In a fur coat by Mary Quant. Photo by David Bailey, Vogue 1965.
Editor's note: I am always excited to add to our already talented crop of contributing writers here at Curated so when I was recently contacted by Lara that she would like to be a part of the team I was excited to chat with her. Turns out she has a profound love of vintage and just happens to be a pretty amazing writer to boot. She is a details girl and I think you will find some of her upcoming columns will launch off with some small little thing she has noticed and that from there blossoms into an entire columns worth of info. As with all of our writers she has the complete freedom to veer off in just about any direction she decides and I am looking forward to her contributions. Lara is just finishing off her first manuscript so for now will only be appearing once a month but hopefully as time passes with become a more regular contributor. I am immensely pleased to share her debut column for us today and hope you are as happy about the addition to the team as I am! ..... xx Cherie
From its inception in the early 60s, Andy Warhol’s famed studio was the center of New York City’s avant-garde art world. The Factory, as it came to be known, was a favourite haunt for artists, musicians, jet-setting socialites, and oddball misfits alike.
I could go on about a leotard-sporting Edie Sedgwick cavorting against the silver backdrop, drink in one hand, cig in the other. But I’d rather talk about another Warhol muse. The one who came before Edie. Jane Holzer.
Like Sedgwick, Holzer was a society darling of old money pedigree who’d done some modelling before her tenure as a Warhol superstar. She was shot by greats like David Bailey and Irving Penn for Vogue and other magazines, donning stunning creations from visionaries like Courrèges and Mary Quant.
Holzer was dubbed “Baby Jane” by a society columnist. “She was a blaze of golden glory and she rose like a rocket,” Diana Vreeland said about her. Holzer had a fresh, yet worldly elegance to her, a far cry from the gritty and tragic damsel archetype that Sedgwick seemed to embody.
Holzer and Warhol were introduced in 1964. With that deluge of golden locks, and painted cat eyes, it’s no wonder Warhol became smitten with the 23 year-old Park Avenue housewife. She went on to appear in several of his underground films.
By 1965, she’d moved on, and Warhol found a new muse in Sedgwick. Holzer broke away from the druggy hedonism, synonymous with The Factory. “It was full of freaks,” she told W magazine back in 2014. Though, she and Warhol remained good friends until his death in 1987.
Today Baby Jane lives in Palm Beach, where she grew up. She’s an art collector, real estate developer, and film producer. She’s also an unsung style icon, at least in the mainstream. You don’t see many pictures of her on some fashionista’s Instagram with “goals” captions. And that’s cool by me. More than cool, actually—spectacular!
Over years she’s gifted hundreds of fashion items to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Though currently not on view, they’re definitely worth scoping out on the website. If it’s a journey into fashion history you’re after, then who better to take you than the woman Halston called a true “girl of the ‘60s”?
(L) Holzer by William Klein, Vogue 1965. (R) At the 1973 Met Gala with Halston. Photo by Ron Galella, 1973.
Jane Holzer by Jack Robinson, January 1969. (On right, wearing Thea Porter)
(L) Signature Paco Rabanne dresses Circa. 1966-69. (R) Exquisite silk and wool cocktail dress by Yves Saint Laurent circa. 1967.
Both donated to the Met by Holzer.
Andy Warhol Screen Test, 1964 © The Warhol Foundation.
Photos by David Bailey, Vogue 1964.
(L-R) Magnificent silk ruffled cocktail dress by Chanel circa. 1965 / Silk and Plastic dress by Courrèges circa. 1967 / Silk jumpsuit by Halston circa. 1970s. (All donated to the Met by Holzer.)
(L) In a striking number by Courrèges. Photo by Irving Penn, Vogue 1965. (R) Jane Holzer by David Bailey 1964.
At The Factory with Andy Warhol by Santi Visalli, 1967.