NEW YORK—THE King is dead. Bells are clanging all across Fashion Land, heralding the passing of Yves Saint Laurent.

Mere mortals like me feel an immense void, knowing that we have lost a most incredible artist—a genius.

I arrived in Paris with only one goal—to be a star. I was not sure what path to take, or if it was at all possible. But I was sure of one thing. I would never be a star if I did not work for Yves Saint Laurent.

By then, he was the undisputed king of fashion. The man who brought trousers to a woman’s wardrobe, the man who made us all weep with his sunflower collection.

My first stop when I arrived in Paris was to look at the YSL couture house at 7 Avenue George V. From across the street, it looked so unattainable to me, but I was determined to work there.

I was not star-struck. It was more of a yearning. I yearned to wear those beautiful clothes. I yearned to be one of the most beautiful women in Paris, wearing YSL clothes. I yearned to be Mounia or Kirat (his favorite models in the ’80s). I wanted to be one of the girls who were in the full pages of Women’s Wear Daily.

It was a dream for me, and my desire consumed me. I could not imagine calling myself a success if I did not work for Saint Laurent.

It did not happen immediately. My entry into the house of YSL was through a different path. I was working for other big designers before I started working for YSL. I was what the Parisians called a “mannequin vedette” (star on the rise). I was unknown until Thierry Mugler put me in his much-acclaimed press show.

The French love to discover people. They love to see raw material and mold you into a piece of art. Mugler was my mentor, and I would walk all around Paris in Mugler’s clothes. I was Mugler’s girl.

And when you are a rising star of one designer, others take notice of you. Soon, I got calls from other designers, and one day, it was from the House of Saint Laurent.

I was not on cattle calls anymore, where fashion houses saw dozens of girls. I had arrived at a point where I was a special “call in” to be presented to designers.

Though still young and new to Parisian fashion, by this time I was not as impressionable anymore. I knew how to comport myself and look the part—a beauty.

In the couple of months that I lived in Paris, I began to understand that hunger or “drive”—a very commendable trait for Americans—was not a trait the French admired.

In fact, they abhorred it. Mystery was what attracted the French. The more they didn’t know you, the more they wanted to get to know you.

By this time, I had learned to hold back and just be. I had to convince myself every single day that I was a young, beautiful model and that I could shine on any runway.

You had to walk into any fashion house thinking, “You need me more than I need you, and it will be your loss if you do not hire me.”

Attitude

Working for YSL might have been the one big desire that consumed me in my early days as a model, but no one will ever know from my attitude when I walked into the house of Saint Laurent.

I was shown to the cabine where I met Madame Munoz. If you were a model, she was the key to working for Saint Laurent. Hundreds of beautiful girls passed through her eyes every day. She single-handedly got to decide who would do the show, because you never got to see Monsieur Saint Laurent without her okay.

I was asked to wear a garment and was shown into an all-white fitting room where Monsieur Saint Laurent was sitting on an armchair and Loulou de la Falaise was hovering beside him. I was asked to step up onto the raised round fitting stall that was spotlighted.

Loulou de la Falaise was very friendly and all smiles. Under those thick black-rimmed glasses, Monsieur Saint Laurent was smiling at me, too, but he did not talk much. I could feel that he liked me and I could also feel a sense of excitement in both of them.

I think they wanted a model just like me who was new, who could bring a different flavor to their couture show. It was standard for all designers to try one or two different new models—usually, someone “au courant” or very hot—each season and insert them into their regular lineup of models.

Well, it was my time and I was chosen. I got to do the couture show with the other cabine models, and the regular lineup which included stars like Dalma.

The premiers and the seamstresses were called down to bring the garments to be fitted on me. Monsieur Saint Laurent did the choosing, and after several garments, Monsieur Bergé appeared. He was all business and did not concern himself with what was going on. He took a look at me and I saw the slightest nod of approval. But it seemed his main concern was the well-being of Monsieur Saint Laurent.

Dynamics

I could never fathom the dynamics of their relationship. Yes, it was a business partnership—the businessman and his creative counterpart, one relying on the other to survive and excel.

On one hand, you had Monsieur Saint Laurent who looked fragile and extremely shy and who spoke only in a very low voice, almost in a whisper. On the other hand, Bergé was a very assertive man with a booming voice and a very intense stare.

The combination of the two personalities struck me as odd, but it reflected a very strong symbiotic relationship. One felt as if Monsieur Saint Laurent was Pierre Bergé’s ward. The latter’s demeanor was very protective—as if he was taking care of a child or a sick man. I think this added to the enigma of Monsieur Saint Laurent. He was not ever left alone to fend for himself. There was always Monsieur Bergé.

I thought nothing of the clothes I was told to wear. I did what I was trained to do—to look beautiful in them. Normally, I was more aware of what was given to me to wear. When I fitted, I was already studying the clothes to know what I had to do for the show.

But there was such an aura in that salon, such mystery that I was just carried away in the process. I did the motions, but I was floating on clouds, in the midst of my dream. This was special. I was about to achieve my dream—to do the Saint Laurent show.

Pain and creativity

The show was at the Hotel Intercontinental on Rue Cambon. It was a very intimate stage because it was a couture show; the long narrow runway was 5 feet high up from the floor. It was a very grand and elegant venue with golden gilded columns and sparkling chandeliers, with the prominent YSL logo on center stage framed by a profusion of flowers, while golden chairs with crisp white covers filled the whole space.

I arrived early enough and stood at the back of the empty hall, staring at the runway while music—“Stormy Weather”—played softly in the background.

I heard somewhere that pain brought out the creativity in any artist. Van Gogh, Mozart—to make something beautiful, they had to have a lot of suffering.

When I heard the song in Lena Horne’s sultry and haunting voice, I understood Monsieur Saint Laurent. I understood that he was in a lot of pain, but that pain allowed him to create beautiful things.

I went backstage to sit for my makeup, where the fabulous embelliseur from Columbia, Jose Luis, was to do my face. I was a blank canvas, and I just let him transform me into the Saint Laurent girl. Once in a while, Monsieur Saint Laurent and Loulou de la Falaise would approach and check the makeup, and they looked pleased. I looked really expensive and exotic.

Then, the magic happened. I donned my first garment and I saw a reflection of myself on the mirror. I have never seen myself this beautiful! This was by no means my first couture show, but I saw with my own eyes the transformation that YSL’s clothes did for me. It was his magic. Yves Saint Laurent was a designer who loved women.

When the show started, everything was in a haze for me. I knew that every time I walked out, the people were applauding. I was happy that I held my own beside the Mounias and the Kirats.

At curtain call, Monsieur Saint Laurent walked out and took his bow to very intense and prolonged applause. He was beside Mounia, who was wearing the bridal number. Someone handed him a beautiful bouquet of white lilies, the pollen of which stained Monsieur Saint Laurent’s suit. When we got backstage, Monsieur Bergé railed at the assistant in charge of the flowers. He would not let anything happen to Monsieur Saint Laurent—not even a dash of pollen!

I knew I’d be coming back to the house of YSL. What I did not know was that I’d been chosen to shoot the Saint Laurent ad with one of the biggest photographers of that time—Helmut Newton.

Helmut Newton

Call time was at 7 a.m. and makeup started. Violetta, a Spanish model, a favorite of Saint Laurent, was there with a German model, the other newbie like me. She was very tall, had big breasts and a square jaw.

They did the German girl first, maybe because she was German and she would be a shoo-in with the famous German photographer. But minutes after she left the van, she was sent back and I was called to the set.

The mood of the shoot was foul. It started badly and everyone on set was on edge. My first garment was a favorite from the show—a cocktail dress made of black palette (sequins) and burgundy taffeta sleeves.

It was nerve-racking for me because Helmut Newton was known to have a kinky side to his pictures. He was into S&M (sado-masochism) and I did not know how this style would translate into a YSL beauty ad.

I had on a feathered hat or accessory that looked like a giant sea urchin in the mid front of my head. The sleeves of my garment looked like insect wings. Helmut put me on a ledge and I spread my arms to show the shape of the sleeves. Then, I did the unthinkable.

When models are in front of a camera, the first thing they position is their faces, so it will show in a good light.

But I knew that this photographer would not want a normal photograph. So I posed with my head down so the hat partially covered my face. I think I caught Helmut’s attention, and he started shooting silently. Never did I show my eyes or my full face to him. I gave him the details of the garment, and I had a feeling he was delighted that he would be able to take good pictures, after all.

When the shoot of that garment was over, I was brought back to the van and dressed in the garment that was on the German model while Violetta was doing her shoot. This time it was a pink dress suit with black piping. Helmut pointed toward a beautiful sculpture of a naked woman lying on her side, indicating that I should pose there.

I decided to sit on her shoulders. I did not cover my face, but I did not give Helmut a full frontal either—only my profile. Now, I could feel the mood lifting on the shoot.

There were about six garments. It was probably planned for us to have two per girl. But all of the German girl’s garments were put on me, and I got more pages than anyone.

The pictures came out strange but they were beautiful in their strangeness. The next month, when we had to prepare for the ready-to-wear season, I was chosen, with Violetta, to do the season’s preview cover of Women’s Wear Daily.

The Trocadero

The photographer was Guy Marineau of WWD. I wanted this cover so badly. While I was doing it, I realized I was now a Saint Laurent girl—a regular, treated like one of them by all the other Saint Laurent girls.

It was good I had a quiet demeanor when working. I stayed in my corner and was oblivious to the other girls. I was not perceived as a threat in a cabine full of rivalries and intrigue.

The biggest drama in the cabine was about who would wear the wedding dress. Every season, it was the same story. Mounia had always held this honor, but she was in constant battle with the atelier. I was told that she did everything to keep it—tears, voodoo, threats.

There had always been a big rivalry between Mounia and Kirat, as they were the two frontrunners. I was always caught in the middle, as I traveled with these girls constantly from Rome to Paris for the couture collection.

Mounia was my roommate when we were working in Rome, but Kirat was a close friend who called me “Anna Banana.” Maybe because we were both Asian, she took to me and even brazenly told me to leave the stoic Asian group and be in the “sexy group.”

But Asian models were always a big mystery to the French and a staple in almost every fashion house. There was one thing that Asian models provided that others couldn’t—exoticism.

Big campaign

There was another amazing trivia I discovered about Monsieur Saint Laurent. You see, designers did not know our birthdays, but one day while chatting with other girls, we discovered that Saint Laurent was partial to models born between December and January.

Everyone in the cabine and everyone who was working for Saint Laurent was either Capricorn (Mounia, Kirat, Amalia) or Sagittarius (Nicole, Dalma, Violetta, and me). Now, how could he possibly know our zodiac signs? It was too exact to be a coincidence!

Another big campaign I did for Saint Laurent was with David Seidner. I was the principal and had almost all the shots—the most memorable of which was in the Gare du Nord. I was all made up and ready in the garment, but for some reason we were not starting the shoot. We were on hold for about 45 minutes even though everyone was ready.

David was very apologetic and informed me that he was waiting for a basket of violets. Huh? Then it hit me. I was to play Audrey Hepburn as the flower vendor in “My Fair Lady.”

I remain ecstatic to have done these many campaigns for YSL. There were many more shows and even trips for Saint Laurent, and each show was very special for me.

I might not have gotten very close to him as I had gotten close to Thierry Mugler and Azzedine Alaia, but I don’t think any of the other models were that close to him, either.

Different world

You could sense that Monsieur Saint Laurent lived in a different world. He was on a very high pedestal. Were we in awe? Yes. Was he treated like a god? Yes. Was he protected from interactions because of his extreme shyness and his fragile nature? Yes.

He was always surrounded by a cordon of protectors, and we all respectfully kept our distance.

But it did not matter that he was unreachable. For me, his magic touched and inspired me to do beautiful motions. There was beauty. There was art. There was creativity. I can only be extremely thankful to have had the chance to work for him.

The author, who’s been living in New York for some time now, is the Filipina supermodel who has conquered Paris, Rome, Milan and then New York. She has graced the covers of leading magazines and the fashion bible Women’s Wear Daily. She has her own website, annabayle.com.