During the Golden Age of Hollywood, a handful of costume designers were as recognizable as the stars they dressed. At the top of the pile sits Edith Head, an icon in her own right, and the woman whose name goes hand-in-hand with Grace Kelly, Audrey Hepburn and Elizabeth Taylor (to name but a few). With over a thousand films under her belt, two books, a couple of columns, and pimped-up United States Coast Guard apparel, there is no denying the reach of Head’s sketchpad; however there remains healthy debate as to the validity of her status as Grande Dame of costume.
Enrolling in Chouinard Art College in a bid to stay one step ahead of the students she was teaching at the Hollywood School For Girls (yup, a real place), Head became a tutor to countless offspring of Hollywood heavy-hitters, weaving her way into a society that was once out of reach. At the encouragement of her new husband, Charles Head, Edith became swept up in the world of art and design, finally applying for the role of Sketch Artist at Paramount Studios. Clearly not one to be fazed by intellectual property law nor the odd case of copyright infringement, Head passed off sketches by her art college classmates as her own, impressing Paramount designer Howard Greer, and beginning her journey up the ranks of the studio. For his part, Greer recalled his first meeting with Head as an impressive one, being taken by the sight of “a young girl, with a face like a pussycat crossed with a Fujita drawing (who) appeared with a carpet bag full of sketches."
Despite her deceit coming to light faster than you can say “this looks vaguely familiar”, her personality and the aforementioned act of chutzpah had charmed the execs enough to keep her on board. Duplicity wasn't a sore point for Head, who refused to be coy when it came to anecdotes involving acts of cunning and the highlighting of her own shortcomings. Such confessions merely promoted her image as a clever and ambitious woman, a force to be reckoned with. To Head, her lack of creative prowess was also overcome by supreme language skills: illustrious academic qualifications that included a Bachelor of Arts with Honors in French, as well as a master’s degree in Romance Languages during her time at Stanford University, which cemented her value as one who could correspond with international stars and foreign executives.
Cutting her teeth on westerns, Head was in charge of kitting out some of the best-dressed horses in Hollywood, while Travis Banton, another Paramount darling and a man who these days Marlene Dietrich would have deemed an "essential worker" ensured the A-listers were looking their best. It is said during these formative years Head rarely designed costumes, (and to be fair, there’s only so much one can do with a saddle). However, she was making a name for herself as a hard worker with an eagerness to learn and move up the ranks from cattle couture to styling supporting roles, male actors, and eventually, actresses. After Banton left Paramount, the search was on to fill his role, with Head, ironically not being at the top of the pack. After all, bovine was not Balmain, and Paramount wanted a name synonymous with the Parisian catwalk. Nevertheless, her persistence paid off and within the year she was Head Designer (in role and name), becoming one of the few women to hold such a prestigious role, and by her own admission the first designer “with a mining camp instead of a European background."
Head’s lack of personal flamboyance and preference for clean sophistication over more elaborate designs set her apart from her contemporaries who were chomping at the bit to add another frill or develop a new, signature style. It was her nondescript nature (iconic blue-lensed glasses not withstanding) which helped her reputation as a designer for actors, prioritizing their vanity and securing life-long friendships, not to mention work. Ensuring her subjects (as opposed to style, fabric, etc.) were the focus of every fitting, Head’s brand of savvy continued into the layout of her studio, with mirrors positioned in manner to remove all distraction from the model, emphasizing their importance. It was a stroke of genius to satisfy the egos of some of the most notoriously difficult women in Hollywood even in the fitting room, a move which Head suggested was part of her knowledge that she was a better politician than a designer. Her clean designs were also an act of safeguarding her reputation for future critique, with the understanding that simplicity would never go out of style, whilst more "talk of the town" fashion would become dated. In other words, if she wanted to stand the test of time, her costumes would have to be equally enduring. To wit, who ever saw Grace Kelly in low-rise jeans?
Head was also forthright when it came to dressing shape. To remain the go-to for the A-list, it was imperative her costumes flatter first and foremost. Strong examination of her subjects’ shape, warts and all, meant Head would design to conceal her subjects’ less appealing elements, and enhance their assets. Short waists, stumpy legs, and any minor quibble by an actress was addressed.
Head continued her charm offensive by ensuring she became a name in her own right, leaving the needle and thread at the studio to embark upon multiple extracurricular projects that would see her mixing with the public. Radio and television spots, columns and books became part of her oeuvre, putting aside the unfathomable bust lines of the Hollywood royalty and instead helping Mrs. Jones camouflage her short legs. A sartorial Agony Aunt, Head’s appearances were regularly the most watched/listened to segments, resulting in insurmountable fan mail and style-centric SOSes from a public keen to look sharp.
A self-styled success, Head knew how to make friends, and with whom, eschewing indulgent design for classic and timeless silhouettes that would flatter her clientele, and cement her own reputation as a guru of style that would never go out of date.