"I wear white business shirts; I can't take the time to fiddle with front studs. The last thing I want is to be controlled by fashion." John Weitz, on why he seldom wore a formal dress shirt with his tuxedo
It is unlikely that anyone who knew Weitz would say, and certainly, no one would dare say in his presence, that Weitz was controlled by fashion, rather, he treated fashion as a chosen field, one among many. He had abandoned the competitive and histrionic field of women's wear for the more mannerly, self-invented calling in menswear. Even there, he stayed slightly aloof, yet a maverick, choosing to play the debonair gentleman, rather than fashion victimizer like so many of his contemporaries. He developed two rare personalities, a late night New York intellectual, seeming swirling scotch as he toiled over fabric swatches, and a natural aristocrat, who has seen aristocracies disintegrate, but who persisted in creating new ones. It is a pity that F. Scott Fitzgerald died so young. Mr. Weitz was a Gatsby.
Weitz was a genius in recognizing the power of licensing. His signature appeared on a slew of sundry items like umbrellas, socks neckties, sunglasses, cologne, watches, and scarves. Weitz was not however indiscriminate. He understood the importance of “Branding”, before Madison Avenue really caught on. Despite the lucrative offers for licensing Weitz did exercise his limits. He would not use his name on clothing for large women, police and airline uniforms, or cigarettes "They wanted to tell me how to design them, I thought it would be immoral''.
John Fairchild, the former publisher of Women's Wear Daily, recalled that Mr. Weitz was a very clever businessman. ''He made some wonderful sportswear, he understood very sporty clothes, and he had a certain amount of elegance about what he did,'' he said. ''He did very well at putting his name on things,'' Mr. Fairchild said. ''He became sort of a household name.'' Mr. Fairchild considered Mr. Weitz more of a stylist than a designer. ''He was making things he thought were attractive for the general public, and at that time this was rather unique.''
Licensing inadvertently freed him up. His acumen for business enabled Weitz to build an empire in menswear with a minimum of participation from the designer. His executive and cosmopolitan lifestyle established only the guidelines for future product development. The Weitz “look” had long been established. In many ways, Weitz was the first to be such a designer, god-like then thereafter far removed from the world of his own creation. Weitz made a point, however, of wearing his own clothes; this is a matter of honor for a man of aristocratic lineage, if not always Boy Scoutish, integrity.
"I never planned on being a great couturier to me fashion is not an art but a craft.” John Weitz
Weitz had became one of the first popular men's fashion designers in the early 1960's, shifting his emphasis to this field for its capability to fulfill his interest in classic looks, utmost practicality, and no-nonsense durability. Until Giorgio Armani and Ralph Lauren in the late 1970's, no designer was as faithful as Weitz to menswear. In personal style as well as his design, Weitz exemplified a genteel sensibility, clothing that was refined, understated (for the times) he had an unerring eye, unpretentious good taste that comes from human attention to what is important in life, with clothing following as a consequence of those values. Even in the extreme years of menswear in the late 1960's and early 1970's, Weitz's vision was always balanced; it had a masculine temperament that conveyed confidence.
The word "dashing" appears often and adjacent to names like Tyrone Power and Gary Cooper, who were dress by none other than John Weitz, who was movie star handsome. Easy on the eyes, Weitz as he matured was his own dream model, healthy and scrubbed, with a flat stomach; he looked like the all-American boy next door, albeit with a suave English cum Germanic infused patois. Despite his East Coast addresses, he always managed to look tan, and as bronzed as a sun kissed demi-god. He only got better looking. He was a natural, confidant, poised, articulate and charming, and wildly successful touring stores showing off his new line of narrow, European-cut shirts, ties, and half the width of the standard American style. He was in some respects his greatest asset. His navy suit, alphabet-patterned ties and aoubergine socks are commonplace now, but were then part of a new, executive self-presentation, more about putting it together, than design, so much so, Alan Flusser could have been his protégé, but I date myself, Carson Kressley could have been his protégé, if he could bluff at a man’s game like poker, which is very doubtful.
For those interested in style, Weitz was an exemplar of modern dandyism, an infamously well-dressed man, who had an innate and well-developed sense for the slightest detail of grooming, a rightful regular on every "Best Dressed" list. While not a peacock or rainbow generation fashionista, he could put together a glen plaid suit with a yellow striped shirt, teal colored socks, an orange tie, and navy blue pocket square and look more manly than David Beckham or George Clooney on their best day. For those of us for whom Beau Brummell is a figure of respect, that would be more than sufficient, but for the more slovenly world at large Weitz was also a vastly successful businessman, and a talented designer who could make a ready to wear suit as sharp and polished as a BMG.
Meanwhile, he lived the life of his executive persona; he belonged to the New York Yacht Club, and the Vintage Sports Car Club. One might think that racing cars with Paul Newman or wining yachting competitions in your spare time is enough to complete the myth, Weitz’ life is not a myth, it is an epic. He was frequently written up in the press and social pages for his glittering penthouse cocktail parties where he served martinis, “shaken, not stirred”. He was in every respect a swanky playboy, mysterious, exciting, and adventuresome, ergo irresistible. Not cut from a typical bolt of fabric, the idiosyncratic Weitz had an idiosyncratic penchant for cats. Weitz adored their elegance, and was quoted on them more often than on the Nazis.
"Even overweight cats instinctively know the rule: when fat, arrange yourself in slim poses," John Weitz
In his Park Avenue apartment, a Chinese chef cooked salon styled dinner parties for his friends, among them the novelist Tom Wolfe, and lots of interesting film people. In 1964, hedging all bets, he met , fell in love and married the actress, Susan Kohner, who had starred in Douglas Sirk's Imitation of Life (1959), and who had already won two Golden Globes, and been nominated for an Academy Award as Best Supporting Actress, (she lost to Shelley Winters). On the face of it, the marriage was a surprise twist in a life riffled with turns. Weitz was twice divorced with several children, but played the hip playboy effortlessly. He didn’t appear to be “marriage material”. Weitz was what was once known as, a “man’s man”. The kind of guy that women and men wanted to “hang out” with. Rest assured; he too came to his marriage with a history. In 1943, he had first been married to the actress, Sally Blauner, followed by a marriage to the Fashion Editor, Eve Orton, which also ended in divorce. While relatively brief marriages, he was a man of scruples…so they say. He didn’t kiss and tell. Kohner, was talented, intelligent and attractive, had been married before. A ready-made family seemed out of character for the paramour known for his conquests. With no track record, the solidarity and fidelity that is required for a successful marriage would seem against the odds in New York or Vegas. Yet, the marriage was just what the doctor ordered, and Weitz went onto one of the most successful marriages in the industry, maybe not such a surprise for a man who made a success out of everything. Talk about good omens, best friend, Bill Blass was best man at his wedding. I am told there was champagne, rice, and orange blossoms.
Susan Kohner was a bona fide talent. Her work unfortunately gets short shrift. Coming from a show business family, she was often thought of as someone who used her connections to get parts. Nothing could be further from the truth. Kohner worked in film and television with great regularity, and was a true “working actress”. Kohner herself stated, “The quickest way for a pretty girl to crack the movies is to win a beauty contest, be a model or a cover girl. It isn't so easy if you're born into the business”. Regrettably, Kohner was typecast by producers as the archetypical 1950’s “bad girl” type. Indeed, her father was a powerful man. Her father was the legendary Hollywood talent agent Paul Kohner, who represented everyone from Billy Wilder to John Huston to Ingmar Bergman, whilst her mother was the Mexican actress Lupita Tovar, star of Drácula (1931). If you review Ms. Kohner's performances in films like Imitation of Life and (my personal favorite of hers) the nearly forgotten, Freud you will readily see that this is an actress that retired too soon from the screen. Alas, the new Mrs. Weitz retired after only a few more films to concentrate on her extended family. She altogether disappeared from the public and went on to become a New York socialite. To give up one’s career is tantamount to a kind of suicide. To wit, ironically Weitz, appreciating her talents dressed his wife as Hamlet in a leotard and concoction of chiffon for a Shakespeare Festival Benefit at the Plaza Hotel in 1966. I saw Kohner recently at a book signing for recent Born to Be Hurt: The Untold Story of Imitation of Life by Sam Staggs, and she is still beautiful, and spoke of her husband in the most reverent tones.
Perhaps the greatest achievement of Weitz as a fashion designer, however, was in the creation of a secondary version of his own lifestyle, in the person of another Jewish accessory designer whose fantasy of Waspy European snobbery was to turn contemporaries like the Bronx born, Ralph Lipchitz to Ralph Lauren. On the face of it, nearly everything about Lauren comes from Weitz. Weitz however , unlike Lauren was actually was a member of the Palm Beach Club, the East Hampton Yacht Club, the Sag Harbor Yacht Club, the US Navy Academy Sailing Squadron, and did not just make sumptuous advertisements set in such places. Weitz lived that lifestyle. I adore Mr. Lauren, but ultimately he is a poseur. Mr. Lauren swallowed the entire baggage of continental aristocracy, the notion of marketing and advertising-driven design, and the idea of the name-brand object with its associative glamour. With Lauren doing it so well, so thoroughly, Weitz was hardly required to remain in the running.
The story concludes in a day or two, so please return for part three of “A Primer On John Weitz.
