Photograph by Frank Di Piazza
Couture conjures up images of Gigi getting gussied up for Gaston. But it needn’t be so fancy, so French—or in a musical
Just the word “couture” brings to mind visions of sycophantic salespeople serving wine and bonbons as seamstresses—referred to as “petites mains,” or “little hands”—whip up divine dresses in drop-dead fabrics.
Actually, that’s not entirely off base. Couture construction of made-to-measure clothes involves first whipping up a sample in muslin, then a succession of fittings, interlining the finished piece, weighting the hem so it falls perfectly, then adding tasteful trims and lining to every item. Each couture creation takes time, lots of time—and money. Lots of money. A couture Chanel jacket runs $30,000—plus airfare, hotel and French food.
However, you can have couture without leaving town. Helen Haughey of Helen Haughey Designs (314-304-7794, helenhaugheydesigns.com) sews up a gown—or the aforementioned jacket—with the best of them.
The New Zealand native started with a needle and thread at age 10, and she’s spent the last 15 years perfecting her skills—studying couture sewing in New York and Paris, learning draping at the elbow of Parisian Julien Cristofoli and beading from Kenneth King in New York.
Now Haughey has her own business, her own “petites mains” and her own flock of devotees. “I like clients who like good quality garments,” she says. The bulk of her creations lean toward the special occasion category—Veiled Prophet gowns, bride’s dresses, fancy frocks for the mother of the bride or groom, bridesmaid and graduation dresses. Depending on the assignment, she will do anywhere from four to nine fittings before a piece is complete. While she shies away from casual and sportswear, she often creates suits and dresses.
The prices range from an average of $4,000 for a debutante dress to $800–$1,500 for graduation dresses, $400 for bridesmaid dress, $750–$900 for regular jackets, $1,500 for a knockoff Chanel jacket and another $350 for the matching skirt.
“Timeless styles in well-made garments last forever,” Haughey says.
But the ultimate selling point for St. Louisans is that Haughey has fabrics made in Italy and France for sale—and the price of the cloth is included in the price of the outfit. She shops Europe twice or thrice a year and frequently flits to New York to get the perfect swaths of satin, lace, silk or wool.
Her studio is inside her Clayton house, in a three-step walk-up from the second floor. Classical music wafts throughout the sun-drenched room; bookcases are filled with bolts of fabric. A partially finished sapphire-blue satin gown, the bodice draped in $600-a-yard lace trimmed in Swarovski crystals, stands on a dress model. In 10 days, the finished gown will be worn on the VP runway as the deb it has been made for makes her bow to St. Louis society.
“I’ve had enough of black dresses,” Haughey says, glancing at the satin shimmering in the light. “When you have a color like this, it lifts your spirits.”
Hanging on one door is a delicate christening gown Haughey made by hand for her grandchild. She warned her own mother to bring her glasses when she came to America for the event. It was sage advice—Haughey enlisted her talents to do a good bit of the embroidery and all the tiny roses now embellishing the gown.
Scattered about are pictures of Haughey’s children in garments she made (including bride’s and bridesmaid dresses worn at their own weddings). On one wall hangs a poster from the Chanel show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art several years ago.
“I think I saw it three times,” Haughey says. “There was so much to see.”
And of course, the House That Coco Built serves as fit inspiration for the House of Haughey.
