The Fall/Winter 2001-2002 collection was announced across the screen, covering haute couture and prêt-à-porter. I rushed in but my excitement fell flat. I felt like a preppy waiting for his first job interview in Gaultier’s lobby. With the tips of my fingers, I browsed a collection of photos sitting on the coffee table. “When is the party going to start?” I asked a bit bored. “Should I leave my name on the list?”
I clicked on “mailing list,” wanting to leave my name to tell Jean Paul that I had stopped by. But windows kept opening wide. I couldn’t close them, it was dark, Jean Paul was not there, and nobody would even talk to me. I thought: “This is not like him. If the party doesn't start quickly, I’m going to leave!”
To get my friends to join me, I decided to send a few Jean Paul Gaultier e-cards. When loading, the Flash animation kept me awake, but the e-card pictures were… flat. They were nice but boring, two dimensional and unworthy of Jean Paul. In any case, they didn’t work. I doubleclicked, tripleclicked – they just didn’t work.
Wandering around, I clicked on Jean Paul’s “goodies,” which was just another trick to bring me back to the lobby. I ended up silently browsing wallpaper pictures of Jean Paul’s work. When clicking on the pictures, my screen (and my head) turned blank for a while. Once the pic was downloaded, I still couldn’t do anything until I right-clicked with my mouse. That was rather strange. Since I had entered the site, there hadn’t been a word of welcome or a comment. Nothing! Jean Paul Gaultier – who can be so vocal – was here so silent.
When closing the window, I got brutally kicked out of GaultierLand with a brief “Thank you for visiting.” No “home” button, no link through Jean Paul’s logo to allow me to go back. They had thrown me out. Ils m’avaient jeté sur le pavé!
Nobody throws me out! I was back on my feet in a second, hitting the reload button with a double click. Gaultier’s babe was staring at me from behind her stocking again. I started to like her. I was back in Jean Paul Gaultier’s “universe.”
The master was finally there to greet me, and this time, I made some “encounters.” The party could start. Madonna opened the ball (superb drawing, with long sculpted legs reminding one of Dali’s stroke), and Gaultier proved to be a better host than originally portrayed, as he finally introduced me to his guests and his work.
I bumped into Pedro Almodovar and Luc Besson, masters of moviemaking. And Gaultier, now more talkative, gave life to his work as he whispered to me “I drew 900 costumes” for Besson’s movie The Fifth Element.
When I left the party, the staff asked me ”Any questions? Any remarks? Any problems to display our website? Any questions on Jean Paul Gaultier House?” No I didn’t have any questions, just a hangover.