If you really want to know what that word means, forget the job description, look to the legacy.
What does it mean to have your greatest legacy be one of “taste?”
I have been thinking about this since the news of Lee Radziwill’s death arrived, along with the flood of photographs from all corners of social media featuring Ms. Radziwill throughout her life — in white corduroys and a blue boat-neck T-shirt, in bouffant chignon and tunics; in a pink shift with her sister, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, atop an elephant during a tour of India; in a white-and-silver beaded gown dancing with Truman Capote at his Black and White Ball; in a black patent python jacket — all of them used to pay homage to her extraordinary “taste.”
Been thinking about it since some of the obituaries and reminiscences almost seem to use the word as a backhanded compliment; a reference to a life that had more impact in style than substance (she wasn’t as famous as her sister, the former first lady; she was something of a professional dabbler).
But are the two really so unrelated? Ms. Radziwill also has been characterized as “the last princess of Camelot” and “the last swan,” the nickname Mr. Capote used for his socialite circle of friends. And though neither label is technically true (swans such as Gloria Vanderbilt are still very much alive, as are plenty of Kennedys), they reflect the seemingly widespread sense that with her death, an era has ended.
What was it? The time when “influence” implied soft power that emanated from a unique and alluring point of view on the world. When the term did not have a commercial or cynical cast, but had reach and resonance. Ms. Radziwill pretty much embodied the idea.
Her influence had nothing to do with payment or ambassadorships (save the years in the late 1980s and early 1990s when she did public relations for Giorgio Armani, although part of what drew them together was a shared aesthetic).
