Claude and the Long Look

From the moment French President Georges Pompidou stepped onto the White House lawn, everyone looked downward, not in deference to protocol, but to see what length skirt his wife was wearing. For the rest of the week, even in politically oriented Washington, much of the conversation about the state visit centered on Mme. Pompidou's hemlines (she changed as often as four times a day), most of which came to within six inches of the ground.

Mme. Pompidou arrived at a crucial time for the U.S. fashion world, which is in the midst of a battle over hemline height for 1970. Her attire delighted U.S. manufacturers, designers and women's publications already committed to following the French Longuette look, which was emphasized at the Paris show in January. It dismayed strong-willed women and Seventh Avenue manufacturers still loyal to the miniskirt. For what better advertisement for the midi or Le Long Look than France's long first lady?

Claude Cahour Pompidou stands 5 ft. 9 in. and is a designer's dream. Though in her 50s, she is trim, athletic, looks attractive in bathing suits and superb in high fashion outfits. Normally devoted to pantsuits from Courreges, she switches to Chanel for day clothes and to Dior, Saint Laurent, Cardin and Laroche for ball gowns.

Leggy Look. Opulent as such a wardrobe sounds, Mme. Pompidou cannot be accused of extravagance. France's designers are delighted to have the press-agentry their first lady provides by simply strolling within range of photographers. The clothes are on loan, and Madame walks in glory, ogled by the public, photographed by the press and spreading the expensive news of the famous Paris fashion houses wherever she goes.

In America right now that news is not being well received by a male public still enchanted with the leggy look. Even Presidential Adviser Henry Kissinger dutifully professed his approval of Le Long Look but stressed his preference for miniskirts because "my office is in the basement and all I ever get to see around here is legs." Women's Wear Daily, the fashion trade's newspaper that is pushing the Longuette,* jokingly called the new look "the damned length"--a reference to Luchino Visconti's successful movie The Damned, which displays not only Brownshirts in drag but women in 1930s skirts. The influential daily has, as a result of its campaign, become a prime target of the miniforces. "Women's Wear influences Seventh Avenue because it comes out every day," complains one disgruntled manufacturer. "It's like brainwashing: you read anything on a daily basis and you begin to believe it." Others are hoping against hope that Orbach's, which holds its trend-setting showing of Paris copies in mid-March, will try to hold out for shorter lengths.

Added Mystery. One designer who refuses to be pushed to damned lengths is Rudi Gernreich: "I'm very much against the midi because it's illogical. It's like going to Mme. Tussaud's." Says Bill Blass, "I'm bored with fashion dictatorship. Women are not going to wear something just because it's publicized."

Nevertheless, she who rules French fashion seems destined to rule world fashion. Mme. Pompidou's trip to America seems already to have dispersed serious American resistance to the dropped hem. "I like it," said President Nixon, whose wife added that hemlines of earlier years "have always been my favorites." At least one other man has joined her in supporting the new look. Ventured President Pompidou, "I have known the era of long dresses, and I believe they added a touch of mystery to love."

*And more or less invented the term. It literally means "longish, somewhat long, pretty long, too long" (Cassell's New French Dictionary).

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