French Riviera Hedonism

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...the romance of indulgence

by Robin Smith Sulger
“One could get away with more on the summer Riviera, and whatever happened seemed to have something to do with art” F Scott Fitzgerald, “Echoes of A Jazz Age”. Not so long ago, wearing a bronze hue reputedly made fashionable in the very era of which I write, I took a walk along the French coast in Cap d'Antibes. It was hot, sticky, and the small patches of beach were littered with people of all ages, shapes and sizes, browned and belly-up in the sun. It smelled of frites and petrol. Back in the grey-ish confines of London, as my skin inches a shade closer to pale, I haven't been able to shake the Côte d'Azur. Yes, it is overrun, overpriced and certain parts are as tasteless as much of the food sold to maddening crowds of hapless tourists, but even in the summer, there is immense beauty. Pine and palm-laden hills fall rockily into a spread of blue water dotted with white boats that catch the sun, and at the end of each shiny day, the sky melts into puddles of pink, orange and gold, as vivid as the flowers and fruit that grow abundantly everywhere. It breathes art. And if you really concentrate, and squint your eyes so as to blur the blocks of cement and the traffic, there is a certain sepia-tinted style to it all. There is a history here that still feels relevant.

The high season was flip-flopped before. In the 19th century, European royalty and high society took their civilised holiday at this coast in the winter, playing cricket and lawn tennis and taking gentle walks in the mild climate (which, as a side note, was touted as highly remedial for British patients in the 18th century and many travelled here for “climato-therapy”). But the Côte d’Azur first came alive - in the lively sense - in the 1920s. Though a convergence of circumstances arguably sparked the decade or so of hedonism and decadence that descended upon the hilly coastline at this time (including post-war modernity and a sense of frivolity, a weak franc to the dollar, Prohibition, and the subsequent influx of Americans), it is Gerald and Sara Murphy, a couple from America with inherited wealth, who are most famously credited with securing the French Riviera’s status as a fashionable summer destination. With them came jazz, lounging, dancing and sunbathing, and a style that lent itself perfectly to these activities.

Just after World War I, a huge wave of change rose in America, and the Murphys (with three young children in tow) rode it out into Europe. Some argue that they were fleeing the strict social norms of their upper-class American lives, but whatever the case, they arrived in Paris in 1921 and immediately immersed themselves into the fantastically vibrant culture there. Paris, also in post-war recovery, was just entering “Les Années Folles” (or The Crazy Years) – a period characterised by an explosion of creativity and modernist ideals.

It was here that a group of young, forward-thinking ex-pat Americans and Europeans cultivated an exclusive club of sorts, a bohemian glitterati, where ideas were exchanged and inspiration flowed as steadily as the wine. Members included F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Ernest and Hadley Hemingway, Gertude Stein, Cole Porter, John Dos Passos, Sergei Diaghilev, Pablo Picasso, Rudolph Valentino, Man Ray, Jean Cocteau, Ezra Pound, Igor Stravinsky and Fernand Léger. Social chairs were Gerald and Sara. The hospitable couple held dinners at their ultramodern, minimalist apartment, threw elaborate parties and captivated their European friends with a highly stylized life, sharing their American ways of dancing, music and cocktail-making.

They may have set the stage, but the Murphys did not really start the play until 1923. Having spent a winter break on the Côte d’Azur, they were so enamoured of the area that they persuaded the old, traditional Hotel du Cap, which sits on a 25-acre pine forest bordering the sea in Cap d’Antibes, to keep a floor open for them during the summer so they could entertain and enjoy the good life. “It was a hot summer,” wrote Gerald Murphy, “but the air was dry, and it was cool in the evening, and the water was that wonderful jade-and-amethyst color. We bathed there and sat in the sun, and we decided that this was where we wanted to be.”

Shortly afterwards, the Murphys bought and carefully redesigned a nearby villa overlooking the sea, fittingly christened it “Villa America”, and proceeded to draw much of their illustrious coterie south. Others joined and the area was soon teeming with summering socialites, musicians, artists and writers.

Villa America was shockingly unique for the time – no stuffy Rococo salons here – there were black floors and zebra rugs and large mirrors, and previously unseen innovations such as screen doors and stainless steel bathroom fixtures were installed. There was a garden terrace with grey and white tiles for cocktails and dancing (Gerald, a jazz aficionado, had an immense record collection containing original jazz/blues/ragtime pieces which he shared with his friends), and perhaps most startling in design for the times, a flat roof that served as a sun deck. Sara fashioned artistic floral arrangements everywhere, while below Villa America, Gerald tirelessly raked piles of seaweed and debris from a patch of beach that had never before seen leisure. To the shock of the locals, the Murphys and their guests would swim, sunbathe and have lavish sherry-saturated picnics in the sand. Even Picasso relaxed in his bathing trunks and a black homburg.

But otherwise, what were they wearing?

Firstly, a tan. Gabrielle (Coco) Chanel is largely credited with making the tan fashionable, but she brought it back to Paris after a summer holiday in the South of France. The Murphys were already there. Indeed, Chanel, a close friend of Picasso’s, was a part of their extended circle and was also said to have been inspired by Gerald’s adopted summer uniform of striped sailors’ jerseys, loose cotton shorts and trousers, knit caps and espadrilles. Gerald, who loved a costume, was known to approach dressing like an artist and had such a passion for the look that he would hand out striped tops to party guests.

As a self-professed consummate dandy, Gerald had a more distinctive wardrobe than his male contemporaries did at the time (he hated, for example, carrying anything in his pockets, and was often seen transporting his possessions around in pieces of colourful fabric). Others tended towards a less stylized look - a short tuxedo (perhaps with the relatively new “cummerbund” for warmer weather) or dinner jacket for the evening and simple loose fitting shirts and short linen trousers for the casual day. On the beach, Gerald rarely strayed from his favoured theme – photographs show him usually in stripes (even striped bathing trunks), always with a cap or headscarf. Friends wore simple bathing trunks or belted tank suits with undershorts. Lightweight brimmed hats and driving caps were common.

Sara Murphy, of whom Picasso, Fitzgerald and Hemingway were all enamoured, is famously known for wearing a rope of pearls down her back at the beach. Fitzgerald quite blatantly modelled Nicole Diver’s character in Tender Is the Night after Sara, describing her “bathing suit pulled off her shoulders, and her back, a ruddy, orange brown, set off by a string of creamy pearls” which “shone in the sun”. When sunning her pearls, Sara also favoured wide scarves tied around her head, and loose short-sleeved blouses and dresses – a romantic, yet casual look that was emblematic of the more liberated 1920s woman. Swimwear consisted of tight wool tank suits with built-in undershorts, and Sara tended to accessorise with a large embroidered or fringed shawl at the beach. During the day, the women would often wear hats that fit close to the head, such as the cloche, or a brimmed sun hat – but not always: tanning the face was acceptable and shorter hairdos kept their necks cool.

And on warm summer nights, with the fragrant air smelling of “eucalyptus, tomatoes and heliotrope” (as Dos Passos wrote), the men threw on their dinner jackets and the women would don long, drapey dresses. Few photos exist of the Murphys and friends after sunset, but enough can be gleaned from relevant writings and history to manage a fairly accurate image. Wealthier guests, including the hostess, would likely be wearing silk dresses from Paris (Lanvin, Vionnet, Poiret, etc.), many with beading or fringing.

The waist was dropped or undefined and the fit loose to allow for easy dancing (particularly after a few of Gerald’s painstakingly created yet potent cocktails). A sleeveless or backless design, slightly seductive, would be comfortable for balmier evenings. Also: a simple scarf, band or barrette in the hair; a fabric corsage at the shoulder or hip; a string or two of pearls. Dancing to jazz at the local casinos may have called for shorter styles, but never above the knee – the clichéd flapper dress look (as we now think of it) would have been considered too faddish.

Karl Lagerfeld cited the Murphys at Villa America as the inspiration behind Chanel's Spring/Summer 2008 collection. “It was when Americans and Europeans were very inspired by each other, the days of Fitzgerald and Hemingway and all that,” he said then. “I think that was the best time ever.” But while there were pearls and corsages (and a not so subtle use of stars, stripes and dollar signs), Lagerfeld’s “American Dream” theme was a more forced version of the elegant simplicity that was inherent in the Murphys and those around them. Sara and Gerald were wealthy, but they played stylishly with bohemia.

Given the lifestyle and more importantly, the company they kept, it is no wonder that the couple served as iconic fodder for many great works of literature and art – F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Tender is the Night and Tales of a Jazz Age, Philip Barry’s Holiday, Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast and The Sun Also Rises, Dos Passos’ The Big Money, Picasso’s The Pipes of Pan and The Woman in White, and Léger’s Man With a Hat, among others. Their real story is tinged with tragedy (the couple later suffered through the illness and subsequent death of two of their three children), but it is a necessary history. It was the story of an era. There was optimism, painting, writing, singing, dancing, cocktails and money – and the sun was shining. For a while at least, life was good.

Now doesn’t that sound nice?