I’ve always loved Gucci, as my many of my shoes, clothes and four handbags will attest. It actually used to be five, until one was stolen from checked luggage somewhere between Maui and Vancouver. But that’s another story.
On to the Gucci legend, and the first book written by a direct descendant of company founder Guccio Gucci: his granddaughter, Patricia Gucci.
I vaguely recall Gucci’s sale to a faceless corporation, which resulted in diluted brand, and the subsequent clawing back up to the luxury level reserved for but a few designers in the 1000-threadcount receptors of our brains. However, I never knew the back story in detail.
So when I was approached to be one of the first to read Patricia Gucci’s memoir, I couldn’t resist. And it seems only fitting to post my review on Fathers Day. The love child of Aldo Gucci, she weaves a masterful tale of her father, from the perspective of a person who had to live in the shadows for years — a child born out of wedlock used to be illegal in Italy. Discovery would mean certain scandal, possible ruination and potential imprisonment.
Patricia traces her parents’ love story, Aldo’s battle for the business, and touches on her own rise as Gucci’s spokesperson, although I would have liked to hear more about her career. Maybe another book is coming.
Besides the gripping interpersonal drama, I discovered (not really a spoiler alert, don’t worry!) the stirrup style elements did not come from a saddle-making background — Aldo just wanted an elevated equestrian association for the brand. And, looking at Louis V, who wouldn’t?
It’s hard to resist the combination of Made in Italy and superb story-telling. Bottom line for the interlocking G, as told by Patricia? I normally don’t do memoir, but I couldn’t put In the Name of Gucci down! Two G’s up.
