Ever since a certain black, nylon rucksack sent women running for their wallets a couple of decades ago, the fashion world has been trying to get its head around Miuccia Prada. Arguably the most influential contemporary designer - and certainly the most copied - she is also one of its most enigmatic, rarely granting interviews and stubbornly refusing to play the fame game. Instead, with scary prescience, the Italian has always gone about things her own way then waited for the rest to catch up. And they invariably do. In addition to the rucksacks, which begat the ubiquitous bowling bag of 2000 and all manner of challenging footwear, she has given us deliberate dowdiness, minimalism, utilitarian chic and most recently, lady-like eclecticism. All seemed awkward, even ugly, at first, but then there was that 'click'. It is what the style cognoscente call a 'moment' and throughout the 90s and noughties, she had many.
The key to her success? Put simply, Prada designs clothes, not caricatures. She doesn't do 'Madonnas' or 'whores'. 'I really hate things that are obvious, things that I've already seen,' she says. 'I always try and do something new.' Consequently, her collections are full of idiosyncrasies, complexity and contractions that speak of their time and, more specifically, the modern woman of which Prada is a prime example.
A doctor of political science, she famously handed out leaflets at communist party rallies wearing Yves Saint Laurent. As a first-generation feminist, she condemns what she calls the 'desperation of sexy', or overtly suggestive clothing, but still claims to 'get crazy about a pair of pink shoes'. As for that legendary shyness, Prada studied mime at Milan's Piccolo Teatro ('It was an excuse not to talk.') before succumbing to the inevitable and taking over the family business in the mid-1970s. Since then she and husband Patrizio Bertelli, chief executive officer of Prada Group, have transformed her grandfather's luggage company into a 1.36 billion euro (HK$12.7 billion) empire that not only comprises Prada and Miu Miu, the designer's nickname and secondary line, but like-minded brands such as Helmut Lang, Jil Sander and Azzedine Alaia.
Success on this scale often results in a more conservative, less self-indulgent approach to business. For Prada it only upped the ante. The company continues to invest in projects that are less about immediate financial return than they are about brand philosophy and image projection. Cases in point: the Fondazione Prada, the contemporary art foundation that has quickly become one of Italy's finest since opening in
Milan in 1995, and more recently, the brand's monolithic 'epicentre' stores in New York, Tokyo and, later this year, Los Angeles. Designed by groundbreaking architects Rem Koolhaas and Herzog & de Meuron, these conceptual showcases explore shopping as a cultural phenomenon and, from US$40 million to $80 million a piece, have space-age amenities such as retractable stages, automatised display units and glass changing rooms that frost and defrost at the touch of a button. Then there is the group's $50 million investment - since increased to $105 million - in a yachting syndicate, which earned the Prada name widespread coverage when its state-of-the art yacht won the Louis Vuitton Cup, an America's Cup qualifier.
The brand's new flagship in Alexandra House, Central, the second largest in Asia, might not boast so many bells and whistles, but it did bring Prada to town for its opening recently. When we meet at the boutique, the latest of a projected 30 that she plans to have in China by the end of next year (there are currently 17 stores), the designer is looking predictably Prada - if predictable is the right word to describe the combination of a computer-print skirt, brocade cape and a white shirt bearing more antique brooches than a church bazaar.
'I love Hong Kong,' says the designer with a sigh, settling into a raspberry velvet banquet.
'I came here the first time with my family when I was 15, and then a lot more when we opened
our office, but after I had my sons I stopped travelling almost altogether. It has been 10 years
but I'm happy to see the city hasn't changed much - still this incredible bay and the fog,' she says, referring to a phenomenon less romantic souls would call pollution. 'But it's so fascinating!'
she protests, 'You have to have imagination.'
This is a trait Prada has in spades, tempered with a healthy dose of realism. A Taurean - she turned 54 on May 10 - the designer claims that despite her reputation for whimsy she always manages to keep two feet on the ground. 'People perceive me like I am really successful, a very important person, but me, I don't feel like that. I know my position, but I don't feel it,' she says. 'Last night, for instance, I had dinner with all of these important people in this super-huge suite at The Peninsula and it felt like I was playing a game. I can do it, but it has to be rarely.' When it comes to fashion, and the art-versus-commerce conundrum, Prada is equally pragmatic. 'You have to balance creativity with compromise because, at the end of the day, selling is the only way to prove that what you are doing makes sense to people,' she says. 'You can't just do whatever you want and presume to spend money without making some.'
Her husband would be happy to hear that. Renowned for his volcanic temper and aggressive business sense, Bertelli has been less than generous about demanding designers (German Jil Sander left shortly after he bought her brand, only to return last year). And he once famously said of his wife: 'Miuccia was such a first-rate worker and designer, I knew it would be cheaper in the long run to marry her.' 'He's an Aries, but my two children are also Taureans so at home the three of us win against him,' explains Prada, half-joking, 'I guess I like people who are tough.' So the histrionics
are all part of the game? 'Probably. Imagine how boring life would be otherwise. It's a struggle, but fun.'
At this moment, the designer's mobile phone - a white, leather Nokia, for those who are interested - rings and it is none other than the devil himself (wearing Prada, presumably). She excuses herself and, after cursory exchange in Italian, sums up their relationship: 'In the end there is a lot of respect so even when we do scream - and I wouldn't say that's a joke, but it's the way we relate to each other - we only really argue about the silly things. For the serious things we are always in agreement.'
If Prada sounds sorted now, it wasn't always so. She has overcome numerous obstacles along the way, many self-inflicted, before coming to terms with that other Taurean trait: materialism. 'I have to say that I like my work more in practise than in theory. You know, I was not always crazy to be doing this - I did everything to escape,' she confesses. 'But ultimately I like clothing, I like objects, so I like my work.'
Moreover, power has its privileges. For Prada, this is primarily the possibility of working with people she respects and exploring some of her other passions. In addition to art and cutting-edge architecture, the cinephile is bringing the Tribeca Film Festival to Italy, and last year she financed a new chair in aesthetics at the University of Vita-Salute San Raffaele in Milan. She also hopes to bring the Fondazione to Beijing, and is investigating the possibility of an epicentre store on the mainland, which she visited four months ago for the first time since Mao dictated fashion trends. 'Now that was different,' she says of the changes there. 'The whole thing is so strange but very interesting. I think we live in a fascinating time because we don't know in which direction we will go. China may be our future, or it may not. If we do something, it would have to be different - an example to others that combined modernity and making money with cultural exchange.'
This mandate, says Prada, is the primary impetus behind many of these projects, and not just a marketing ploy. 'Because we have the resources and the curiosity, we can try and do things with people who might otherwise not have the possibility. It's good for us, for them, for everybody,' she says, adding, 'I think people recognise the honesty of what we do, in that it's not just for PR purposes, which I am really happy about. I always say, we don't need that to sell more bags - the bags sell by themselves, thank God! And so I think that I have the respect of people that I respect. That for me is the biggest pleasure and satisfaction.'
Overall, Prada says that she is happier now than she has ever been. She has even stopped apologising for her girlie side. 'It's true,' she says, giggling. 'Before, I was afraid of letting this part of myself out. It's strange: the more I grow up, the more I feel free to be who I am.' And when did this start? 'After my 40s. But I had a horrible crisis at 33,' she says with a laugh. 'I thought I was the oldest person in the world. Now I want to prove that getting older is not just a bad thing, but that it can be better.'
Asked what she makes of the retro trend domin-ating runways lately, Prada, whose spring/summer collection is an ode to high-waisted, 50s silhouettes, artisan-style accessories and nostalgic prints, is philosophical. 'We are all looking back trying to find some beauty, some comfort, in times that seemed more safe. Before, roles were so easy and you could relax knowing where you are and what was expected of you. Now, things are so complicated. Not only do you have to deal with your own culture, which is complex, but you need to know everything about other cultures and of course you can never understand enough,' she says. 'But at the same time this is stressful and difficult, I also think it's challenging. For the first time ever, we all recognise that everyone is in the same boat.'
Prada says she relishes a challenge. For her autumn/winter show, which was unveiled in Milan last February, she introduced a jolt of the future with robot embroideries, hi-tech fabrics and murals of Mars in the background. 'I had a lot of fun with it,' says the designer, who took perverse pleasure in reproducing prints found in video games and the book Digital Beauties by Julius Wiedemann (Taschen). 'Basically they are copies of copies. It all stared with something as stupid as fake pleating, or copies of moire that we found on the computer.'
The juxtaposition of real and unreal, virtual and material, has long been a source of inspiration for the designer, who views technology with cautious ambivalence. 'I've always been interested in the idea of choosing a virtual world over the real world. I see my children, my friends, on the internet for hours. I even know people who have betrayed their wives online,' she says. 'There are huge possibilities for communication and even politics, but there is no real way to control it. It can be an instrument of both freedom and of danger.'
Prada, who only learned how to send text messages six months ago, and will launch a Koolhaas-designed website this year, understands the seduction of the internet but has decided to stay away. 'I don't use it at all because, personally, I'm afraid it will make me less real. I want to stay real,' she states. Still, she reveals she is working on the idea of a 'virtual body' for her next collection. From what I can decipher - and you heard it here first - Prada hopes to develop a dress that will correct one's corporeal imperfections. 'I probably shouldn't say anything, but ideally you would see the parts of the body you want to show, and the rest would be invisible. So if you are a little fat, who cares?'
Miuccia Prada, the thinking woman's designer, doing a weight-loss dress? Surely there is a subversive, sartorial subtext here? Prada laughs. 'It's purely theoretical, of course, because in the end a dress is just a dress. Who knows, it might just be our last attachment to reality.'
PHOTOGRAPHER Wing Shya
STYLIST Tim Lim
HAIR AND MAKE-UP Christine Kohut
MODELS Serene at Starz People, Huang Xiao Ming