Spoerry, at her own trials, tried to deny everything, yet she admitted she had been spellbound by Mory, whom she called a devil. The Court of Honour now found her guilty of different charges: impersonating a doctor, being a traitor to the French and bringing shame on France through her inhumane behaviour. The punishment: exile from France for twenty-five years. Although by now Spoerry had a tropical medicine diploma, she did not yet have her full medical degree because the French Faculty of Medicine blocked it following the Court of Honour verdict. In the wake of this, she decided simply to call herself ‘Dr Spoerry,’ took a slow boat to Africa and, by 1949, had settled in Kenya where she taught herself to fly and became a much loved flying doctor for the rest of her life. If anyone mentioned the war she flew into a rage. Her good work in Africa no doubt brought her a degree of redemption but, not surprisingly, she never forgot Ravensbrück.
On 12 February 1947, Christian Dior dramatically moved the conversation forward in Paris when he launched his debut haute couture collection. The temperature that day was 21 degrees Fahrenheit (–6 degrees Celsius), but the excited Parisiennes who arrived for his show at 30 Avenue Montaigne were well protected in their mink coats. Marcel Boussac, the cotton magnate who was Dior’s backer, was confident that the show would be a success, not simply because of the magnificent floral arrangements organized by his protégé but because of the buzz that had preceded it. The House of Dior had been established only the year before, in October 1946, but it seemed to have captured the widespread political desire to move on and away from the war and to do so in as obviously extravagant a fashion as possible. The eager audience, perched on the edge of their little gilt chairs, watched with delight as the models paraded ninety fabulous outfits of wide skirts, ballerina length, with layers of petticoats accentuated by tiny cinched waists. As the models, full of flounce, flair and feminine drama, twirled and turned on the catwalk, their voluminous skirts sent cigarette ash flying. To an audience used to tight, short pencil skirts, this opulence was a breathtaking statement. There was an explosion of bravos at the end of the show, so loud that Dior himself was seen putting his hands over his ears. The two doyennes of the fashion press, Harper’s Bazaar editor-in-chief Carmel Snow and Bettina Ballard of Vogue, were both ecstatic in their praise for what was a radical departure in style but nonetheless rooted in Belle Epoque ideas.
It was Snow who exclaimed with delight, ‘It’s quite a revelation, dear Christian. Your dresses have such a new look,’ thereby coining the phrase for what is now seen as the most iconic debut collection of all time. Ballard, not noted for being overly generous in her praise, declared: ‘We were witness to a revolution in fashion and to a revolution in showing fashion as well … Never has there been a moment more climatically right for a Napoleon, an Alexander the Great, a Caesar of the couture. Paris fashion was waiting to be seized and shaken and given direction. There has never been an easier or more complete conquest than that of Christian Dior in 1947.’ Carmel Snow said quite simply: ‘Dior saved Paris.’
The American press was united in its view that this was a global fashion revolution, restoring Paris to the pinnacle of haute couture. British journalists who wished to write as rapturously faced a conflict, because Dior appeared to be signalling an end to austerity and to the wartime fabric restrictions to which British designers were still subject. Alison Settle, then editor of British Vogue, was refused permission to mention Dior in her pages at a time when austerity in Britain was biting even harder than it had during the war as a result of the wartime loans the government was now having to pay back. In addition, the New Look’s wasp waist and wide hips, even when worn by extremely slim models, depended on firm foundation garments.* But most corsetry, regarded as inessential in Britain, was banned under rationing unless required for medical reasons. In short, the British feared that the New Look would create impossible demands for additional fabric. When Settle suggested lifting fabric quotas, Sir Stafford Cripps, President of the Board of Trade, roared at her: ‘What New Look?’