It Girl Review by Marissa Meltzer – How Jane Birkin Became an Icon | Autobiography books

forWhile boarding a flight in 1983, Jane Birkin found herself wrestling with the open straw basket in which she habitually placed everything from play scripts to diapers. When she reached the top cupboard, the basket tipped over, spilling its contents onto her neighbor. It turned out that he was the CEO of the French luxury goods company Hermès, and he immediately offered to make her a bag with internal pockets and a secure closure. Birkin drew what she wanted on a sick bag and the “Birkin” was born: a slouchy trapezoid in the finest leather with its own little lock. These days, a Birkin bag starts at around £10,000, while the original bag, made for Birkin herself, sold at auction this summer for £7.4 million.

It’s a tale that repeats itself endlessly thanks to its elegant compression of the key beats of Jane Birkin’s story. First, there’s the apathy, the fact that the Anglo-French singer and actor never seemed to be after anything; Rather, he came to her. Then there’s her lack of humiliation when her whole life is turned upside down in a strange man’s arms, diapers and all. Finally, there is her refusal to be intimidated by her own grace. It is known that Birkin did not treat her Hermès bag with special respect, but rather enthusiastically decorated it with charms, beads, stickers and ribbons. The trend to personalize your handbag with bits of tattoos has been everywhere this summer, part of a broader revival of the Birkin aesthetic, which includes flared mid-length jeans, rustic canvas blouses and ballet flats. You couldn’t avoid it if you tried.

All of this is to say that Marisa Meltzer’s biography of Birkin doesn’t really break new ground. Meltzer, a journalist who has previously written books about the founder of Weight Watchers and the millennial cosmetics company Glossier, hasn’t convinced any of Birkin’s friends or family to speak up. (It says a lot about Birkin’s affection and loyalty that, two years after her death at 76, her inner circle remains closed.) So instead, Meltzer combed through thousands of published profiles and interviews since 1969, the year Birkin broke through with Je T’aime…Moi Non Plus, the rousing pop song that made her “world famous in three minutes,” according to one Swiss magazine. In addition, it draws on Birkin’s published memoirs covering the period 1957–2013.

The result is a snappy account of how the future star broke out of her boarding school on the Isle of Wight at the age of sixteen, discovered that her tall, thin and androgynous appearance was well suited to the 1960s and began getting small acting roles. At the age of 21, she appeared nude in Antonioni’s film Blow-Up, was seduced by the film’s composer John Barry, became pregnant and broke up.

When Birkin arrived in Paris in 1967, her story began right. She auditioned for a role in a film starring a man she thought was called Serge Bourguignon, fell in love with him, and moved to Paris to be with him. Serge “Bourguignon” Gainsbourg looks terrible, not least because of his need, despite being 40, to have children. épater le bourgeoisie At every opportunity. This trend reached its peak when Je T’aime… Moi Non Plus was condemned by the papacy and banned by the BBC. Naturally, he was thrilled.

Birkin’s 12 years with Ginzburg seem like a piece of deranged performance art. People were used to seeing them in drunken fights at the Leib Brasserie, and Gainsbourg used to carry a gun that he swore he would use on anyone who looked at her. Birkin, in turn, recorded her desperation by jumping into the Seine before thinking better of it and emerging drenched (she was upset that her Yves Saint Laurent blouse was permanently shrinking). It is a relief to the reader, not to mention Birkin, when she finally manages to wriggle free and settles down at home with the film director Jacques Doillon, who is no less controlling, but at least bathing (Gainsbourg was a famous soap dodger).

Meltzer shows herself as careless with detail and ignorant of the broader cultural background. She describes Roman Polanski as “Polish-born”, even though Paris is his birthplace, and points out that the city is home to many “cathedrals”. Perhaps more forgiving is her insistence that Jane Birkin was a major creative force in music and theater in the late twentieth century.

It really wasn’t, which is why Birkin’s enduring appeal to both women and men remains so interesting. Although she was still giving concerts at the time of her death, audiences were not flocking to hear Birkin sing so much as enjoying the essence of her. It is the precise nature of this essence that resists analysis. She was romantic yet saucy, British and French at the same time, an ideal woman but a self-described “garcon.” Jane Birkin contained many, and until we have an account that delves deeper than this, she will remain dramatically elusive.