Working with his brother David (who died in 1987), the late, great documentarian Albert Maysles created Grey Gardens and Salesman, two of American cinema's quintessential masterpieces. By comparison, his last film, Iris, can only feel a little slight. Then again, given that the film concerns fashion, that is perhaps as it should be.
In this most fickle of industries, New Yorker Iris Apfel, famed for her outsized glasses and intricate piles of chunky jewellery, has certainly stood the test of time. At 93, she’s still appearing for Mac cosmetics and is a visiting professor at the University of Texas at Austin. She is frequently credited as kick-starting media interest in Advanced Style, a trend that was recently highlighted in a documentary and blog of the same name.
Unhappily, she is not at liberty to discuss her textiles and restorations at the White House, where she worked for nine presidents: Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan and Clinton. When her 100-year-old husband Carl tantalisingly mutters “Jackie was a problem”, in relation to the late Mrs Kennedy, he is quickly shushed by his wife of 67 years: “We’re not supposed to talk about that.”
Fashion folk such as photographer Bruce Weber dutifully pop up to use words such as “process” and inform the viewer that Iris is a genius, a trope that might prove grating if the subject weren’t such wonderful company.
There is, for all the frivolity of her business, a gravitas and magnetism about Iris Apfel: she’s smart and funny and sassy enough for the viewer to see past a life of privilege and walk-in wardrobes. There is, moreover, something commendably anti-fashion about her fashion, with its mad textures and patterns and jumble sale bargains.
“I’m only walking around to save on funeral expenses,” she quips. You walk, girl, as she might say herself.
