The Second Coming of Richard Tyler : The L.A.-based designer was hired to jump-start the House of Anne Klein. But if he feels any pressure, he’s not showing it.
NEW YORK — Richard Tyler, the Australian-born, California-based designer with the face of a leprechaun and the scruffy mane of a heavy-metal hellion, picks at a charbroiled-chicken salad while fielding a barrage of questions from his staff.
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Richard, can you look at these models’ portfolios?
Richard, is this lapel still too wide?
Richard, can we get your signature for the press kit?
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Tyler, or “Richard who?” as he is largely known outside the garment industry, will unveil his first collection for the powerful, prestigious house of Anne Klein next week.
“Honestly, I’m not nervous,” he says during a brief lunch break in his Seventh Avenue workroom a fortnight before the New York showings of spring lines. “I don’t have time to be.”
Six months ago, Tyler took off for New York and the fashion big leagues when he was tapped to replace Louis Dell’Olio, the design director at Anne Klein for 18 years. He had been known on the West Coast for his collections of men’s and women’s suits, for his boutique in Los Angeles and for his flotilla of celebrity fans. His meticulous tailoring and latter-day Mod Squad fashion tastes had been earning him points with leading retailers on both coasts for several years.
Still, Tyler, 45, was a surprising hire for the venerable $800-million company whose clothes lately had become conventional and lackluster, losing ground to Giorgio Armani and Donna Karan, a designer for Anne Klein from 1974 to 1984.
But if Tyler feels the pressure to produce a socko show that will have the fashion pack jumping out of its Manolo Blahniks, he doesn’t show it.
“Richard tends to keep everything inside,” says Nancy Lueck, vice president of corporate public relations for Anne Klein. “He can’t be unaware of the anticipation, but he shields himself by focusing on the clothes.”
Indeed, Tyler seems most at ease when closeted in his cluttered workroom, young assistants at his elbow, doing the final fittings on his Size 6 house model.
“You know what? We don’t need the collar,” Tyler declares after fussing with the neckline of a pleated, striped silk dress. “I think we should do more of a ‘20s thing with a low tank. Very clean, very simple, very sexy.”
An associate pokes her head in to ask if Tyler can see a young model eager to glide down the designer’s runway on Monday. “So you’re in the new Mademoiselle? Great,” Tyler says amiably to the auburn-haired waif tugging nervously at her bangs.
The interview ends in two minutes; the model is hired. “You can tell the second a girl walks into the room if she’ll work out,” Tyler says. “It’s instinctive.”
He then scrutinizes a succession of garments for flaws: A tiny wrap skirt sags across the derriere, a slender beige jacket buckles in the front, a wispy chiffon dress needs a smaller sleeve.
Clues to his inspirations for the new collection lie scattered about the room: a sliver of printed chiffon the color of pale tea, delicate gold and silver chain necklaces, a swatch of tissue-fine black wool, a vintage little girl’s white blouse, a turn-of-the-century photograph depicting workmen in dark, impeccably cut jackets.
“Don’t you just love how they look? The wonderful jackets! The shirts!” Tyler exclaims. “I went back and looked at the Anne Klein archives to find out what she did. Basically, she made clothes for the working woman. And her jackets were unbelievable.”
So are his.
Tyler’s sophisticated, ‘40s-inspired men’s jackets were once described as capable of transforming a man into a cross between Arnold Schwarzenegger and Cary Grant.
His women’s jackets are equally superb: streamlined and sensuous with an elegant, elongated silhouette and fine detailing. Fans--including Julia Roberts, Kim Basinger, Janet Jackson, Nicole Kidman, Sigourney Weaver and Anjelica Huston--marvel at how they make women look taller, thinner and sexy in a classy sort of way.
And jackets are the core of the new Anne Klein line, which has none of the hard-edged, Mildred Pierce overtones of past collections. Everything looks younger, softer and more refined. Jackets are lean, pants are graceful, colors are neutral--lots of beige and black--and skirts are in a mix of mini and longer lengths.
“It’s definitely a new direction for Anne Klein,” Tyler says. “I’m sure there will be people who’ll say, ‘Ugh, what is he doing?’ You can’t please everybody, and (Dell’Olio) had a loyal following. But I’m designing now. And I know I’m on the right track.”
The regional sales staff, assembled for a preview of the line, seems to agree. Every outfit elicits spontaneous applause and cries of “I want that!”-- except for a bizarrely cut, camouflage-print chiffon slip dress. “If you need me on the floor, selling, I’ll do it,” the designer tells his audience. “Whatever it takes for this to work, I’ll do. There’s money out there and we don’t mind taking some of it from Calvin or Donna--or Armani, for that matter.”
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Tyler took a long and circuitous route to the world of Klein and Karan. He grew up in Sunshine, Australia, one of four children of a factory foreman and a seamstress who designed costumes for the Melbourne Ballet.
“I was a truant,” he says. “When the priest came to the house and told my mother, she sat me down and said, ‘What do you want to do?’ I had no idea, but I told her I wanted to be a designer like her because it was the first thing that popped into my head.”
Mercia Tyler, who had taught her son to sew when he was 8, helped him land a job at 16 as a cutter in a shirt factory. That led to an apprenticeship with a leading tailor in Melbourne. Two years later, Tyler opened a boutique on Melbourne’s fashionable Toorak Road and started dressing Australian rock stars. After his mother died in 1976, he came to Los Angeles and designed flamboyant stage outfits for Elton John, Rod Stewart and Diana Ross, among others.
Weary of razzmatazz creations, he spent two years working as a free-lance designer and traveling in Scandinavia before returning to Los Angeles. Friends introduced him to Lisa Trafficante, an aspiring actress, who encouraged him to start his own line. They became business partners, later married, and in 1987, put together a small menswear collection.
Drawing on his iconoclastic background of British tailoring and stage design, Tyler created taxi-yellow chesterfields and Dickensian frock coats that were hits in chic boutiques across the country. In 1988, Richard and Lisa--along with her sister, Michelle--opened their eponymous shop on Beverly Boulevard. After women began to ask that he alter his menswear to fit them, Tyler introduced a women’s collection.
Eager to establish himself on Seventh Avenue, Tyler presented the first New York showing of his signature collection last year. Glowing reviews brought the designer to the attention of Andrew Rosen, president of Anne Klein and brother of a Tyler fan. Within months, the Australian had signed on with the all-American sportswear company.
How do his signature and Anne Klein lines differ?
“The Richard Tyler is more couture,” he explains. “It’s all handmade. It’s much more intricate and a bit more theatrical.”
It’s also more expensive. A Tyler jacket costs $1,800 or more; an Anne Klein is about $900, a 15% increase over last season because of increased handwork, the company says. Although the designer concedes that some of his signature customers may opt for the savings of an Anne Klein, he says he will never abandon his namesake.
“I would never enter into an agreement that would jeopardize my own house,” he says. “I spent five years working my tail off to build it. I have no intention of throwing it away.”
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Tyler and Trafficante divide their time between a new home in the Hollywood Hills and a town house in Manhattan’s Murray Hill district. They’re expecting their first child in a few weeks. “‘Nothing like everything happening at once,” says Tyler, who has an 18-year-old son, Sheridan, from a previous marriage.
The designer swears he won’t even read the reviews of his show next week. “I never do,” he says. “But Lisa does. I tell her, ‘Just tell me if it’s good or bad.’
“Look, if (Vogue Editor) Anna Wintour loves my collection, I’m thrilled because I respect her opinion,” he continues. “But if she gives me a bad review, it’s not really what matters. This is not about your ego. It’s about making clothes that sell.”
