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<text id=90TT0542>
<title>
Feb. 26, 1990: "But Gordon, I Want It All"
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1990
Feb. 26, 1990 Predator's Fall
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
FASHION, Page 61
"But Gordon, I Want It All"
</hdr>
<body>
<p>A kicky young designer launches a colorful, sporty line
</p>
<p>By Martha Duffy
</p>
<p> Times are shaky in the fashion world. Business is flat,
department stores an endangered species, customers bored. Amid
the unending cycle of sales and the unmapped racks that cram
discount outlets, the industry is looking hard for what it calls
direction. Anything goes now--minis, dirndls, see-throughs,
slouches--but none of it is going very far. So the time seems
right for a young designer with a couple of bright ideas and a
lot of insouciant charm. California-born Gordon Henderson, for
instance.
</p>
<p> Henderson is young (32), handsome, black, with boldness and
brights to burn. Surrounded by his newly hired employees, making
way for the workmen who are adding a floor to his Seventh Avenue
headquarters, he has that born-yesterday look. Henderson has
been in business on his own for less than a year, but he has
already won the Council of Fashion Designers of America's award
for best new talent. What captivated the jaded professional eyes
was the fresh colors of his simple, breezy separates. Burnished
goldenrod, glowing coppery brown, deep plum, a palette of greens
that goes from pale apple to ripe olive--his hues seem drawn
from the earth itself.
</p>
<p> Sound simple? It isn't. Sensitivity to color subtleties and
a sophisticated flair for mixing them are fairly rare even among
the French-couture royalty. Knowing how to conjure a rainbow on
a commercial budget is an invaluable skill. Henderson puts an
environmental spin on his aesthetic sense, and while he is a
leader, he is not alone in this. Ever the magpie, fashion has
caught on to ecology. "Le look vegetal" is popular in Paris,
where earth colors and materials like fake hemp and mock plant
stems are making news. In Henderson's case, the affinity to
natural colors probably predates environmental zeal. "I like
fruit tones, wood, stones," he says. "I keep beautiful rocks
around, and I dry flowers to see which shades will emerge."
</p>
<p> The wonder is that he can avoid cheap, garish dyes in an
inexpensive line. In his current collection, prices run from $75
to $300 apiece, and he is about to launch a cheaper one called
But Gordon. He got the idea for his label from the human traffic
that courses through his office. "But Gordon, I want something
new," he mimics. "But Gordon, can't you deliver sooner? But
Gordon, I want it all." He sees the But Gordon line as his own
Gap store, a place where the clothes are so cheap "I feel I can
go in there and just buy." If the July launch is successful, But
Gordon could make $20 million over the next three years (the
regular line is expected to do $12 million in two). Henderson
has been fascinated by fashion since his boyhood in the San
Joaquin Valley. His mother, a psychologist, bought Vogue
patterns, and young Gordon provided emphatic, unsolicited
opinions. Very short as a high school sophomore (he is now 5 ft.
11 in.), he took a tough adult-education course in tailoring in
order, as he says, "to get out of the boys' department." After
a halfhearted pass at premed studies at the University of
California at Davis, he moved East to attend Parsons School of
Design, the classic prep school for Seventh Avenue.
</p>
<p> Henderson picked up his trade as an assistant to Calvin
Klein. "I learned everything there," he says. "He gives you
consistency, and he's so clean and precise it's almost
ridiculous. He can take a good idea and go on with it forever."
Klein's influence shows. Henderson's nifty, sporty outfits are
never fussy. But they aren't Calvin rip-offs either, partly
because Henderson has avoided the beige-and-black neutral shades
that dominate sportswear.
</p>
<p> Like many another artisan in search of inspiration,
Henderson studies old movies. His last "bride"--traditionally
the final outfit in a fashion show--wore white silk pajamas.
"I wanted her to be like Audrey Hepburn or Doris Day when they
were stuck in the apartment. They looked so fantastic." Now he
is rummaging his way through the '50s, which, from the viewpoint
of someone born in 1957, is an era of sexy, whimsical dressing.
For fall he plans to draw on "all my favorite old clothes--trench coats, pajamas, pea coats, letter sweaters. My bride will
be a prom queen, maybe in a big, reversible skirt." To get
himself in the mood, he runs around Greenwich Village, where he
has bought a brownstone, in his father's old camel-hair topcoat.
</p>
<p> So will his new duds look like thrift-shop entries? Of
course not. Henderson's facility lies in translation, turning
mid-century nostalgia into '90s gear. And he will be prowling
Manhattan in search of his next muse. Or maybe exploring his
personal Shangri-La, which he pinpoints as "somewhere between
Carmel and Big Sur. I'd fly in. There'd be a little sports car,
a couple of horses. I could see that." As he well may--sooner
than later.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>