Dress-down Friday: Ganna Walska

The oft-married singer, gardener and collector Ganna Walska died on this day in 1984. We’ve already looked at her dauntless yet doomed attempt to achieve success as an opera singer, and how it helped inspire the character of Susan Alexander in Citizen Kane. Re-examining Walska’s modus operandi, it is striking how utterly contemporary her approach to celebrity was, a combination of slender accomplishments and gargantuan ambition, of fashion labels and scent endorsements, of big rocks and little dogs.

As we’ve seen, Walska acquired many of the famous photographic portraits of the Countess de Castiglione from the estate of Robert de Montesquiou. She also bought up jewels and clothing that once belonged to Castiglione, coming as a job lot with a more abstract bequest from the Second Empire courtesan: a lesson on presentation and marketing of self which Walska readily absorbed.

Key to the Polish soprano’s protracted campaign to conquer a reluctant public was fashion. A noted beauty, she was also a modish dresser and collector of baubles. Her war chest brimming with conjugal contributions, Walska raided boutiques in Europe and America, returning with pieces by Adrian, Boulanger, Madame Grès, Schiaparelli and Lanvin. Third husband Alexander Smith Cochran gave her carte blanche at Cartier as a wedding present, and the press avidly reported on both her extravagance and her mercurial marital relations.

In 1925, The New Yorker describes Walska at a Ballets Russes performance in Paris, “her regal head and matchless shoulders rising from a very low décolletage of red chiffon.” Lord Berners, as it happens, was at the same performance (Ganna Walska and Lord Berners at the Ballets Russes? What protective garment must one wear to deflect the white-hot, magnesian fabulousness of such an encounter?).

But if Walska treated the world as her stage, how did she treat the stage itself? Well her instrument may have been a thin, unsteady voice worsened by chronic stage fright, but even when her notes failed to reach the back row (or, even worse, when they did), her sumptuous costumes ensured that her glamour, at least, would be perceptible by all. Her most fruitful collaboration in the pursuit of costumed perfection was with the designer Erté. Walska contacted him in 1920, calling him ‘the most imaginative man in the world’. They met in Monte Carlo, and he was soon designing stage costumes for her operatic roles.

To complete this picture of starlet glamour the singer carried the requisite diva-esque tiny pooch (which led to the following exchange with a reporter: “Is that your dog?” “It is.” “Is it the only dog you have?” “It is.” “Well, all I can say is, you are damn near out of dogs.”). But having established the template of the beautiful, couture-clad society singer, Walska was able to subvert it. For one recital she appeared, to the audible astonishment of the audience, in a simple white shift with not a carat of bling.

Walska’s marital scoreboard rivalled Elizabeth Taylor’s, and just like Taylor she rarely left a marriage empty-handed. After all, even when the union goes pear-shaped those rocks don’t lose their shape. And, like Taylor, Walska produced her own scents.  Between 1925 and 1935, she flogged a range of perfumes with names like “Chypre”, “Gardenia” and, in a very modern play on her own notoriety, “Divorçons” (“let’s get a divorce”). The Paris outlet of Ganna Walska Perfumes was a stone’s throw from the Place Vendôme address where Castliglione sat out her dotage in monastic seclusion.

Age elicited no such reticence from her acolyte. At a 1945 opera premiere in New York, Walska appeared in a furry, midriff-baring, harem-trousered ensemble, such as one of Genghis Khan’s warriors might have donned had he set out from the Mongolian steppe expecting to end up at a pool party.

Soon after Walska established the garden of Lotusland near Santa Barbara, and while hardly one for dungarees and a floppy hat, she did tone down the glam a little. In the 1970s she sold much of her jewelry to fund the garden, a symbolic break with her past, and spent the rest of her life landscaping the huge estate. After she died, Lotusland was opened to the public and the Los Angeles County Museum of Art received her extensive wardrobe of both onstage and offstage pieces (a distinction more fluid in Ganna Walska’s life than was ordinarily the case). Meanwhile, a selection of “Madame’s” personal effects is currently on display at Lotusland.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.


  1. A voice “which sounded like “five million pigs”! This is delightful! If I ever find myself near Santa Barbara, Lotusland will be a must-see. (I hope they hand out blotters of “Divorçons”)

  2. love her blue shoes

  3. How completely fabulous!

  4. Pingback: Peer to peer « Strange Flowers

  5. Pingback: Pearls: Ganna Walska « Strange Flowers

  6. Pingback: Summer Flowers « Strange Flowers

  7. Rose Thomas

    May I ask where you got the information re: Madam Walska and her “little dog”? Your writing is entertaining but It might be a good idea to list your sources.

    • The quotes come from the Talk of the Town section of the March 12, 1927 edition of The New Yorker. I almost always show sources, especially for direct quotes, but I had already cited The New Yorker earlier in the piece and as they themselves were only passing on quotes from a shipping reporter their origin didn’t strike me as particularly germane. This isn’t a thesis and methodically listing every citation would be a time-wasting distraction.

  8. Rose Thomas

    Thank you for clarifying the source of your information. I appreciate that you may not want to footnote everything you write (I realize writing a blog is different than writing a book), but it’s easy to pass along myths and misinformation one runs across, especially with a legendary person such as Ganna Walska.

    I work for Lotusland and have spent many hours in their archives, so I just wanted to know where you were getting your stories from. You’ve done a wonderful job with the site, providing some of the best images of Madam Walska and showing a few of the incredible Erte costumes she donated to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. If people want to see more of what her niece gave to the Museum, they can google LACMA, then put in the Costume & Textile Dept. and then put in Ganna Walska’s name. This will enable them
    to see some of the hundreds of items; hats, shoes, clothing she wore in her lifetime. Her story is certainly a fascinating one and awaits a truly fine writer to document and interpret it.

  9. Pingback: The countess in the afterlife (repost) « Strange Flowers

  10. Pingback: Mrs Kane (repost) « Strange Flowers

  11. Pingback: Erté | costumes for Ganna Walska « Strange Flowers

  12. Pingback: Jacques-Émile Blanche | portraits « Strange Flowers

  13. Pingback: Places: Quinta da Regaleira « Strange Flowers

  14. Pingback: Pierre-Louis Pierson | overpainted photographs of Castiglione « Strange Flowers

  15. Pingback: Places: Théâtre des Champs-Elysées | Strange Flowers

  16. Pingback: Rose d’amour | Strange Flowers

  17. Pingback: Dress-down Friday: Liane de Pougy | Strange Flowers

  18. Pingback: Springfield Virginia | Strange Flowers

  19. Pingback: Springfield Virginia | Strange Flowers

  20. Pingback: Enemy of the average | Strange Flowers

  21. Pingback: Dress-down Friday: Bryher | Strange Flowers

  22. Pingback: Secret Satan, 2019 translation edition | Strange Flowers

  23. Pingback: Secret Satan, 2020 | Strange Flowers

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: