DR POZZI AT HOME - a totally untrue story

Nigel, the hotel’s marketing manager, was getting tetchy. ‘Do we have more samples to see?’

‘Yes, Nigel. One more,’ said his assistant, Julia.

‘Just as well. Dear God, how hard can it be in the 21st century to design a hotel robe? We just need easy-fitting garments with a belt. ’

‘Our brief to suppliers was more specific.’ Julia checked her iPad. ‘It says, “We seek the pure elegance and style that can only come from designers who work with the finest fabrics. We need a robe to enfold our guests in luxurious comfort as they relax after the rigors of travel”. 

‘Where’s the S-word in that?’

‘What, sexy?’

‘Sustainable! Everything in hotels has to be eco.’

‘Here’s the final sample,’ said Julia. Steve stepped into the meeting room in a scarlet robe. They’d called him up from behind his desk in marketing to act as model. He was handsome enough. Steve made a slow turn before them, arms outstretched.

Nigel slumped in his chair. “Jesus, what is this?’

‘Silk, glorious silk,’ said Steve.

‘But the colour! When have you ever seen a red hotel robe? Where’s it from?’

‘Italy.’

‘Might have known. Always crazy for the hot colours. But they’re not understanding our target market – our guests are moneyed, conservative. They’re used to white, Julia. They want white. White says clean, spotless, laundered, hygienic. Red says stains, spills, muckiness, blood.’

‘Really?’ snapped Julia. ‘White also says sterile, bland, characterless and boring. And red means passionate and alive and big hearted. Don’t we want to be different from all the others?’

‘Not this different.’

‘Nigel, you said you wanted eco. You can’t get much more eco than silkworms raised by actual Chinese craftspeople. And apparently this silk is cruelty-free. The worms don’t get boiled alive anymore.’

‘Ugh. Worms. The whole idea makes me cringe. So does the style. It looks made for some B-grade Victorian porn movie. How does it feel to wear, Steve?’

Steve fingered the robe’s shawl collar. ‘More upscale than the cotton ones, but it’s slippery.’

Nigel threw up his hands. ‘Well, that says it all. No-one wants to be hitching things up all the time. And what did you say about red being big-hearted? Christ, we don’t want to be inducing coronaries.’   

Steve fingered the silken cord around his waist and gave the tassel a cheeky twirl. ‘It’s very chic,” Julia said. ‘And sexy.”

Nigel snorted. ‘Look at that prissy damn belt. The ends will tangle. The whole garment’s a laundry nightmare. The red will stain our white linen pink. Would we have to hire a troupe of vestal virgins to hand wash them in crystal bowls with soap made from butterfly tears? Don’t even tell me what the price is, Julia. It’s a hard no. We’ll go for the white robe we saw first. The Egyptian one.”

‘But that’s so boring.’

‘The world’s best cotton, though. Everyone thinks so.’ Nigel stood, pausing for a moment to stare at Steve’s embroidered silk slippers. ‘Don’t tell me they expected us to go for those too,’ he muttered as he left.

‘Damn,’ said Julia. Steve shrugged off the robe and wrapped the shoes in tissue. He watched while Julia packed it all back into its box. The red had been her choice. She’d hankered for guests to be embraced by its richness and feel like a sultan or a queen. Wouldn’t that boost the hotel’s occupancy rate?

‘So much for stylish elegance then,’ Steve said.

‘Maybe our bosses should have asked for everything in the same colour as greenbacks – the dull olive of the glorious dollar bill.’ Julia sighed as she closed the lid over the sumptuous scarlet. ‘Men like him only understand the colour of money.’

DR POZZI AT HOME – the true story

Renowned expatriate America artist John Singer Sargent, painted the elegant and accomplished Dr Pozzi in 1881.

Born in Florence to American parents, Sargent grew up multilingual and mostly lived In Europe. He painted interiors and landscapes but is best known for his luscious portraits of the rich and famous. He’s said to have completed 900 oil paintings and thousands of watercolours before his death in 1925 at 69.

Sargent’s subject here was Dr Samuel Pozzi was a pioneering Paris doctor who specialised in gynaecological and abdominal surgery in the late 1800s. He was also a celebrity. It seems he loved women and they loved him. He and his wife had three children, but he also had multiple affairs. One lover became his long-term companion when his wife would not give him a divorce.

Prominent men usually wore formal suits when they posed for a portrait. Sargent opted to put Pozzi in this relaxed red gown. The picture was first displayed at London’s Royal Academy in 1882. Pozzi later became a senator and his good looks earned him nicknames like ‘The Siren’ and ‘The Love Doctor’.

His life was not all about glamour. He also saw the worst that war can do, serving as a young medic In the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-71 and then much later as a military surgeon in World War 1.

Pozzi’s life came to a shocking end at 72 in 1918 when a patient from three years earlier accused him of causing his impotency. The patient, Maurice Machu, wanted him to operate again. When the surgeon refused, saying further surgery would be useless, Machu pulled out a gun, shot the doctor three times and then put a bullet in his own head. Pozzi, grievously wounded, could not be saved.

John Singer Sargent, Dr. Pozzi at Home, 1881, The Hammer Museum, Los Angeles, CA, USA.