Somewhere in my smart phone, is an authentic photo of Bob Mackie and me. I’ve been looking for it ever since his passing earlier this week but can’t seem to find it. So, I asked Claude to conjure up an image of the two of us, looking exactly as we did twelve years ago, when we ran into each other at Osteria el Doge in New York City.
The AI image is attached, and I must say, it looks identical to the one I remember. Which begs the obvious question – do you think a legendary fashion designer like Bob Mackie – universally beloved for his originality and fierce commitment to authenticity – would object to being memorialized in a fake photograph? Personally, I don’t think so. I think Bob would be just fine with this image. Not because it’s fake, but rather, because it wasn’t presented as real. Because if Bob Mackie knew anything, it was the difference between a fraud and the real deal.
I base this belief on my only other interaction with the man, long before our chance meeting at Osteria in 2016. That would have been sometime in 1992, back when I was impersonating a show host on The QVC Cable Shopping Channel. Bob had come to QVC about the same time as Joan Rivers and Richard Simmons, both of whom were making a very good living by simply being themselves. Bob had come to QVC to introduce his Wearable Art Collection, a new assortment of scarves, blouses, and knits with impossibly bold, geometric patterns that many believed would fall flat with QVC’s conservative audience.
I never worked directly with Bob, but we did meet backstage on a Saturday evening after his first live show, when every single piece of Wearable Art sold out in minutes. Everyone was blown away by how approachable and authentic he was on the air, and the viewers absolutely loved him. I introduced myself, because I wanted to meet the man who made a dress out of curtains for Carol Burnett, and decided to leave the curtain rod in.
“Congratulations,” I said. “I don’t know a thing about fashion, but I really admire all you’ve accomplished.”
“Oh my God,” he said. “You’re the man in the middle of the night!”
“That’s me,” I said. “King of the Graveyard Shift.”
“I was just watching you last week,” he said, “from my hotel room. I couldn’t sleep, so I put on QVC, and there you were, selling unbreakable kitchenware.”
“I don’t remember that particular item,” I said. “But then again, I don’t remember much of anything that happens between 3 and 6am.”
“No?” said Bob. “Well, I’ll never forget it. You said, ‘Ok, America, let’s see just how ‘unbreakable’ this kitchenware really is.’ Then you jumped on a plate until it snapped in half! I nearly peed myself laughing.”
“Big claims require big proof,” I said. “And in my experience, everything is breakable.”
Bob clutched his metaphorical pearls and whispered dramatically, “I shudder to think what you’d do with one of my caftans, assuming you were ever asked to present one.”
“I’ll tell you exactly what I’d do,” I said. “I’d model it myself. In fact, if one ever shows up in the overnight inventory, I’ll wear it till the thing sells out.”
Bob laughed again and said, “You know, I’d pay to see that!”
Several months later, at 4:30am, during an hour called, “Leisurely Living,” it happened. One of the stagehands brought me a caftan from Bob’s Wearable Art Collection, and I wore it till it sold out. In fact, I wore it for the entire shift because, if I’m being honest, it was damn comfortable, and wearing it amused me to no end. Consequently, we had something to talk about 24 years later when our paths finally crossed again, in one of my favorite New York restaurants.
“Congratulations on Dirty Jobs,” he said. “You’ve come a long way from QVC.”
“Thanks. I like to think I worked my way up to the sewer.”
“You know, I never had a chance to thank you for modeling my caftan. I haven’t been that proud of myself since Cher introduced my Naked Dress to the masses.”
“It was a high-water mark for me as well. In fact, I was fired from QVC shortly after that shift.”
“Oh no!” said Bob. “Because of the caftan?”
“No, there were other reasons. All justifiable and long overdue.”
We ordered martinis and discussed the glory days of home shopping, back when a grown man, secure in his masculinity and desperate to stay conscious in the wee small hours of another endless night, could model a lady’s caftan just to keep himself amused. We also chatted about the importance of being true to yourself, even if you’re not yet sure who you are, and being as honest as you can with the audience you have, no matter how large or small that audience is.
Anyway, that was the last time I saw Bob Mackie – The Sultan of Sequins, The Rajah of Rhinestones, and one of the more authentic celebrities I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. And though we lived and worked in two very different worlds, he certainly made the one we shared a lot more interesting. My condolences, to those who knew him better, and miss him most.
PS. FYI, the other photo is totally authentic. I found in a shoebox in my garage, along with many others. Unless, of course, I told Claude to make up that one as well, and just forgot to tell you…