Donne e diritti

La Vie de Gabrielle « Coco »

Chanel

Disparue à l’âge de 88 ans, la grande couturière peut être satisfaite de

sa carrière: son célèbre petit tailleur, copié partout dans le monde, est un

symbole de l'élégance; elle a apporté aux femmes le confort et l'aisance

en contribuant à leur émancipation. Tout au long de sa vie tumultueuse,

Gabrielle Chanel s'est appliquée à dissimuler ses origines obscures : elle

éprouve la rigueur de l'orphelinat de Notre Dame avant d'être placée

dans un commerce de layette à Moulins. Gabrielle devient une reine du

music-hall et se produit dans les «beuglants» de l'époque. À 25 ans

rencontre Étienne Balsan, un jeune officier d'infanterie qui l'initie à la vie

de château et lui fait fréquenter demi-mondaines, actrices et séduisants

cavaliers.

Mince et brune, à une époque où les femmes affichent encore des

rondeurs, Coco Chanel étonne par son style vestimentaire à la simplicité

presque masculine.

Elle entame une carrière de modiste à Paris, en 1909, avant de s'installer

un an plus tard au numéro 31 de la rue Cambon.

Ses créations sont fort prisées et elle ouvre une boutique à Deauville où,

pendant la guerre se retrouve la clientèle chic. Ses premiers vêtements

souples et confortables sont taillés dans un vieux stock de jersey, un

tissu réservé jusqu'alors aux sous vêtement masculins. Coco voulait

aussi son parfum: en 1921 le grand chimiste Ernest Beaux lui propose

cinq variantes. Elle retient la cinquième: c'est le fameux numéro cinq; il

sera suivi de nombreux autres mais reste aujourd'hui leader mondial des

parfums de couturiers. Chanel a coupé ses cheveux, elle ose s'exposer

au soleil, elle scandalise en lançant le pantalon qu'elle porte avec des

perles. Ensuite, elle rencontre le duc de Westminster et ajoute les vestes

de tweed et le chandail à son répertoire créatif.

Elle lance la «petite robe noir» en 1926, puis les bijoux fantaisie et les

accessoires dont le succès ne se démentira jamais. Pendant toutes ces

années, elle a également dessiné des costumes pour les Ballets Russes

de Diaghilev, pour le théâtre avec Jean Cocteau ou pour le cinéma à

Hollywood (c'est la période de la crise).

À la déclaration de la deuxième guerre mondiale, Gabrielle Chanel ferme

sa maison de couture, licencie ses employés et s'installe au Ritz. Elle

rouvrira ses salons en 1954 lorsqu’elle a 71 ans et les célébrités viennent

lui commander ses fameux tailleurs. La grande mademoiselle meurt un

dimanche (le jour qu'elle a toujours détesté) de 1971, seule dans sa suite

du Ritz.

Si nous pouvons résumer le style intemporel de Chanel, nous pouvons

dire qu'il est le mélange de simplicité et de sophistication.

Cette formule continue de s'exprimer, aujourd'hui, dans les tailleurs sur

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lesquels cascadent sautoir en perles et chaînettes dorées, dans les sacs

matelassés et les escarpins bicolores. La maison Chanel est dirigée,

depuis 1983, par Karl Lagerfeld.

Virginia Woolf

In Gran Bretagna è invece Virginia Woolf, con il suo femminismo

intellettuale e distaccato, a mettere in rilievo il ruolo della donna. Vorrei

focalizzare l'attenzione sul testo estratto da “Professions for Women” che

mette in luce le opportunità di lavoro per le donne.

Adeline Virginia Woolf, born Stephen (London, January 25, 1882 -

Rodmell, March 28, 1941) was a novelist, essayist and activist in Britain.

Regarded as one of the leading writers of the twentieth century, actively

engaged in the fight for equal rights between the sexes. In the period

between the Wars she was a member of the Bloomsbury Group and an

important figure in the literature of London. Her most famous works

Mrs. Dalloway Lighthouse

include the novels (1925), To the (1927) and

Orlando The Common Reader A

(1928). Among the works: (1925) and

Room of One's Own "a

(1929), in which appears the famous saying

woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write

fiction”. Professions For Women:

“Professions for women” is the title of a lecture of 1942 written by

Virginia Woolf, in which she talks about the professional opportunities for

women in the 20 century and, particularly, about the profession of

th

writer.

In this, Virginia talks about “professions” and not “jobs” in order to

dignify women’s activities.

In particular, she talks about writing as a reputable and cheap profession;

for this reason literature is a profession in which women have succeeded

before than in others.

In addition, Woolf refers to writing as the only space in which women

could fulfil themselves without particular problems.

Her subject of writing was not as important as the very experience of

writing: indeed, she had to fight against the “Angel in the House”, that is,

the phantom of a woman who didn’t allow her to write.

The Angel in the House is the stereotype of the woman: sympathetic,

compassionate, tender, deceiving, charming, pure.

So, to be able to write all that she really thought, Woolf had to break free

from this figure: she had to kill that feminine part of herself that had

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been inculcated into her through education.

Once killed the Angel, Virginia is free to be herself, but now she had to

discover what is herself, so, what is a woman.

At this point, she has a more perturbing experience than that of killing

the Angel in the House: Virginia experiences the state of mind of the

novelist, pointing out that it is different for men and women writers: men

are repetitive, offer always the same elements in order to give the reader

security and in this way men writers lack imagination.

Women writers, on the contrary, rely on their unconscious, their

passions: so, the experience of writing for women is like an explosion

exhaling foam that, like the foam of the sea, is sign of vitality, energy,

life and so is the symbol of the artistic creation.

This is a quotation from “The Angel in the House”

The Angel In The House

“...And while I was writing books I should need to do battle with a certain

phantom. And the phantom was a woman, and when I came to know her

better I called her after the heroine of a famous poem, The Angel in the

she

House. It was who used to come between me and my paper when I

was writing reviews. It was she who bothered me and wasted my time

You

and so tormented me that at last I killed her. who come of a younger

and happier generation may not have heard of her – you may not know

what I mean by the Angel in the House. I will describe her as shortly as I

can. She was intensely sympathetic. She was immensely charming. She

was utterly unselfish. She excelled in the difficult arts of family life. She

sacrificed herself daily. If there was chicken, she took the leg; if there was

a draught she sat in it – in short she was so constituted that she never

had a mind or a wish of her own, but preferred to sympathize always with

the minds and wishes of others. Above all – I need not say it – she was

pure. Her purity was supposed to be her chief beauty – her blushes, her

great grace. In those days – the last of Queen Victoria – every house had

her

its Angel. And when I came to write I encountered with the very first

words. The shadow of her wings fell on my page; I heard the rustling of

her skirts in the room. Directly, that is to say, I took my pen in my hand

to review that novel by a famous man, she slipped behind me and

whispered: “My dear, you are a young woman. You are writing about a

book that has been written by a man. Be sympathetic; be tender; flatter;

deceive; use all the arts and wiles of our sex. Never let anybody guess

you

that have a mind of your own. Above all, be pure”. And she made as

if to guide my pen. I now record the one act for which I take some credit

to myself, though the credit rightly belongs to some excellent ancestors

of mine who left me a certain sum of money – shall we say five hundred

pounds a year? – so that it was not necessary for me to depend solely on

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her

charm for my living. I turned upon and caught her by the throat. I did

my best to kill her. My excuse, if I were to be had up in a court of law,

would be that I acted in self-defence. Had I not killed her she would have

killed me. She would have plucked the heart out of my writing. For, as I

found, directly I put pen to paper, you cannot review even a novel

without having a mind of your own, without expressing what you think to

be the truth about human relations, morality, sex. And all these

questions, according to the Angel of the House, cannot be dealt with

freely and openly by women; they must charm, they must conciliate,

they must – to put it bluntly – tell lies if they are to succeed. Thus

whenever I felt the shadow of her wing or the radiance of her halo upon

my page, I took up the inkpot and flung it at her. She died hard. Her

fictitious nature was of great assistance to her. It is far harder to kill a

phantom than a reality. She was always creeping back when I thought I

had despatched her. Though I flatter myself that I killed her in the end,

struggle

the was severe; it took much