‘Becoming Karl Lagerfeld:’ A flattering sketch of a controversial designer

“I like anonymity,” designer Karl Lagerfeld (played by Daniel Brühl) tells Jacques de Bascher (actor Théodore Pellerin) in the first episode of “Becoming Karl Lagerfeld,” a new six-part series based on Raphaëlle Bacqué’s novel “Kaiser Karl.” De Bascher — a fledgling writer and Lagerfeld’s eventual love interest — has accompanied him to the fashion show of his friend and rival Yves Saint Laurent (played by Arnaud Valois).

“Of course,” de Bacher deadpans. “You dress like the Sun King to go unnoticed.”

The Sun King was the nickname of King Louis XIV, who ruled over 17th and 18th century France in a procession of exaggerated sleeves, flowing ruffles and intricately patterned fabric.

While Lagerfeld leaves off the tumbling dark wig, de Bacher’s comparison is not unfounded. His wardrobe — which may occasionally inspire vague comparisons to Caesar Flickerman (Stanley Tucci’s character in “The Hunger Games”) — is a parade of flared trousers and elaborate tie pins; cravats matched to pocket squares, heeled boots, and a selection of ties that would put Chuck Bass (Ed Westwick in “Gossip Girl”) to shame. It is a rich palette of jewel and earth tones; petrol blues and pinstripes. And while his signature starched collar and fingerless gloves are yet to make an appearance, his looks are already topped off with another of his soon-to-be trademarks: a pair of dark aviator sunglasses.

Opening in 1972, “Becoming Karl Lagerfeld” — which premieres on Hulu June 7 — follows its namesake’s love life and career throughout the decade and into the spring of 1981, halting just before he began working with Chanel in 1983. Having joined ready-to-wear champion Chloé in 1966, Lagerfeld became the brand’s lone designer in 1974. The show follows his drawn-out power struggle with Chloé’s founder Gaby Aghion (played by Agnès Jaoui), who first discovered his talents but whose stubbornness prevents him from truly showing off his artistic, haute couture genius.

It is a noticeable choice by the series creators to portray Lagerfeld so sympathetically. In 2023, when the Metropolitan Museum of Art hosted its gala and corresponding exhibition in Lagerfeld’s honor, critics were quick to point out the numerous controversial statements the designer had made about weight, women, immigrants, victims of sexual assault and gay marriage. In “Becoming Karl Lagerfeld” he is brooding, combative and ambitious, sure — but we are equally encouraged to root for him. It is instead Saint Laurent who suffers the worst PR: in the love triangle that takes over the plot he is every inch the tortured artist, fawning desperately and pathetically over de Bascher; Lagerfeld, on the other hand, plays the aloof scorned lover.

A man’s world?

One of the show’s standout lines does point to Lagerfeld’s sexist tendencies. “Fashion has nothing to do with women, or there wouldn’t be so many gays in the business,” he tells de Bascher at the same YSL show in the first episode. “It’s a way of embodying the zeitgeist, of reflecting society’s true nature.”

He is then roundly contradicted by Marlene Dietrich (played by Sunnyi Melles) who co-opts his own metaphor in the following episode to tell him, flatly, that “a fashion designer is just a mirror for the woman he’s dressing… You only exist if the reflection in the mirror pleases me.”

These might not be direct quotes from the real life Lagerfeld or Dietrich, but they do show the ego underlying Lagerfeld’s character – and also pose the interesting question of how gender and power operate within the fashion industry.

Despite Dietrich’s protestations, the creators of “Becoming Karl Lagerfeld” seem to side with their muse. Nearly all the female characters across the series appear as emotional support or pretty backdrops — canvases from which Lagerfeld and Saint Laurent may suspend their art. Parisian fashion in the 1970s was, “Becoming Karl Lagerfeld” suggests, a scene broadly gatekept by a handful of squabbling men.

The history of high fashion isn’t that simple, though. Haute couture — where Lagerfeld was so eager to make his name — did not exist until 1858, and its arrival upset the existing trend of having female dressmakers. “The notion of haute (couture) and the client didn’t exist until (Charles Frederick) Worth,” Claire Wilcox, senior curator of fashion at London’s Victoria and Albert Museum, told CNN over the phone. “It was an important break in fashion history.” Worth opened the very first house, earning the status of haute couture’s “father”.

In a 2014 essay, historian Abigail Joseph wrote that before Worth, women were largely responsible for dressing other women, having first been given the right to enter the industry by — coincidentally — Louis XIV in 1675. By the time Worth opened his doors, women designers were so normalized that the idea of a male dressmaker raised eyebrows: Joseph described the accusations of effeminacy and “inappropriate masculinity” leveled at Worth; in Pierre Larousse’s famed encyclopedia of the 19th century, he protested that fashion needed “fairy-like fingers, not the build of an athlete, to be practiced properly and above all decently.”

By 1889, however, the tide had turned again: an edition of the “Peterborough Express” declared the name Worth “synonymous with the center of the fashionable world”. The “Leitrim Advertiser,” six years later, heralded his designs as “destined to revolutionize the world of feminine dress.” The 20th century then saw a boom in couture houses modeled on Worth’s example. While the likes of Chanel and Schiaparelli also made names for themselves, many of the biggest names were men, including Dior and Balmain in the 1940s and Givenchy in 1952.

Neither this context nor women’s relation to fashion is given much attention after Dietrich’s diatribe, as the focus shifts increasingly to Lagerfeld and de Bascher’s tumultuous relationship. “Becoming Karl Lagerfeld” is, stylistically, a luxurious tribute to ‘70s flair: gorgeous to look at and offering an aggressively humanized look at some of fashion’s biggest names. But pulling harder at the thread of fashion’s gendered power dynamics might have added a welcomed complexity.

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