When Diana Vreeland Curated the Costumes of Royal India at the Met
By Upasana DasIt was on a cold evening that the scent of sandalwood, especially prepared by Guerlain, wafted in the air as guests entered The Met for the opening of The Costumes of Royal India on 2nd December 1985. As always, it was organised by Diana Vreeland, former editor-in-chief of American Vogue, who had become a consultant for The Costume Institute at the museum. It was really the party of the year, Carolina Herrera had recalled in the documentary Diana Vreeland: The Eye has to Travel – “But all due to Diana,” she said, “Because she knew how to mix the people.”
It was a Hollywood affair as Vreeland brought in everyone she knew in the industry, from her decades at Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar – people flew in to attend the party. This gala was her fifteenth for the Met, but Vreeland herself was missing, detained by a cold. Nearly nine-hundred guests, mostly dressed in black, set a contrast with the sparkling ensembles which had arrived from India and elsewhere for the exhibition. Politicians, actors and philanthropists flocked around – Betsy Bloomingdale, who was married to the heir of the Bloomingdale department store, arrived in black Chanel, while Nancy Kissinger who’d arrived with her husband, picked a yellow Valentino skirt, albeit changing to a different attire later in the evening.
Vreeland had carried her editorial eye into the museum. “She painted all the walls these glossy colours,” said Harold Koda, former Assistant Curator at the Institute, in the documentary, “And she pumped in through the air conditioning vents, fragrance. What this did for the critics was evoke Bloomingdale’s.” Against bright red walls, mannequins posed dramatically in garments that had been lent by many princely states of India – perhaps the most by Bhavani Singh of Jaipur. So had others like Begum Naheed Fazaluddin Khan, the daughter-in-law of the last Ameer e Paigah of Hyderabad. Flipping through her family album, her granddaughter Aniqua Khan pointed at photographs of the clothes that her grandmother had sent to the Met. “Growing up I was in awe of my grandmother,” recalled the designer, “Her eye for colours and textures taught me everything I know today.” Not everything was used and during the curation, an early 20th century coat made from gold fabric, embroidered with gold thread, paired with magenta and gold silk brocade trousers were chosen.
Also exhibited were two paithani saris from the royal family of Baroda. “Martand Singh had come over to us,” said Rajmata Shubhanginiraje Gaekwad as we spoke over the phone, “He had known us very well for many years, and had come to ask if I had anything that he could add to the exhibition. So, I had shown him the very old paithani saris that we had.” Singh was a textile historian and curator and was assisting Vreeland in sourcing pieces for the exhibition. The saris had been woven in Paithan in Maharashtra. “Our family being Marathas and coming from Maharashtra originally, a lot of our clothes would be from Maharashtra,” she explained, “He had also taken some other things, but I don’t think he exhibited them. Like some tissue pieces, specially woven for the Baroda royal family in Benaras called Baroda Shalu. I had blouse pieces in that tissue material.”
A black cotton sari with a metallic gold border that was exhibited, is stunning, she said, considering how rare cotton paithani is. Silk is more common and a silk paithani in pink from their collection was also exhibited. “Those saris came into our family maybe two or three generations ago or even before,” she recalled, “I got them from mother-in-law, Rajmata Shantadevi. I was always interested in textiles because I was designing and liked to preserve older textiles.” The black paithani was a full nine-yard sari, designed to be draped in the manner that saris of such length typically are worn by Maratha ladies, particularly royalty, she further elaborated.
Maharani Radhikaraje Gaekwad still wears the black paithani today. “I didn’t really correlate them with The Met Gala, so it’s a bit of a glam thrill to think these saris went there,” she said when we spoke one morning, “They are of the finest quality and still very sturdy, but yes, we do wear them sparingly.” Singh had been involved with them to understand these textiles and their value as traditional heirlooms, she said. “My mother-in-law has taught me that wear them, enjoy them, don’t worry about the little rip here or there,” she reflected, “They wilt the minute you store them. The nostalgia and grace of wearing something as old as eighty years or hundred years, with the kind of legacy they carry when you drape – you feel different.”
“I was approached by my friend and cultural mentor, RK. Martand Singh,” said His Highness Maharaja Gaj Singh of Jodhpur who lent ten items. Singh, who’d later become a trustee for the Mehrangarh Museum in Jodhpur, chose items like a painted metal palanquin or a beige block-printed man’s robe from Rajasthan – most of which are still part of the Mehrangarh Museum collection. The Met would also approach the Bata Shoe Museum in Toronto. “We lent twenty-seven artifacts to that exhibition,” said Suzanne Petersen, Collection Manager at the museum. Seven were exhibited, including a pair of saffron-coloured mojaris worn by a temple dancer in Rajasthan, with beads and bells to tinkle upon movement. Perhaps one of the most intriguing ones was a pair of fish-shaped padukas from South Bengal, where fish is part of the staple diet.
C.L Bharany, the heir to the Delhi-based jewellery house Bharany’s lent Indian menswear, while other American jewellery houses like Harry Winston and Fred Leighton sent jewellery. Also on view was Indian weaponry, received at extensive bequests of individuals like George Coe Graves from whose collection a carved steel and jade dagger and scabbard were exhibited. Hallways were adorned with art, particularly by English artists like Tilly Kettle, who came in with the East India Company, or Frank Owen Salisbury who painted three “Sen sisters”, resplendent in sheer saris. Oscar de la Renta himself had lent an oil painting by Janet Hawkings titled ‘Portrait of Maharaja Duldeep Singh of Elveden, after Winterhalte’.
It was the early years of the gala, where no one particularly dressed for a theme. Studio 54 regular and Fabergé model Margaux Hemingway wore a striped jacket and Yves Saint Laurent muse, Tina Chew gave androgyny in a black suit. Donald Trump was in attendance in a dinner jacket – like most other men, and so was Sylvester Stallone with his fiancé, womenswear designer Geoffrey Beene, Estee Lauder and Picasso’s daughter, Paloma. De la Renta was there of course, with Princess Firyal of Jordan. The only look that entered cultural consciousness was worn by Cher, dressed by Bob Mackie in perhaps the most daring look from the evening. Mackie also made a careful identical reproduction of this look for another client, which is now owned by RuPaul’s Drag Race contestant Kahmora Hall, who collects the designer. “I came across the Mackie dress on Hindman Auction’s Holiday Fashion Sale back in November 2023,” she said, “I instantly recognised it – it is one of those looks that come to mind when I think of Cher. It was such a royal look, and the styling was impeccable – the ear cuffs that looked like wings, the slicked back hair, and those smokey eyes. I placed a bid for fun, not thinking I was going to win.”
Vreeland had never been to many of the countries whose fashion she admired. “I remember her saying that she’d never been to India,” said Simon Doonan, who was Vreeland’s assistant, in the documentary, “And had no real intention of going, because if she went, it wouldn’t match with the vision in her head.” The idea was bigger than the actual fact for Vreeland, Koda had reflected. Her idea of princely India was glamorous – but her view was also an Oriental fantasy. She had seen Norman Parkinson’s shoot for British Vogue in India, especially Jaipur where a model posed in front of a decorated elephant with a howdah. A life-sized elephant with a howdah leant by Maharaja Bhawani Singh of Jaipur would then become one of the main attractions of the exhibition. The exhibition’s focus was on the locations which would adhere to the fantasy, like the North-Western and central regions of India. Many of the royal lenders who sent their textiles and decorative objects, would never even see the exhibition in real life, perhaps only later through photographs of catalogues that Singh would send them. Although the exhibition celebrated traditional craftsmanship, the narrative was a partial one curated for a Western gaze.
Feature image: Installation view, The Costumes of Royal India, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, 20 December 1985–31 August 1986, © The Metropolitan Museum of Art