable and seemingly indefatigable trend for “quirky” English country). Indeed a good many people mistake a sizeable square footage, pared with period features and a smattering of inoffensive art as chic, whereas in reality it’s nothing more than bland, safe good taste — designed merely so as to achieve an overall look acceptable to an occupants social ambitions. The same can be said of entirely neutral interiors, where every fabric, wall colour and artwork is a monotone mixture of beige, white and taupe — a style that whilst unremittingly popular, is not necessarily, and ordinarily not, chic. As with Chanel in the fashion world, for a good many interior designers (at least for those with a degree of art historical know how), the name of storied French decorator Jean-Michel Frank (1895–1941) trips off the tongue when asked for a suitable illustration of a chic interior — and rightly so — along with, but not limited to, Eileen Gray (1878-1976), Marc du Plantier (1901-1975) and Eyre de Lanux (1894-1996). Whilst Frank might be known for his spartan and subdued interiors, that came to be defined as luxe pauvre (“impoverished luxury”), they were considerably more sophisticated, and far removed, from the modern day predilection for the sort of predictable international bland seen in ascendency across London’s wealthier postcodes. In a similar vein to Chanel, who famously mandated that “Before you leave the house, look in the mirror and take one thing off”, Frank was known for his “renunciation aesthetic” (in the words of François Mauriac); indeed after dining at Frank’s minimally appointed parchment sheathed apartment, artist Jean Cocteau (1889-1963) wrote to a friend, “Very charming young man, pity the burglars took everything he had!” Perhaps the idea is so inextricably associated with the French as they have a very particular way with indefinable qualities. They’ve even gone so far as to define the undefinable: je ne sais quoi. Chic is, to some extent, an elusive quality that can’t be learnt and like elegance, a person has it, refining it over time, or they don’t, in which case the best they can hope to achieve is good taste (still no bad thing).
Maison de Verre, Paris (1932) by French architect Pierre Chareau
Chic is just that — a certain je ne sais quoi —- and as a result of its undefinable nature, the term is often used, in the malaprop-strewn lexicon of the design world as a catch all for something that is, in actuality, merely stylish or cool. Go to any interiors soiree, let’s say the first night of PAD or Masterpiece, and you will hear the word thrown around with abandon. “Chic!” one of the stylish invitees might say of for e.g. a Jean Lurçat (1892-1966) sofa on the stand of Galerie Jacques Lacoste (always chic). This is usually followed by the reply “Very chic!” — or “Superchic” if you happen to be at PAD Paris. Indeed “chic” is one of the design worlds signifiers of choice. It has even been employed for book titles; Miles Redd’s “The Big Book of Chic” for e.g which is described as chronicling the interior designers “sense of dramatic style”. Outside the world of design, chic abounds to, and has been appended to everything from a Nile Rodgers-fronted disco group (which coined the immortal assertion, “Le freak, c’est chic,” not quite topped by New York housewife Luann de Lesseps “Chic, C’est la Vie”) to a men’s magazine published by Larry Flynt — whose more famous title is Hustler (the double-entendre with “cheek” was quite likely intentional). Indeed it’s so overused that its really lost its meaning — as can be seen carrying out a simple Google search, with the resultant imagery being anything but chic. There are numerous articles on “chic modern makeovers”, “industrial chic”, “chic decor tips” and “chic homeware”, all of which reduce it to a buzzword, part of a multi-million pound marketing strategy — flogging the idea of “off-the-shelf chic”, packaged and sold by the meter — which is of course a complete and utter nonsense — to a seemingly receptive market (a recent article referring to the “chic white interiors” of Khloé Kardashian’s McMansion serves perfectly to illustrate its overuse and misapplication).
Whilst its origins are somewhat ambiguous the word first came into popular parlance in France in the middle of the nineteenth century, with its first recorded use by poet, essayist and art critic Baudelaire (1821-1867), writing in 1846. Chic, he says, is a “horrendous and strange word, recently coined, that I don’t even know how to spell”; though the context, specifically, was its use as a descriptor of a new artistic style — which he goes on to call une monstruosité moderne. Contemporaneously however it was still used in a manner similar to that of its modern day meaning, with Gustave Flaubert (1821-1880), in a letter of 1845, commenting on the “chic” of Genoa. Not long after it began making an appearance in English texts: “She is wanting in what the French call ‘chic,’” wrote the Pall Mall Gazette in 1888. “An untranslatable word, denoting an indispensable quality.” It’s elusive nature might explain why the word remains untranslatable, and has accordingly been borrowed between languages — pinning it down can be difficult, and essentially, you know it when you see it. Although an object for e.g. a chair or table can be chic, to be chic, and to create chic interiors depends entirely on the person; though interestingly, there are numerous designers and makers, that, whilst their output is considered to be chic, they, themselves are not, which only serves to add a further level of complexity and confusion.
A parchment clad interior by French decorator Jean-Michel Frank
With regards an individual, arguably, it’s not purely a matter of appearance, but part and parcel of the way they live their life — for e.g. women like Pauline de Rothschild (1908-1976) and Marella Agnelli (1927-2019), who were incredibly refined and whose interiors had that certain je ne sais quoi. Similarly the Chilean silver-mining heiress Eugenia Huici de Errázuriz (1860-1951), a famous beauty, with the aesthetic and spirit of an Abbess, pioneered austere, pared back interiors long before the wabi sabi stylings of Belgian designer and antiquarian Axel Vervoordt (b. 1947). Frank, who became her acolyte, famously quoted her as saying, “Elegance is elimination”. Indeed at her villa, La Mimoseraie, in Biarritz, she elevated simplicity to an art form; it was stripped down to its bare essentials — with plain linen curtains, indigo upholstery, red-tile floors, and whitewashed walls — a shocking decorating approach in 1914. Cecil Beaton (1904-1980) wrote that: “Her effect on the taste of the last fifty years has been so enormous that the whole aesthetic of modern interior decoration, and many of the concepts of simplicity ... generally acknowledged today, can be laid at her remarkable doorstep.” That being said, having listed three women of enormous wealth; it’s not a quality dependent on bank balance. Whilst following fashion for the sake of fashion can be an expensive and dangerous undertaking, if one has chic, one adapts, combines and invents. Having chic, or being chic is the art of knowing how to make the best out of the little we know or the little we have. It’s also independent of social class — Chanel was after all born to Eugénie Jeanne Devolle, a laundress in the charity hospital run by the Sisters of Providence (a poorhouse), and Albert Chanel, a peddler.
Arguably I would say the idea of “chic” is entirely divorced from that of “fashion” and those that have it couldn’t care less what’s in (or out of) Vogue; rather they look for what is stylish, timelessness and refined. Indeed often those ascribed the moniker of chic are defined as “trend setters”, as they beat their own drum, unencumbered by society’s preoccupation with what may or may not be fashionable. “I think chic is a beautiful word and one of the most difficult to try to explain, because I think you are born chic,” Carine Roitfeld told Vogue. “You cannot be chic. It is something you cannot learn.” As a word, to some extent, it has an allure that is obsolete, and overuse (often entering Zoolander realms of parody), even frequent misapplication, have done nothing to quell its constant usage — it transcends fashion and lives in the collective conscious, a rarefied thing to be admired, and indeed imitated — often poorly — by those seeking to exploit its unique and indistinguishable charm. Chic is really an understatement — for there is never anything excessive and everything that is there needs to be; of course only those that have it know instinctively what that is.