Christian Lacroix and the Tale of Sleeping Beauty

Camilla Morton, Christian Lacroix

• Editorial: HarperCollins e-books
• Año: 2011
• ISBN:
  9780062013859
• Categoría: Design
• Categoría: Fashion Design

Can dormant beauty really be awakened by a Princely touch? The classic story of Sleeping Beauty has had us believing so for years. Now, spun as if by magic from the threads of the beloved Brothers Grimm fairy tale comes the enchanting memoir of fashion designer Christian Lacroix—the haute couture icon whose creations have invited millions of women to enjoy the fairy princess fashions of their dreams. Sorcery and style combine in this enchanting new twist on a time-honored tale; re-imagined by international bestselling author Camilla Morton, and illustrated by Monsieur Lacroix himself, the spell cast by Christian Lacroix and the Tale of Sleeping Beauty will reawaken every reader's childhood fantasies—reassuring you that dreams really do come true…

Once Upon a Time

ONCE UPON A TIME, AS ALL THE BEST STORIES BEGIN, THERE WAS A SMALL TOWN HIDDEN BETWEEN THE BEACHES OF CAMARGUE AND THE ALPILLES FORESTS. HERE, ON THE SOUTHERN COAST OF FRANCE, LAY

the medieval Kingdom of Arles.

AND HERE LIVED A LITTLE EXPLORER BOY, WHOSE NAME WAS CHRISTIAN LACROIX.

You could easily spot him because young Lacroix always had his coloring pencils with him. Sharpened rainbow points would poke out of each and every pocket.

He was forever using these pencils to draw adventure, magic, and beauty. He had been sketching such visions for as long as he could remember, even before he could talk.

If he wasn’t drawing, he was cramming his scrapbook full of ideas, or restyling paper dolls, mixing different heads with different outfits, different tops with different bottoms, which often resulted in the most outlandish of fashion combinations!

Everything was beautiful to him. He delighted in sandcastles, silks, and the scent of exotic spices that wafted in on the breeze.

He wanted to be an inventor, a cook, a bookseller, and a postmaster.

Lacroix was, very clearly, a boy with big dreams. The world was his oyster, opening up to him on every command of his imagination.

He envied the Gypsies and their tales of afar, and when his heroes, the matadors, were in town, he would always make banners and be sure to cheer the loudest.

“Ole, Ole!” he would cry with the crowd.

He would watch every moment utterly entranced and would then re-create the arena, embellishing the costumes, the capes, and the bullfights on paper, his colors capturing the dazzling grandeur of the occasion.

For now every inhabitant of Arles was his muse. From the secret nymphs that hid in the forests to the big-bosomed opera divas that performed at the local arts festivals, all were his mind’s loyal playmates. Heroes, heroines, and grand Roman remains tempted him to dream daily. Make-believe was a welcome everyday occurrence in his world.

At the same time, over in the Land of Far and Plenty—which is not as far away as one would imagine—there lived a young Princess. The palace life she led was very different from the rural thrills of Aix-en-Provence, and even though her and Lacroix’s paths had never crossed, they shared the same sense of curiosity and destiny.

Beauty, in name as she was in character, seemed unlike other princesses of the time.

Despite the many extravagances her royal status afforded, she was neither spoiled nor demanding.

In fact, she was kind, thoughtful, and very much that ray of sunshine that lifted your spirits just to be around.

For her magical kingdom, the Little Princess never had to wish or make believe—but for true friends and adventure, alas, she did.

Beauty lived in a great castle that peeked out from behind an enchanted, rose-covered forest.

It was picture-perfect with lush ivy vines twisting around turrets

decorated with gold, silver, and bronze flags that softly fluttered from every proud peak. Sparkling sapphire water leapt through the ornate fountains and past the cherubim statues. It curled like satin ribbon down toward the great moat that surrounded the castle, where goldfish of real gold swam.

By day, the Princess lived beneath the smiling sun and a canopy of only occasional, candy-floss-pink clouds. At night, she would dream under glistening diamonds that twinkled far brighter than everyday stars.

Despite all the grandeur of this setting, Beauty was very lonely, attendants and toys her only companions. She had been confined to the safety of a solitary tower for her entire childhood. From there she could only watch the games she longed to play with the boisterous children below.

She could read all the books she wanted, but experienced nothing. She was schooled by elderly tutors in every imaginable Princess-becoming subject and never complained. Why? Because, unbeknownst to Lacroix—or indeed anyone else—she could escape her world by simply watching his. You see, one of the Princess’s favorite treasures was a magical snow globe that permitted her to glimpse other exciting realms, and by far the most exciting one she had found was his.

Beauty loved to steal away to a quiet corner of the tower with the snow globe in hand,

shake its gold glitter loose, and secretly follow this enigmatic boy from the market to school, to the bullfights, the sea, and beyond.

At night, she would dream about climbing trees, dancing with Gypsies, and exploring old local ruins with him.

But she could not. As long as she wore a crown, caution was her reality.

Each morning, as a new day dawned, the pink and blue hummingbirds would fly into her chamber and sing her a happy song. For that one brief moment, she’d catch her breath and hold on to a piece of paradise. The rest of the time, she knew she shouldn’t wish for something that wasn’t hers. So she made an extra effort to be merry and sweet, but her privileged lifestyle had come with a high price. All too often she felt suffocated and overprotected, and it was only getting worse.

She was a princess, yet she was a prisoner too . . .

Beauty was too young to remember why exactly she had been shut away in this desolate tower, but she knew that it was for her own protection. It had something to do with what occurred on the fateful day of her Christening.

If only I could remember why this has happened, then I could break this dreadful spell,

she thought, furrowing her royal brow in ...