She had been a model for some of the biggest designers in
the fashion world, then became a designer herself. Her clients and friends were
the rich and famous. She was in a longstanding relationship with one of the biggest
stars in rock history. Her Instagram
account was loaded with shots of her enviable life of glamour and worldwide
travel. And Monday morning, at the young age of 49, she
hanged herself in her luxury Manhattan apartment.
L’Wren Scott was a stunningly statuesque (6’3”) small-town American
girl who found fashion fame and fortune in Paris modeling for such designers as
Chanel and Thierry Mugler. After moving to Los Angeles to run PR for Prada, she
became a celebrity stylist, dressing stars including Nicole Kidman, Sarah
Jessica Parker, Ellen Barkin and Julianne Moore. In 2000, she was named the
official stylist of the Oscars. She took up with Rolling Stone Mick Jagger in
2001 and they’d been together ever since. Then in 2006 she launched her own
line of clothing.
“Luxury is a state of mind,” she had once said, but in fact
it seemed to be not just a mental state but her way of life. Private jets and
helicopters. Multi-million dollar homes in London and New York. A showroom in
Paris. Vacations in India and at Jagger’s home on the isle of Mustique. She was
a glamour inspiration for many who were shocked and saddened by her death.
You never know what private pain people carry, unless they
choose to share it. When I was a boy, my father was shaken by the suicide of a
workplace acquaintance. No one saw it coming, my father said; if only the
fellow had opened up about his troubles to someone (though in those days men
rarely did).
Then he urged me to keep something in mind as I got older: “If
anyone you know ever tells you they need to talk, drop what you’re doing, go
for a drive and let them talk. Drive all the way to the next state if you have
to, to let them unburden themselves.” I have to wonder if L’Wren Scott had no
one to whom she felt she could unburden a pain deep enough to drive her to
suicide.
I would not presume to speculate what that pain was. The media
immediately zeroed in on the mounting financial woes of her company and the fear
of its impending and very public failure. Her designs earned celebrity accolades
but were not commercially successful. She was $6 million in debt and unable to
pay her staff and suppliers. “She wanted so badly for things to be a success,”
said a source. “It was a huge burden on her and she didn't want to fail.” Perhaps
that was it, or something entirely different. In the absence of a suicide note
or some other clear evidence, we cannot know.
“Fashion is the armor to
survive the reality of everyday life,” she had pronounced
recently on Instagram. But that armor wasn’t enough to prevent her from
succumbing to some hidden wound. I don’t want to reduce L’Wren Scott’s life and
death to the simple cliché that money can’t buy happiness. Nonetheless, her
tragedy is a reminder that we all have our demons, and celebrity and luxury are
illusions that cannot protect us. It takes an armor welded from elements much
stronger than ourselves – family, friends, and faith, for example – to keep
those demons at bay.
(This article originally appeared here on Acculturated, 3/19/14)
