Maxine de la Falaise's obituary reads like a dream: she grew up in a family that “were the highest of haute bohemia”, as a child in school, “her clothes – Rhoda's (her mother's) discarded Schiaparellis or bespoke oriental ensembles – were awesome”. Later, shipped off to the US to find a wealthy husband, “She hung around Vogue in New York, was introduced to Elsa Schiaparelli, whose couture house had reopened… as perfect in her lanky loucheness to wear and sell for the house in its last years, and she was also photographed as a model for Dior, whose rise finally eclipsed Schiaparelli.”
She counted Louis Malle and Max Ernst among her lovers before becoming “an influential hostess among the Manhattan creatives” and a food columnist for Vogue. She was great friends with Andy Warhol and I know her well from his camp classic Blood for Dracula. Yves Saint Laurent, who claimed her daughter Loulou as a muse, was also enamored with Maxine and she both modeled for him and acted as his licensing consultant.
She was a gorgeous and fascinating woman who left her own, unique stamp on the world.